I wasn’t sure we made the right choice when one group of our flight mates showed up in matching t-shirts (‘We are all about the NIPS’ Jamaica ‘20), carrying carefully curated quart size ziplock bags with a mixture of tiny liquor bottles. Jamaican tourists have a reputation of hedonistic behavior - boats full of naked swingers, all the marijuana you can dream of, and massive quantities of frozen, sickly sweet cocktails. We wanted as much jerk chicken as possible but were hoping to find solitude, clear turquoise waters and a modest amount of Red Stripe and Jamaican rum. 

We arrived at the Montego Bay airport via Jet Blue. Jet Blue is supposedly the only airline where you can bring your own alcohol with the stipulation that the flight attendants have to serve you your own liquor (take note!). We had a van service set up to take us to Negril, on the Western end of the island. We stopped for beers just as we got started. Our driver, Richard, had many ideas for us on the way which we declined due to our desire to just get there already. During the hour and a half drive, Richard taught us about the influence of Chinese immigrants in these small Jamaican towns, the Patois word for ‘vagina,’ and how to properly harvest ackee, a local fruit often mixed with salted fish. Needless to say, we did none of the talking and listened with a curiosity to see what he was going to surprise us with next. I vaguely remember a cocktail recipe that is supposed to be like viagra, made with local ingredients. 

After my first year working in food sales, I wasn’t sure if I could handle being off the radar for 7 full days. I was used to my personal cell phone being at every chef's beck and call and receiving orders at all times of the day and night. This was the most luxurious thing I have ever done for myself. I turned my phone on airplane mode for the entire vacation and trusted completely in my co-worker, Phil, to handle all of my 200 plus accounts. I did not even post on Instagram as to avoid bragging about my beautiful (and expensive) Jamaican vacation to my friends and clients in Boston. 

My partner found Skylark through a series of Caribbean searches to find a boutique hotel for a January vacation. Our requirements: we must be on a beach, not more than $250 a night, king size bed, very few children, and good food. This was obviously peak season but not Spring Break which was key. Skylark had perfected their instagram look and their use of a drone camera to capture all the immaculate sunsets from their beachside location. The rooms were spacious and sparsely, yet thoughtfully decorated with one massive poster of an old school reggae album and a few splashes of color with a rug and a laundry basket. ‘Return of the Super Ape’ by Lee Perry was a 4 ft by 5 ft framed poster on a wall. The mini fridge and amenities basket were stocked with Jamaican treats like rum cake, branded playing cards, blunt wrappers, aloe gel, Appleton rum and condoms. 

We arrived for the beach. Skylark was an oasis among several larger and dated all- inclusive resorts strung along the 7 mile white sands beach. The water was the definition of crystal clear and the temperature was consistently around 81 degrees. Walking along the beach, Jamaicans were selling marijuana in all forms: edibles, blunts, brownies, and ‘special cakes.’ A curious and common site along the beach was tourists between 60 and 80 years old with leathery, tan skin, holding massive coffee mugs with some sort of frozen alcoholic concoction. I imagine this was the same group who sailed on the ‘Hedonism II’ catamaran at night for a nude swingers event. 

On the Skylark beach were 20, well maintained A frame tents with 2 blue beach recliners in each. Everyday there was a rotating group of servers maintaining beach orders - everything from green juices, Blue Mountain coffee, decadent fruit plates with coconut, papaya, bananas, citrus piling high, house made banana bread, flat patty burgers on house made fried rolls, watermelon juice, piña coladas, fish fritters with a pickle curry mayonnaise.  We brought a few bottles of our own wine to ration out over the week because we were not going to partake in the Whispering Angel Provence rosé that was available for $15 a glass or $67 for the bottle. Their wine and liquor list was listed on their website so we knew what we were getting ourselves into. . 

After a day in the sunshine followed by a refreshing shower, there was nothing better than Jamaican Ska beats (on our in-room bluetooth speaker) in the background and a cold glass of Philippe Tessier ‘Phil ‘en Bulle’ Pet-Nat that we smuggled from home. This smooth rhythm of being was punctuated with a massage package I felt like I had to indulge in: three fifty minute massages for $180 at the small spa at the hotel.

The most exciting couples massage in the package started at 2pm on January 28th. At 2:10pm, the massage table started shaking and the decorative seashell mobiles hanging from the ceiling started swinging back and forth. I thought the masseuse was rocking the table but it was instead a 7.7 magnitude earthquake that occurred south of Cuba in the Caribbean Sea. The room was shaking for 30-40 seconds and the masseuses, after several confused looks at one another, told us to put our clothes on quickly and leave. Once the shaking stopped, they stopped us in mid-dress and told us, “it seems okay now. You can relax.” I spent the next 30 minutes thinking of the highest point where we could escape a potential tsunami. 

For dinner that night, we travelled 10 minutes away to their sister property Rockhouse which was situated among cliffs, safely out of a potential tsunami’s way. After drinking one too many sunset happy house cocktails and smoking a bit too much weed, we sat in a stupor over dinner and drank bottle after bottle of Pellegrino. 

There is a Miss Lily’s (the hotel restaurant) in SoHo, the East Village and Dubai if that gives you any indication of how well they’ve perfected their marketing and instagram game (and obviously their investment game). The hospitality was warm and thoughtful in Jamaica. The orange juice was squeezed fresh everyday. The off-the-beaten path jerk chicken spots were fantastic (‘Best in the West’ was our go to). The authentic Jamaican patties for the lunch crowd in the center of the Negril town were satisfying in every way. Red Stripe does taste better in Jamaica and rum is so very easy to drink when the sun is setting. The stars in the dark sky and the setting moon were faultless every night.