30.06.08 Caught by the fuzz

On Saturday night, we went to a Sex in the City party. It was an interesting evening for three reason, firstly, we were spared the film, which I can only imagine is eye-gougingly awful; secondly and refreshingly, there were openly gay people there—the first we’ve seen since leaving London; and thirdly, we were stopped by the police on the drive home. Back in Blighty, this would have been serious: the car was overloaded, had only one headlight and was being driven by someone who, while not drunk, would not pass a breath test. Here, there were anxious moments, some uncomfortable grovelling, the passing of a 20 boliviano note and we were on our way. The most depressing part of this was how pathetically cheap it is to corrupt the police: 20 bolies is about £1.50.

4.05.08 Riding with the law

Our last day and we went to Lime Cay, an island (or cay) off Port Royal. Our driver, Taylor, drove us out there and en route let slip that he had another job “working for the government, with the law” as he coyly put it. Clearly, being a policeman is not something you shout about here.

The cay is a gorgeous little spot where Kingstonites come to relax at the weekend. A sandy beach, turquoise sea, trees for shade, bar for beer: perfect.

Jamaica, and Kingston in particular, has a fearsome reputation for violence and it was not until our last day we saw anything problematic; being on a miniscule island while bottles are smashed and rocks are thrown is not very relaxing, especially when your boat driver is in the middle of it. When Taylor informed the saucer-eyed protagonist of his other job, he was steadfastly unimpressed. I wasn’t.