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. 

I have tried to resist writing about my coaster rides lest it become tedious. But I can no longer today. It remains an eternally compelling window on this society. So here we go with my most recent experiences. I thought all of the people who recruit pedestrians onto the coasters were men. No- they are not. Last week, I got a woman. I wonder if there is any significance in the the fact that this coaster was the quietest, most orderly and peaceful ride I have had the entire time I’ve been here. The next day, back to mayhem. I got a seat up front after a bit of flailing about. Then I noticed the young male driver had an extremely long thumb nail. I’ve seen that before here- some fellows seem to like to grow one really long nail. Not sure what that’s about, but I have an idea…in any case, I got a longer glimpse- ALL his nails were about 1.5 inches long. It was slightly creepy and vampirish.

Then, this morning, I was walking to the bus stop and heard someone honking their horn, except it did not stop. At all. When I got onto Halfway Tree Road, I saw that it was a coaster with an apparently overzealous, damaged horn. A wrangler tried to get me to jump on. But that noise on an early Monday morning? No thanks. They ended up stopping and a crowd of men quickly gathered around the front, trying to fix the wiring. I got another coaster, got a seat right away and zoned out. Or tried to as we dodged pedestrians literally by inches. Then I heard someone call “Browning,” and I actually turned around as I thought that it was the wrangler trying to collect my $80.00 fare (you pay whenever they feel like asking you). I was right- he took my $100.00 bill and gave me my change. I’m learning! I say that because browning refers to a lighter skin colour. According to my colleague, it is a term of endearment. Slowly, I am starting to pick things up.