My grandmother and sister are here and it is lovely. They are staying at a nearby hotel and today, my sister came to visit my workplace. She discovered firsthand the randomness of the transportation system in that she took a cab and was charged about three times what she should have paid. This was in part because she took a government-run cab, for which the rates are higher, and also because the driver didn’t have change for her. Right. In any case, I got her a reasonable ride home with #77, who is my new favourite driver. 

After work, I walked to the hotel to join them for dinner, where we dined outside by the pool and under the palm and almond trees. My grandmother is having a blast, she herself seems awed at the fact that at 98, she is still travelling, walking and enjoying a new country. She keeps venturing out to the balcony to watch the Blue Mountains and enjoy the breeze. She also enjoyed the live music tonight as we finished up dinner. I then took a cab home with #77 (I need to get his name!). As we were driving to my apartment, we passed a couple in mid-embrace and he laughed. “They’re having a good time,” I said. He then informed me that the road is unofficially known as Lover’s Road. That’s nice, I thought to myself, perhaps there’s some kind of tragic, romantic story to go along with the name. #77 then told me that my road is also known as Lover’s Road, and I started to clue in. A couple of nights when I’ve come home later on, there have been a few ladies with relatively little in the way of clothes. I thought maybe they were coming home from the clubs. No, I now realize Lover’s Road is not some romantic reference, but a pleasant-sounding Jamaican euphemism for, well, you can guess. “Oh, that kind of Lover’s Road,” I then said to #77 when I caught on. “Yeah,” he said with a massive belly laugh.