I must have been tired when my flight from Toronto touched down this afternoon at Montego Bay’s Sangster International Airport, because I spent most of my time in the immigration line for Jamaican customs trying to re-imagine the questions I might be asked:
“Tell me about Jamaica in a single sentence without mentioning Bob Marley, rum, or anything Rastafarian.”
I had a lot of time to think because I de-planed my flight from Toronto to find an immigration line that snaked around the entire room. To say there were close to a thousand passengers all queued up would not have been an exaggeration.
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