*beep*

Despite a brief break in the weather yesterday, choppy water canceled our 2 o’clock shoot aboard one of the pirate ships.

Harry’s assistant punctuated the bad news with a question… Du-ya wonta go teh hell mon?

I looked at him… Looked at Chad… held up my left hand and pointed to my commitment ring… “Don’t I already have an express pass?

He wasn’t asking about my soul… He was talking about the tourist attraction trap located about 10 minutes inland.

We said sure… A phone call was made… words were spoken in an unidentifiable tongue…. and about twenty minutes later a small 20 seat tour bus full off cruise ship passengers pulled up in front of our resort / job-site and honked…

A wiry Caymanian with a Bob Marley shirt and an even thicker accent jumped out and asked if we were Donny’s friends needing a ride to hell…. and if Chad and I were twins.

Yes. we replied… and “no”

“Gudnuf fah me mon – git inside!”

And we were off.

Tony, (our driver), was a real character and had the “Jah Mon Islander Schtick” down to a science as he addressed the bus about island trivia and tall tales about having Cheryl Crow over to his house for margaritas.

I caught myself several times thinking this wall all *too* cliche… How could anything or anyone be THIS textbook Hollywood?

It wasn’t until we arrived in hell that I caught Tony around the back of the bus to settle our fare when he dropped the exaggerated stereotype cloak and addressed me with the same wide-grin warmth and vaguely british dryness I’ve come to recognize “Caymanian”.

It *was* just all schtick… and exactly what the bleached blonde couple from Arizona who sat next to me on the bus was expecting.

Tony’s projection would comprise about 80% of their contact with the people of the island… and… he… the bus… the duty-free shops and tropical tchotchke shops of the Georgetown harbor would make up these folks’ impression of Grand Cayman.

For the cruise ship passengers… it was what they expected.

For the islanders – it’s commerce…. *and* culture…. which creates this state of being / identity I find disturbing,…. but I’ll have to try to wrestle with this concept in a later call.

Hell was comprised of an interesting rock formation with two tiny decks built onto the side of it and a gift-shack.

The geological curiosity of it all took a back seat to things like the “head through the plywood devil character” photo opps and souvenirs.

So at least the next time someone tells me to “Go to Hell!” – I can honestly say: “Been there.. Done that…. Bought the t-shirt”.

*click*

*dial tone*