For as long as I can remember, I have been fascinated with Jamaica’s culture and thought Kingston would be just the place to get my fill rather than touristy resort towns.

I was wrong, or so I thought.

Immediately upon passing through customs, I ordered an Uber ride and my first interaction with the driver ended up being a classic case of “don’t judge a book by its cover”.

In short, I thought I was being robbed given his off-putting requirement to sit up front and insistence to stop at the most run-down gas station I’ve ever seen in my life when he wasn’t low on fuel.

The good news is I was not robbed and never have been in my travels. This was just a cultural mix-up in a city I knew was deemed unsafe.

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