Caribbean trips are expensive, so I went to the Caribbean of Maryland
It's a blistering and humid Saturday morning at the beach. To my right, black skull-and-crossbones flags flicker on their masts in the hot wind. To my left, palm trees jut out of sand in front of a distillery that churns out rum and more. In a few hours, I'll be surrounded by a mass of partyers who came here to drink a lot of that rum.
But I am not on a tropical island. I am at Seacrets, Jamaica USA in Maryland.
On the long sandy stretch of Ocean City, Seacrets is a Jamaica-themed mega entertainment complex with 19 bars, a night club, distillery and five concert stages.
They import the island vibes - literally. Every spring, Seacrets trucks in new palm trees, thousands of tropical plants and tons of sand. The behemoth can hold about 5,000 people at a time, and pulls in tens of thousands of guests on busy weekends.
But above all, Seacrets is a place to party day and night. It's famous for having tables and chairs half-submerged in the bay where tropical drinks are delivered by servers in swimwear (aka Seacrets Bay Girls). It's Vegas pool party meets "Pirates of the Caribbean" on a fraction of the cost.
In case you missed it, travel was expensive this summer. A tropical vacation was out of the cards for most people. Could a day here really feel like being on vacation in Jamaica? Only one way to find out.
9:15 a.m.: Dress for the Caribbean you want
A few days ago, I bought a big mesh tank top for this trip. Now I'm just a girl, standing in front of a motel bathroom mirror, asking why she bought this mesh tank top.
I am not a mesh tank top person, and I'm not a beach party person, either. Ibiza, South Padre, the concept of MTV Spring Break - these things scare me. So does going outside without SPF 50.
But I was going to Seacrets, and I wanted to blend in. I scoped out the Seacrets Instagram location tag and saw what people wear: bikinis, crop tops and neon.
10:01 a.m.: 'Find Us and Get Lost!'
A faint "woo!" echoes across the near-empty Seacrets parking lot; the first guests - a bachelorette party in all black - have arrived. There's a $10 cover charge that allows for all-day access; you could have your fun in the sun, break for a disco nap back at the hotel, then rally for a night out later.
I'm ready for whatever today brings with a new fanny pack stuffed with some caffeinated aspirin, mints and Rolaids from an Ocean City gas station, plus a power bank and phone charger, a pack of Honey Stinger Performance Chews that marathon runners eat for the caffeinated electrolytes, sunscreen and a pair of underwear in case I want to change out of a wet swimsuit at some point.
I ended up ditching the mesh and went with a men's long-sleeve button down and white shorts to cover up my one-piece swimsuit. I already look like a narc, so to complete the look, I throw on a baseball cap. No sunburn today, folks.
Seacrets's catchphrase is "Find us and get lost!" and that seems incredibly doable from the moment I get inside.
It's a lush, six-acre playground with walkways shrouded with palms, a constellation of bars, the bay, a gift shop, the stages, and wood-paneled indoor-outdoor spaces with nautical touches such as porthole windows and life-size pirate statues watching your every move. At a kiosk called "De Photo Boat Mon" visitors can immortalize their visit with photos, key chains and magnets.
10:30 a.m.: Drinking on island time
After my first lap, I take a seat at a bar with the best view of the Seacrets bay. People are already slurping bright frozen drinks out of cups that display both the Jamaican and American flags. I clock a guy in a captain's hat and no fewer than three future brides - evidenced by their white ensembles, sashes and/or veils. One's wearing a crown made of inflatable male genitalia.
The menu is filled with items that speak to where we are literally - and where we are theoretically. Some of it's distinctly Jamaican (there's Red Stripe on tap), and some of it's distinctly America (there's Twisted Tea on tap).
The bartender recommends the Baja Chicken Wrap ($17.99) and the Big Bamboo ($10) - a cocktail with Seacrets Coconut Rum, Seacrets Gold Rum, Seacrets Spiced Rum and a "Seacret" blend of fruit juices. Seacrets makes its own rum, as well as gin, vodka and whiskey, at the distillery across the parking lot. They end up in every Seacrets well drink.
I take my first sip of paradise at 10:36 a.m., because I am on "vacation" in "the Caribbean."
12 p.m.: Ripping shots in 1920s Chicago
I'm only a few sips into my second cocktail of the day - a Dirty Banana ($9.50) - when I realize I'm going to be late for my tour of Seacrets Distilling Company. I abandon my blended treat.
If you assumed the distillery at Seacrets, Jamaica USA would feel like a Caribbean rum distillery, you'd be dead wrong. It's a departure from your tropical escape into a pseudo prohibition-era Chicago situation.
