I want to say that I have every intention of returning to Couples Negril. Our ordeal/adventure was not something I want to ever repeat, but the first 5 days of our vacation were incredibly wonderful. I was impressed with the resort and staff. Up until we lost power, I remained impressed. Things just kind of went downhill after that. However, at this point, I remain unimpressed with FunJet, our vacation package sponsor. At least, in comparison to other carriers, FunJet was rather unhelpful.

If what we went through is even an inkling of what our neighbors in Florida are experiencing, I feel so much for them. I’m looking for a way, short of hopping on a plane to help re-build, to help our neighbors in Florida after the hurricanes, and those in Jamaica who survived Ivan.

Thursday 9/9, Friday 9/10

On Thursday, everything was cancelled – including our Friday flight. We had checked the free internet access machine and seen the cancellation. The front desk told us not to worry, but we called Delta Airlines anyway. Delta recommended we leave on Monday. It was too late for us to catch a flight on Thursday and they didn’t expect to be flying on Friday or Saturday. Sunday was already overbooked. We confirmed seats on Monday. Looking back, I’m incredibly relieved we did this as early as we did. I’m even more grateful we handled these arrangements ourselves.

We were unable to get answers from our travel agent on how to contact FunJet, as we could only communicate with our agent via email. On Thursday, Suncoast - another vacation carrier - had flown a special charter flight into Negril to collect the 6 people they had staying in the area. I was incredibly impressed by this. Noting the impending hurricane, Suncoast had gone above and beyond in order to make sure the guests for which they felt responsible were able to make it home without worry or danger. They contacted the guests at the hotel several times and then made the decision to send the plane. While the guests who were leaving on Suncoast were upset that they had to leave, in the end, it was a great decision. It's a shame FunJet didn't make a similar decision in regards to us - or at least contacted us to make sure we wanted to stay on the island or that we were okay.

Thursday was a beautiful day. It was so hard to believe that a hurricane was rolling in. Nervous guests were doing “calming” tequila shots at the bar and the resort was calmly and quietly preparing for the storm. I was impressed by how quickly and quietly they went about, taping and boarding up windows and doors, removing canopies, and moving furniture. All water sports and resort activities were cancelled. There was an air of nervousness among the guests. Once the sun set, we were pretty much left to eat and sleep and wonder.

Preparations continued into Friday. Ivan had slowed slightly after wiping out Grenada and was gathering force to come at us. At the time, it was projected to hit Kingston and continue straight over to Montego Bay. I was more worried about the airport than about our safety in Negril. On Friday, everyone spent time either in their rooms or eating. There was nothing else to do. Around noon, we received a call from the Reservationist/Front Desk. They told us our flight had been cancelled for that day. Considering that the airport was closed, this wasn’t exactly a news flash for us. We informed them that we had already spoken with Delta, filled out a new registration card extending our stay, and left that with the Front Desk on Thursday.
The bars began closing and after dinner, there was nothing left but the Piano Bar/hurricane shelter. We grabbed pillows, blankets, and headed to the main building. There was a meeting in the piano bar. We were assured of a generator, food, and water for 4 or 5 days. We were told to stay in our 2nd or 3rd floor rooms or in the Piano Bar/Manager’s Offices. I’m highly claustrophobic and was hyperventilating as I was squeezed into the Piano Bar with so many people, so we braved the growing winds and headed back to our room.

Friday night was beyond rough. We slept intermittently. I believe I got two 45-minute bursts of sleep during lulls in the storm. In retrospect, it was incredibly frightening because of the dark. We couldn’t see what was happening. We heard huge thumps, banging, and of course, the winds. The metal rod from our awning, I later discovered, had come unhinged and was digging a giant hole in our wall. The wind would also wind up the awning like a baseball pitch, aiming the metal rod straight at our sliding glass door. That sound alone was frightening. Trees snapped and crashed to the ground outside our windows. Around 1 am, the Front Desk called to check on us, which was reassuring.

Saturday 9/11

As dawn appeared on Saturday, we could begin to see the damage. We also mistakenly thought the hurricane had ended. Outside our doors, palm trees had snapped in half. A giant palm lay across the path to the wedding gazebo and several large palms had been lifted out of the ground, roots and all, and flung several feet from where they had been planted. The Grand Lido Resort next door to us (right next door to our room) had suffered some roof damage. The waves in the normally calm ocean were tempestuous and tall.

