6 April 2007

The French connection arrived today, beau-frère, Middle Sis and three kids, having already spent a week in New York. I think they considered the New York leg the main holiday and Jamaica was family duty. Their first entanglement with Jamaican bureaucracy at immigration, confirmed all their expectations.

I had neglected to tell middle sis, new address in Jamaica, a requisite for completing the immigration forms. Of course the signs forbidding the use of mobile phones meant that the law abiding Europeans could not phone me, while I stood outside to talk them through what they needed. Rather, and not unreasonably, they went to the information desk and had me paged. They were not to know, and it might be asking a littlke too much of Normal Manley Airport information desk to know, but non-passengers are not allowed inside the airport, so for a pick-up you stand outside. Unfortunately the public address does not extend outside the airport building, so I was oblivious to the page, and the subsequent one, and the one after that etc.

By now the Lady of Leisure had arrived in another car with our family, as one car would not have been enough for the French connection and was curious to see me alone outside. Eventually I phoned middle sis who was still standing at immigration, but whose phone credit expired immediately without me conveying any useful information. After furious searching, I came across a number for the beau-frère and despite him incurring the wrath of the immigration officials for taking the call, we were able to complete the forms and the family was “welcomed” to Jamaica. It wasn’t an auspicious start.

Still as we pull away from the airport in two company jeeps with consecutive number plates, beau-frère remarked that he feels like he is in the film, Salvador. I know this is meant to be a remark on the two cars pulling away in tandem, but as a comment on the first impressions of Jamaica it is pretty telling.