Jamaican locals had been pressuring us since the minute we walked off the plane, but we were afraid. The horror stories about Americans in Jamaica usually keep anyone from traveling to a remote location in the heart of this foreign land. The rewards were gratifying though, a first hand look at marijuana in its growth state, and not just one or two plants, fields of it. I smoke pot, not nearly to the extent of many, but more than some. So I looked at a unique trip more from the "different experience," perspective as opposed to the life altering affect as some might. Prior to our flight we anticipated pressuring Jamaicans and said there is no way we would go; the risk heavily outweighed the benefits.
After a few joints and a couple of Red Stripes with a Jamaican named Dean, who would soon become out tour guide, this same issue was once again at hand.
With our current state the way it was, we decided to go. I assume it was the impaired judgment from the drugs and alcohol, but we already told Dean to book it. To be honest I would rather take my chances in the heart of Jamaica, than take back my word to a group of street Jamaicans. Dean was a nice man and couldn't have been more than a few years older than us. I think that along with the fact that he had hung around us for a few days comforted us and eased our fears.
There were eight of us on the trip. Our hotel was in the tourist land of Negril. After we made the plans to go, Dean left to go find a driver, and said he would return in a couple of hours. We had no problem...