I called Mom back home to let her know we survived the night and to get the phone chain going between in-laws and parents. We then braved torrential rains and amazingly strong winds to run over to the main building for food. At one point, I watched the large top branches of a Pride of India tree, sway, crack, drop, and land behind Kevin and in front of me just from the force of the wind. We took the back way to the main building, staying close to the intervening buildings. Our room was located in one of the furthest blocks, Block 9, so we stuck to the lower levels of 8, 7, and 6 to reach the main building. We navigated much water, wind, and fallen debris. I regretted the decision to leave the room not halfway there. The hurricane hadn’t ended.

When we arrived in the Piano Bar/Shelter, we were able to check email and hurricane status using some friends’ laptop and the wireless connection. The hurricane was simply sitting off-shore of Negril, churning up rains and winds with which to pummel us. We weren’t out of the woods yet.

Moods remained high though. We still had electricity, water, and food. The staff was still wonderfully calm and helpful. The Entertainment Team, as well as the rest of the staff, was working tirelessly throughout everything to make sure all guests felt calm and cared for. I emailed friends at home. “Don’t worry,” I told them. “All here is fine and we’re wet, but doing well.” Ten minutes later, the power went out. The power took running water and international phone lines out with it. “No worries,” said the resort. “We’ll have the generator back up shortly.” With that reassurance ringing in our ears, we braved the winds and again took the back way to our room along the buildings. We opened up the sliding doors a crack, creating a minor air flow between the bathroom window and the sliding doors. We lit a candle we happened to have and sat down to play Monopoly, by candlelight, amid the sweltering heat and scary sounds of the storm.
Around 5-ish, we called the front desk. They advised us to come back and pick up candles, water, and food. We headed over to the main building in the waning light, picking our way through ever taller piles of landscape debris. We hurried, collecting the allotment of one candle and one bottle of water per person and running downstairs for dinner, trying to beat night fall. All that was available for dinner at this point was lukewarm white rice and butter, which we took and then headed back to our room. At this point we noted that even the bar in the Piano Bar had shut down. The moods were shifting, like the winds, and people were more frightened. Losing the electricity and running water was shaking all of us, and having an impact on the ever valiant kitchen staff.

Again, we fought the winds, but it was tougher this time. “Ninja-like,” my husband says, we tiptoed our way over and under fallen trees and attacking bushes in the dark. I felt more like Indiana Jones than a ninja, with the constant pressure of the gale-force winds all around me. In the pitch black, the trail was just simply more treacherous than before. When we reached what Kevin was calling Cell Block 9, we could see. The Grand Lido Resort had power and the lights from their generator, while eternally frustrating to us, were helpful as we made our way up the stairs to our room.

That night, we slept on the floor as the winds continued to pound the metal awning rod closer to our sliding glass door. In retrospect, it’s doubtful the rod would have shot through the glass, but the sound was terrifying. The winds and rains seemed to have redoubled their effort, pounding Negril and the resort relentlessly. The air in the room was stifling and, as we were unable to sleep, we were making an effort to keep our scant supply of candles lighted. When we did sleep, we were each clutching our iPods, using the sounds from the MP3 players to drown out the storm and create some sort of temporary calm. Kevin’s battery ran down by morning.

Sunday 9/12

Waking up on Sunday, the storm had finally abated. After over 24 hours of battering Jamaica and, in particular, Negril, Ivan had passed on by. He left behind rain and breezes, but the gale force winds and painful, driving rain had passed. I heard birds out the open doors and knew that was a good sign. Around 6:30 am, I started looking out the windows. I grabbed my camera and snapped some photos from the 2nd and 3rd levels of Block 9. The gorgeous landscaping had been further destroyed. More palm trees lay broken, battered, and uprooted. The lovely ponds were practically overflowing. I worried about the three cats I’d seen around the resort, and the turtle in the fountain. I’m still simply assuming the animals made it through the storm okay.

We still had no power. The full ramifications of this hit me. No power meant no running water. No running water meant no showers, no washing hands, hair, body, no flushing toilets. No air conditioning. No food cooked over anything but open flame, such as propane. No outgoing phone calls. No newspapers or contact with the outside world.

