***WARNING: Graphic images included.  If you are reading this with a wee child sitting in your lap, remove the child before proceeding.***

Today we drove to Rum Point.

Rum Point, like so much of what I see here in/on the Cayman Islands, reminds me of stuff from movies.  I don’t have a lot of experience with tropical island-y places—most of what I know I have learned from Pirates of the Caribbean (the ride and the movies).  Honestly, being here is so surreal, it is difficult to believe it’s really happening at all (is this real life?).  That sounds like an awfully strong sentiment for a family vacation, but it’s true: I can hardly believe I’m really here.  We’ll be holding hands, walking down the moonlit beach to the sound of steel drums from nearby resort parties, and I just look around thinking, “Where’s the movie crew?  This is just like 50 First Dates.”

Rum Point is so stereotypically “island,” it almost seems like a ride at Disneyland.  Have I mentioned that I like Disneyland?  I do.  Therefore, I also really like Rum Point.

Rum Point is a cabana-ish group of buildings and grills right along the beach.  The tables are painted bright, tropical colours that would look ridiculous anywhere else, but here, they seem absolutely appropriate.

Someday, he’s going to look back on this vacation and regret that the only pictures he has are of the top of his wind-blown head.  I’m pretty sure.

At Rum Point, they roast pigs on spittles over hot coals for upcoming luaus.

Poor little dude’s eyes are still open and his tongue’s hangin’ out.  What an horrible way to go.

Yes, that would be a gaping hole in his neck.  Maybe they couldn’t stand the sound of his tortured squeals, so they cut his throat out.  Take that, pig. Anyone a vegetarian yet?

Me either.  In fact, we sat down at one of the tables to order overpriced meals from the grill.  All part of the experience, we told ourselves.

Poor Kyle had a Caribbean Jerk Hamburger, where the only thing jerked about it was the mayo—I’m not sure if that counts, but whatev.  Poor Kyle says this photo makes it look a lot better than it was.  But the fries were good.

I had a grilled chicken sandwich with pesto on some kind of bread…bubboli…bobola…I can’t remember the name of it.  The pesto was the best part. (Thanks to Poor Kyle for sacrificing his dill pickle spear when I didn’t get one of my own.  I didn’t even ask for it.  That’s real love.)

The food was sub-par, but we aren’t complaining—we got to choke it down to the sounds of the waves lapping at our feet.

When I look at this photo, the only word that comes to mind is “Sigh.”

Anyway, the real accomplishment of the day is that I actually attempted to style my hair cutely.  Not that it worked, but I sort of liked the results.  Anyone who knows me knows that my hair is not my biggest priority.  I don’t know what compelled me to come up with a new style—must be the island influence.  I call this style…wait for it…Beach Buns.

Even though Rum Point is no stranger to devastation…

…it seems to keep coming out on top.

And for that, we are grateful.

Rum Point Grade: A+ (if for ambiance alone)

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