July found us in Jamaica! I think I mentioned before that I was in total awe of the flowers and plants there, even to the point that I thought they weren't real! I'm sure, as we stepped out of the airport, I looked like the the Jamaicans' worst nightmare. Or maybe more like their easiest prey! Constant picture taking and pointing and smiling like an idiot.
Once we got settled in our hotel, I couldn't wait to get out on the beach! I had been warned that there were people who would try to sell you ganja (marijuana) everywhere though. So I was on the alert. Noticing what appeared to be a small lean to on the beach, just past the resort property, I couldn't help but be curious. I reasoned that must be where they lured in unsuspecting tourists and got them high on pot! (You already know I can be a bit naive and have an imagination so.....)
We watched tourist after tourist go to that little shack. Pretty sure they were all coming back out too. But I made a mental note not to get too close. I was curious but not that curious!
Well. One morning while I waited on the beach for hubby to come down from our room, I was taking pictures as usual. "Come see my shop!" A loud deep voice shouted to me from just a few feet away. Without even realizing it, my photography habit had led me right down the beach to that little shack. A huge Jamacain with long dreads was right there in front of me!
Quick! Think! If I try to run he will surely catch me. I can't run in the sand! And if I go with him, what if I breathe in some of that ganja smoke and then have a drug test and then lose my job and the respect of everyone I knew!!!! What was I to do. Ok. Calm down. It was just a tiny shack right at the end of the resort property. I'd watched many people come and go. What could happen?
"My name's Smokey" he said. Oh great. He was even named after the smoke from the pot! But I was just going to this little lean to so I would be ok surely. I tried to tell Smokey my husband would be right down and I didn't have any money on me. He said that was 'no problem' and lead me towards the shack.
But, oh my..... BUT that was not Smokey's shop! As we got to the little shack I looked to my left and saw another shack. And then another. Smokey then asked that I follow him to his shop and I realized I was walking down a dirt path wearing no shoes, had no phone service and my husband thought I was relaxing on the beach just yards from our room! Would I make the international news when I didn't return? What kind of torture did Smokey have in mind for this little ole lady from Arkansas?
As I passed by person after person in various stages of consciousness I reminded myself not to inhale. There must be ganja smoke everywhere! Smokey informed me that his shop was the last one. He invited me in. Oh no. This must be where the torture takes place! If I step inside that tiny building it might be like a magicians box that closes and then I disappear, never to be seen again! So I politely just stuck my head in the door and asked if he had made all the paintings and carvings. He said he did. When we went into town later though, we saw the same stuff for sale in many shops. Smokey must be a very busy artist!
As calmly as I possibly could, I thanked him for showing me his shop and tried to appear interested in other shops as I made my way back down the winding dirt path, through the shack shopping mall, to the resort.
So I don't know if I suffered any effects of the ganja. But I'm wondering if the lack of oxygen from holding my breath for so long may have done a little damage........ We may never know.
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