My tour group includes a couple from D.C., two friends celebrating a 21st birthday and a bachelorette party from Pennsylvania in matching turquoise tank tops.
It's not the bride-to-be's first rodeo. Taylor Morgis tells me she and her betrothed come to Ocean City nearly every summer and are obsessed with Seacrets. And completely on brand, they're going to Jamaica for their honeymoon.
The tour ends with a flight of three spirits of our choice. In other words, people are ripping shots. I knock back a coconut rum, and sip a little of my spiced rum and passion-fruit vodka samples.
1:30 p.m.: Outfit hang-ups at security
There's a line to get into Seacrets now. If you really want to do your visit right, you get here by boat to skip the lines and the cover.
"My boss picked me up on his boat from Montego Bay," Carlee Cook, a local and Seacrets VIP Gold Card member, would tell me later today.
"That's so funny, because there's Montego Bay, Jamaica," I say to her.
"Really?" Cook says, confused. "It's like a community; they pay an HOA."
A few guys in jerseys are off to the side of the line, freshly denied entry for violating the lengthy Seacrets dress code. Unless Seacrets is having a football event, athletic jerseys are not allowed.
My sun-safe outfit is allowed, but I feel out of place. I undo one of my shirt buttons and lose my hat to live a little.
Meanwhile, the group of friends in front of me has done a perfect job capturing the Caribbean aesthetic in sarongs. This was not an accident; they tell me they've been planning this trip - and their outfits - for months.
2:15 p.m.: Knee-deep in the action
The crowd has increased exponentially since I left. Different bars are playing different music catering to different tastes. I hear reggae at one, the band's playing "I Want You to Want Me" on the main stage, and there's '80s dance-pop in the bay.
There's also a storm brewing. Our once-bright sky has turned gray, and I have no idea if we're in for a tropical downpour or a light drizzle. It's now or never to get in the water.
This is not the piercing blue water of Jamaica. It's not even Dodger Blue. It's "a little bit dirtier," says Jeffrey McInnis, who's here with old friends from his high school. "But you come here, and it's all good vibes."
"Unfortunately, the water in North America isn't as clear as it is in the Caribbean," Nicholas Nowotarski tells me. Even so, he says he's having fun here for his future brother-in-law's bachelor party. It's a good place to bond, and "it's like it's own little resort," he says.
I kick my sandals off near a naval cannon reproduction and slosh through the murky water into the sea of dancing, drinking, lounging bodies filling the tables, chairs and floating rafts.
"The vibes are immaculate. We are just having a great time," Vince Cerreta says after showing me a clam he picked up out of the water.
The waves are rolling higher, and my shorts get soaked. It takes some core strength to stay upright.
"Take two showers tonight," Owen Breininger tells me. He's here with his fantasy football buddies. It's their tradition to meet at Seacrets every summer; two of them even worked here as teenagers.
"We had a good time. You see a lot of things, I can tell you that," Breininger's friend Shaun Strickland says of his time as a Seacrets employee. Having been to Jamaica, Strickland says Seacrets does a good job of capturing at least some of the essence of the island.
Then again, "I didn't hear Spice Girls once in six days in Jamaica," Strickland yells over "Wannabe" playing in the background.
4:19 p.m.: A Jamaica USA feast
It's a fight to get a table where I can eat; people are taking shelter from the rain, and all the jungle seating is occupied. I give up and stand at the same bar where I started this long, beachy adventure.
I get the seven-piece Jerk Chicken ($10.99) that's marinated for 48 hours in a Seacrets Jerk Marinade (which is available for purchase), served with a side of Seacrets Honey Mustard (also available for purchase). Because this is Maryland, I also order the Crab Cake Sandwich ($24.99) and a Pain in De Ass ($9.50), Seacrets's signature cocktail.
Actually it's two cocktails layered together like a slushy parfait: part piña colada, part rum runner (blackberry brandy, banana liqueur and some gold rum). There's nothing painful about it; it's a sweet and tart delight.
5:03 p.m.: Giving up at golden hour
After seven hours, I long to lay down on the beige sand and call it a day. Even with my Performance Chews, I can't keep up with the bachelorettes, the off-duty tax associates, the birthday boys, retirees or the guy with a back tattoo that just says "HORNY."
I think anyone could have a weird and wonderful time in this imitation Jamaica. The drinks are half the price of the ones in nearby tourist destinations and twice as delicious. The water is questionable, but so are public pools.
I hate to miss the nightclub version of Seacrets, where they drop balloons from the ceiling at midnight, but I'm throwing in the towel. It's time to go.
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