Steve has left me but not before transferring his cold to my keeping. So in order to make sure that my last two weeks in Jamaica would not be spent sick in bed, Liz took me to see the local GP whose office is conveniently located next to a gas station. Dr. Elliot, a tall, solemn man of very few words, sat behind his desk in his spartanly furnished office, asked me a few questions in a low voice, examined my throat and ears and then handed me a week's worth of antibiotics, all for just $20.
Today, we are off on a road trip to meet with one of Liz's farmers at his farm deep in the bush and then off to Montego Bay where she will be consulting with a villa manager on how to set up a compost system for an organic garden. It's still amazing to me that she knows all this stuff, having grown up in the city in an apartment where I banned all living things except for husband and children. But here she is talking with confidence and authority about pest management, crop rotation, compost systems, drip irrigation, etc., etc., etc. I am in awe.
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