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Suffering from what is soon to become severe sleep deprivation, I await my flight out of Los Angeles airport trying to blow the remainder of my US bucks on Scotch whisky. Airport security in the States is quite an ordeal to go through (as well as from other nations into the States). Here and in Miami (where I travelled from earlier today) swabs are taken from the zips or entry points into your luggage and run through computer testing for residues of explosives and/or your luggage is thoroughly searched. The check-in and security processing systems haven’t been streamlined yet so you get dragged through a confusing array of queues while your luggage is checked. It’s shambolic.

In the last hour or so waiting at the Qantas desks I’ve heard more of the dulcet toned Australian accent than I have previously in my travels (save for Korea). I must be getting closer to home, eh? I’ve cut my trip short somewhat, deciding to skip spending any time in LA or Auckland. My home-sickness really started kicking in in Jamaica.

Jamaica heralded the return of the forceful hard-sell tactics that I experienced earlier in India and Nepal and I had my little bout of coming to terms with it all over again. Perhaps it was even more in my face than in the sub-continent because of their rapid-fire English cum patois. That or it’s a guilt trip about ‘ungrateful foreigners’ or a cooler than thou aloofness or even playing a slightly threatening machismo particular to the Jamaican male. I think the machismo is to blame for the most maniac driving I ever experienced as well. I think their attitude has been shaped (by poverty, of course) and by their desire to fleece the well heeled cruise-ship-delivered Americans that dominate the tourist trade.

I really didn’t get out much in Jamaica due to my dwindling energies and contentment with just smoking ganja on the balcony, writing a little and listening to the Dub Reggae seep out of the hills in sleepy town Priory. I did, however, make it to Bob Marley’s family home, Dunn’s River Falls and a couple of ‘sound system’ parties.

Both of Bob’s houses are museums now. The one I went to was in Nine Miles, a small rural village. The mausoleum there is where Bob and a brother of his lay. There are lots of Haile Sellasie and Marcus Garvey pictures, red, yellow and green everywhere and charismatic guides who break into song every chance they get. Equipped with the ubiquitous spliff or two, you’re reassured that you can hang out there for as long as you want. Yeah mon.

Dunn’s River Falls, the most photographed spot on the isle, is nice; but over-run with a multitude of cruise ship tourists on day trips from Ocho Rios or Mo-bay (Montego Bay). It is also sand-bagged in places to stop it from falling apart under the trample of climbers.

I don’t think I’ve struck anyone do volume or bass like Jamaican Sound Systems do. A sometimes unnecessary level of ear-splitting sound booms out of huge speaker stacks more befitting of Big Day Out/Glastonbury/Woodstock style festivals in large parks rather than street parties that were happening continuously during the festive season. On Christmas Eve I went to Brown’s Town’s packed main street where no less than five sounds systems (or ‘sounds’) were ‘mashing’ it up. I spent Christmas night and New Years Eve skanking to the local sound at the place I was staying, Circle B Farm. I really got a sense of how extensive (but sometimes subtle) the influence that Jamaican music has had on the global scene. My ears recognised many a sound or style that I knew had been adopted or incorporated into music elsewhere.

Time to start heading roughly in the direction of home.

Given the amount of neon there and its popularity with tourists, Miami is like Australia’s Gold Coast on steroids but with much better architecture, at least on South Beach, where the historic Art Deco district has been well preserved. I spent a grand total of 4 days there feeling as though I may as well be back in Brisvegas (Brisbane) if I was going to be in a city doing city things like drinking, dining out and going to the movies.

And so… thus ends my travel adventure, save the torture test that lies ahead of me in flying across the Pacific. It’s been an incredible, enlightening and occasionally gruelling experience. 14 months on the road has certainly been a decent time out travelling the world.