Around 7 am, we hiked over to the main building for a surprisingly good breakfast. The kitchen staff was really outdoing themselves, despite the white rice of the evening before. We checked with the Front Desk who had, by this point, given up that the generator would ever come back on or that the airports would open at all. The news was disheartening and frightening. We had no way of knowing what was going on outside the resort, as we weren’t allowed to leave. We didn’t have contact with airports, airlines, friends, or family.

At this point, I had a panic attack, which I haven’t had in years. I pulled up a chair on the Sunset Deck, hyperventilated, cried, and put my head between my knees. Thank goodness no one saw me. I was unable to handle the utter helplessness I felt. I didn’t know what was happening, when I could go home, what the news was, whether the airport had been hit, if other resorts were as without power as we were …and no one was willing to give us any straight answers.

Eventually we returned to the room, where I busied myself. I cleaned the entire room, finding a broom in a nearby maintenance closet that had blown open. All of the rooms reeked at this point. Everything was damp and smelly. The linens, which hadn’t been changed in days, were soaked in sweat and moisture from the air. I hung blankets and sheets on the ironing board and in the closet and we propped open the front door to the room so that a breeze would touch the linens. We shook out the rugs and aired out the towels. I swept off the balcony and did my best to make the room something of which Housekeeping could be proud.

I also made up my mind that come hell or high water, we were getting out of Jamaica on Monday. I pulled out our suitcases and re-packed. We separated out dirty clothes from muddy, smelly hurricane clothes and dug out the few remaining clean items we had, separating these as much as possible from the hurricane-saturated clothes. The hurricane items were drenched thoroughly, covered in leaves and mud from the raging winds. Our hurricane shoes were worse.

Once re-packed, we went back to the main areas of the resort. The rain had come to a lull and clean-up had begun. People just wanted something to do. Guests quickly cleared away most of the larger debris from the main area and the furniture, which had been sunk in the pool to endure the hurricane, was fished ashore. Because we were all so incredibly rank, people began showering in the rain. Kevin and I secured a champagne bucket and filled it with rain water in order to wash our face and hands. We then re-filled the bucket with pond water so that we could flush the toilet. It takes four trips to the pond to acquire a flushable toilet.

As the afternoon wore on, it became clear the power wasn’t coming back. However, there was a bright spot. Buses began pulling up and people were packed and heading to the airport. Because we had confirmed seats on Monday, we opted to wait. Others were heading to the airport in hopes of air conditioning, contact with the outside world, and possible standby seats. The Front Desk assured us that buses would appear starting at 5:15 on Monday morning. Our flight was for 2:10 pm. I was planning to be on an 8 am bus at the latest.

From our room, we had called the Front Desk to inquire what time food would be provided, if at all. We were told, twice, 7:30 pm, which seemed late based on the previous few days. Because we were exceedingly hot and restless, we wandered over at 6 pm to find dinner already being served. This was frustrating only because we had called twice to verify the time. Had we waited, it would have been cold white rice again. The kitchen staff was still trying valiantly to feed us. It was clear that things in their freezers were going bad and they had to get rid of the food. Ice cream “soup” was an offering. Much of what we ate was undercooked or re-heated, but they were putting forth a noble effort. The resort were now out of water in the coolers and the ice was all but melted. Choosing food was difficult, as it was too dark to see any choices. Eating was even more adventurous, as you couldn’t see your fingers, let alone anything you may have stabbed with your fork.

People’s moods were still down. Everyone was tired, hot, smelly, and ready to leave. We’d helped clean up. We’d cleaned rooms and pumped water into our own toilets. Now we all just wanted to go home. I know that what we went through, on resort, is nothing compared to what others on the island went through. But when you’re so isolated, as we were, and your packed clothes include sundresses and flip flops and kitten heels, as most did, you’re not exactly equipped to deal with the ramifications of such an event.

After dinner, we collected more candles. Emergency candles had all been used and we were now issued a total of three little votive candles from the dining room. As we were collecting our candles, vans returned to the resort. People were returning with their luggage. They hadn’t made it onto flights as standby passengers and had elected to return to Negril. If it had been me, I think I would have hunted down a hotel room in Montego Bay, hoping in the least for running water, if not air conditioning.

We returned to our room, opening up the sliding glass doors. There was no breeze. The room was stifling and despite my efforts to clean, still smelled terrible. There is a certain odor that pervades a building when many linens are dirty and many toilets are only flushed a few times per day and then refilled with pond water. The smell, hanging in the hot musty air, seemed to overtake my senses.

