Tuesday the ship docked at Jamaica. The best known city in Jamaica is Kingston, on the south shore. However, we went to Ocho Rios, on the north shore. Again, we took a coach tour, and again, we left Robbie on board. In Jamaica, the official word was "No dog, no way!" The tour bus drove us along the north side of the island, while the guide pointed out sights and told us facts and figures.
We then took a raft ride down the Martha Brae River. The next several pictures are from this trip.
The river
A band entertaining the people waiting to board
Dock workers gathering up the rafts
Faye, one of our tour guides
Nemhard, our raft pilot
A riverside vendor
Nemhard again, carving a gourd for us
Terry and me enjoying our ride
The end of the ride
On the drive out, the guide had pointed out a house and told us that it was Harry Belafonte's boyhood home. On the way back, I got the driver to stop so that I could take a picture:
We also stopped at a roadside collection of souvenir shops, where I took these pictures:
Before going back, we tried to do some shopping. I say "tried" because the shops clustered around the docks were so aggressively tourist-trappish that they turned us off, and it was too hot and we were too tired to bother looking for anything else. So we went back to the ship.
This picture shows a waterfall that some of the passengers went to see on Jamaica. We didn't see the falls ourselves; someone gave us the picture:
Tuesday evening, the Chocolateers all gathered in the conference room to watch the movie "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory." The movie was from the book of the same name by Roald Dahl, and starred Gene Wilder. It was a lot of fun. Terry had seen it before, years ago, but I had not, although I did read the book.
Dinner that night had a tropical theme, and everyone was encouraged to wear their most colorful clothes (I wore my rainbow striped shirt). The waiters also joined in the fun:
From right to left, our headwaiter, Salvatore, our waiter, Ovidio, and our assistant waiter - I regret that I can't remember his name.
During dinner, one of the waiters (a black one, naturally) led a procession of waiters through the dining room, wearing a fruit basket on his head, and singing "Day-O" and "Jamaica Farewell:"
We went to that night's show. Paul Fiddler did another act, as enjoyable as the first. He was followed by, in the words of the program, "Dynamic Vocalist PATTI GRECO." Terry and I didn't find her all that dynamic. We left.