This is Eugene. He was our taxi driver and guide. He is also the brother of the sister whom is married to the man who’s house we spent much of our time and where the wedding was located. Have you ever meet a person whom you felt was a true soul mate? Not some sexual partner or spouse, but a brother or sister? One whom you have known many life times? That is Eugene to me. He was a super nice guy, so mellow and smart. We had many “nice chats” about our cultures. In Jamaica, a “nice chat” is a good, informative, pleasant, intellectual conversation. There is so very many customs and norms and values that I very much love and respect about Jamaica. I grew-up in some very small towns in Wyoming. When a person walked by you in the streets, you made good eye contact. There was a warm greeting from the heart. There was no pretend compliments. Asking how a person is had meaning, not just some shallow greeting. These days, when someone says “How are you?” most do not want an answer nor do they care. In Jamaica, just like in my childhood, if someone says something, they mean it. There are no empty promises. If they say they will call, they do. If you are invited back, then you know you are a part of the family and considered to be a friend. That invitation is not some shallow response to a person leaving with a secret hope that they will not return ever again. If they do not like you, they say so. Every body there was so happy! There was no one in the streets or at the places we went or at any of the parties or events we attended that not only did not fight but did not even argue. Everyone was very friendly to us. The only grumpy people I met were in the airport customs, but they were still very polite. I did not want to leave Jamaica. No, not because of the weather. I do not like hot weather. The reasons are the people and the life style. We had a 2 hour delay in Miami coming back because of the weather. I was so used to looking everyone in the eye and saying hello and giving and receiving smiles. Every damn person at the airport, the Americans, were so damn rude to me. We had to eat because we were not getting food on the plane. I ate Pizza Hut because I thought I missed pizza. It was so greasy and salty and god awfully unhealthy that I nearly puked. Honestly, without any exaggeration, I did not see one Jamaican woman that I thought was not attractive. Even the older ones. Every woman was pretty and most were as my sister said, “drop dead gorgeous.” The first American woman I saw on the plane when we were leaving was in her early 20’s and blonde and thin and tanned and before I would of thought her very hot but she just seemed plain and ordinary. Every woman I talked to in Jamaica was not only pleased to have me talk to them, but they gave me their full attention. It was so easy for me. I felt relaxed and comfortable. I did not feel like I was going to say something that was not PC and make them mad and get yelled at and some damn I-am-holler-than-you attitude and how dare you even speak to me. I get that often here. There, they call that being silly, here, we call it progress. I do not want to whine, but I came back feeling like I am living in the wrong country. I can guarantee you that I would not be blogging about being lonely and not having a family of my own if I lived there. I had so many chances to get laid it was like I was the only man alive. Did I? NO, because I am not that type of person. I could have easily found a wife and been very happy. But, silly me, I have to have it perfect. Right now, my plans are to go back. Perhaps this summer. I will go for 3 or 4 weeks and I will find a wife. Thanks for listening. More latter.