I sat writing the hand-written version of this journal by the waning light. I could hear the generator kick on over at the Grand Lido and I gritted my teeth. I was ready to come home.

At 2:30 am, I picked up paper and pen again. I couldn’t sleep in the stifling room and bugs were flitting in and out. I had written over ten long-hand pages on the backs of travel documents and brochures. Sleeping was not an option.

Monday 9/13

At 6:30 am, I started writing again. When I slept Sunday night, I used the iPod, completely draining my battery. It served to keep my mind off of the heat and smell. I watched the sun rise over the island. Even though we were on the sunset side, the sky still spreads out in pinks and roses, bringing the Neville Brothers “I Can See Clearly Now” to my mind. It’s the perfect soundtrack to the morning. In the new light of day, I can just see a ragged palm tree out on the beach, reaching its beaten, remaining fronds up toward the sun in a valiant effort to stand tall and survive.

The weather seems warm enough already. Perhaps they will finally get the generator dried out and back on, providing necessary relief and comfort to all the employees and guests at Couples Negril. They can certainly accomplish a lot more cleanup once they have secured some electricity. They can drain and re-fill the palm tree and muck-filled pool; they can go after the fallen landscaping with power tools; housekeeping can begin to freshen the musty rooms in which we’ve all spent the last 72 hours.

We packed our bags and headed to the main building. We ran into our friends Rayne and Claudia on the way. These two pillars of absolute calm and comfort were finally beginning to fray around the edges. Apparently all the phone lines, internal and external had gone down overnight. We were now completely and utterly cut off. Rayne had managed to inquire at the Grand Lido and they wouldn’t take any more guests but they did have power. The Riu, on the other side of Couples, had power and water only in the main buildings. They would give you a room, but they had no bedding so you had to bring your own. A British couple popped by and said that the Couples Front Desk had told many of the airport returnees the night before that they not only needed to check in again, but might be charged up to $250.00 for their night.

We had breakfast over our suitcases with Rayne and Claudia and said our goodbyes. They weren’t scheduled to leave until Wednesday, and I hoped they found power and communication before then. They got engaged on this trip and he was leaving soon to return to Iraq.

We boarded a wonderfully comfortable bus and gratefully headed out to the airport. The damage we viewed on the drive was mostly vegetation. I had worried that many of the small homes and shacks would have blown away, but they seemed to hold up surprisingly well. The damage, while extensive, was not near as bad as I had feared and I breathed a sigh of relief for the island.

We arrived at the airport shortly after 10 am and got in line for the Delta ticket counter. The airport was stifling but at least we were there. The counters opened around 11 am but their computers were down. We maintained patience. The ticket agents had to hand-write everyone’s tickets and baggage claims, as well as create a manual passenger manifest for each flight. This made flying standby even harder. I was incredibly grateful we had confirmed seats already and they had a printout confirming this.

The stores in the airport seemed to be air-conditioned and we did some quick shopping. We had run out of time to buy souvenirs before the storm hit and the markets closed. So everyone is receiving airport-bought, small gifts this time. We walked on up to Air Margaritaville, where we had lunch. The power went out twice in the airport while we were eating. I had a giant jerk cheeseburger and a rum-filled “Jamaica Farewell.” It seemed fitting.

The gate for our plane was incredibly hot and the power died one more time while we were waiting. It was a Delta Shuttle plane, and it was filled to capacity. The gate got so hot that I finally snapped. I thought I would pass out. All patience and calm that I’d held onto for the last 72 hours left me. At that point, we thankfully boarded the plane. A girl in the row across from me had stayed in Ocho Rios at the Sans Souci Resort. She was complaining that they had lost access to their TV during the storm, but that San Souci had given them three free nights for the inconvenience. I wanted to smack her. She had lost her TV and been given three free nights. I hadn’t had a shower or electricity in days and was just grateful to be heading home.

We had an exit row and I was in the middle seat. The guy next to me was the fidgety type. I’m a “personal space” person on an airplane. I’ll stay out of your space if you stay out of mine. He fidgeted the entire flight. He packed and repacked his bags. He kept applying ointments (ugh!) and coconut-scented lotions. He had trash everywhere and his legs and arms were intruding on the very little space I had to begin with. I was still hot and smelly. I didn’t want to share my odor with anyone, let alone carry on a conversation. He mentioned that he was offended that I was in a bad mood.
When the plane finally took off, 35 minutes late, the entire cabin applauded. I’m sure the flight crew had never seen a group so excited to leave paradise. When we finally touched down in Atlanta around 6:30 pm, there was another round of applause. Everyone was just happy to be home.

