I often try to tell "fareigners" how clear the water is in Negril and sometimes I get the side eye. *cheups* I frequently turn down invitations to go swimming in the Northeast. Who can step foot in that murky wahtah after growing up with such clear water? As children, we ran out to the beach for what seemed like miles and the water would still be thigh high. (gotta love low tide) Then we would stand there silently, waiting for the water to go back to normal. Then out of nowhere, these little translucent fish would swim up to us, darting between our legs until we could no longer stand it. (mind you, that's all they were doing) I can still hear those squeals of laughter, taste the fried snapper and festivals with an occasional waft of special tree's as the Rastafarians walked by with their latest holiday conquests. I am way overdue for a trip home.