Epilogue

I have every intention of returning to Couples Negril, perhaps even within the year. The check-in process was horrendous, but I can better plan for that with strategic packing in my carry-on luggage and later flights. Once we’d received our room, we learned that ocean-view means leaning off your balcony and craning to see the water. Next time I won’t pay the extra expense and I’ll just get a garden-view room. I will always request a room on the 2nd or 3rd floor now.

Once we settled into the resort, it was wonderful. The first 5 or 6 days were packed with fun and sun, things to do, great people. The Entertainment Team at Couples Negril blew me away with their sincerity and the fact that they remembered everyone’s names. Even during Thursday and Friday, as the storm pounded towards and over us, the hotel staff was efficient, polite, and comforting. While I had some truly terrifying moments during the 24-hour storm, the moments were related to the weather only. I always had faith in the staff. In the end, I think the real heroes were the kitchen workers.

However, when the power went out, the impressive and comforting efficiency we’d come to expect deteriorated rapidly. Staff frequently told us that the walls surrounding the generator had absorbed too much moisture and that’s why the generator went out and could not be turned on again. I don’t know much about maintenance, but I have written several military Preventative Maintenance manuals and courses. The military would have checked that generator and surrounding walls for moisture absorption and every other possible scenario at least twice annually in order to prevent a meltdown in a live situation. The Jamaican attitude of “no worries, mon” did not work in this instance. Preventive maintenance was, apparently, lacking. This seems like something that should be looked into; after all, things get wet in a hurricane.

I believe the hotel should have had better planning for when the power did go out. They were lacking in emergency taper candles and bottles of water – things that should have been kept in a safe, dry storeroom. Items such as powdered milk and other dry foods should have been available for the same situation. I know a resort isn’t a military base, but there are good lessons to be learned from military preparedness. I think those sort of things should be taken into account at any resort on any island that has a hurricane season (or anyplace with a better than average chance of a natural disaster). Having just recently spent a fair amount of time in San Francisco, this experience has made me wonder what earthquake preparedness is like in those hotels.

I remain unimpressed with FunJet. Couples has not charged us for the portion of our ordeal in which we were without power/water/communication. FunJet, however, was shown up by Suncoast. We have not found FunJet responsive to our request for any sort of recompense. In the future, we will most likely book wiith Vacations Express, Apple, or Suncoast. I can't express how impressed I was with Suncoast for making the decision to come all the way into the tiny Negril airport to retrieve as few as 6 guests. I have no doubt that, after reading various accounts of the hurricane, those guests are also grateful for the decision.

I learned some things about myself during this ordeal/adventure as well. For instance, I’m highly claustrophobic. I knew this ahead of time, but being placed in a hot smoky room with no windows and 160 other people sort of drove the point home.

I also have natural survival instincts. By this I mean that I wanted to survive. I knew more than anything that I did not want to die and that this hurricane was a threat to my survival. I don’t know if the words in my story due justice to some of the more terrifying moments during the dark of Friday and Saturday nights.

I think though that the lesson I was most surprised about is my need for information. I seem to require it, like a drug. I don’t even have to personally access the information, but I need to know that someone can get to it. Someone should be able to drive to it, call for it, or buy it. Since my Sunday morning panic attack, I’ve had a picture of myself in my head. It’s a little line art, black and white cartoon of me, sitting in front of a monitor, with my left index finger plugged into a network jack in the wall like a human network cable. This brings new meaning to the phrase “plugged in.” However, my information doesn’t necessarily have to be digital. Give me a newspaper, a phone, or the radio, but do not cut me off from what is happening around me. Do not isolate me from the world. Perhaps information is a bad addiction, but I don’t plan on dropping the habit.

On the whole, this was a scary ordeal/adventure. The part of the trip between check-in and Hurricane Ivan were perfect though – don’t let this essay fool you. One look at my pre-hurricane photos, to be posted by the end of the week, and you’ll see the lush beauty of this island and the wonderful people who live there. But Jamaica rarely experiences hurricanes and when they do, the motto of “no worries, mon” is the thing that hurts them the most.

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