Both sides of Norman Manley Boulevard are lined with fruit and souvenir stands, hotels, restaurants, bike rental shops and jerked chicken joints, not to mention enough rainbow-colored sarongs and T-shirts to trigger a flashback in even the most reformed hippie. To the west is the famed Negril beach. Just inland is the huge wetlands complex called the Great Morass, fed by the North and South Negril rivers, where a few crocs still roam.

Before we even have a chance to cross the road, four taxi drivers honk their horns and swerve in to offer us a ride. Negril has taken a free-market approach to addressing transit needs along the seven-mile resort strip. Scores of ''official'' Toyota station wagons and vans zoom by, along with many more unofficial taxis; residents and passersby making a few extra bucks by picking up whoever is wandering along the coastal highway. And no matter how old the jalopy, it's got a killer sound system, thumping out reggae at full volume.

''Yah, Mon!'' becomes our password, and we count up all the ways people use the clenched-fist ''respect'' greeting, which can be anything from a vigorous salute in the morning, to a limp and half-hearted wave of fingers in the heat of the day.

The beach offers the usual assortment of activities: Parasailing and jet skiing, glass-bottom boat tours and snorkeling on a somewhat ravaged offshore reef. Despite a reputation for hedonism and spring break debauchery, there are plenty of families around, and Dylan quickly makes new friends. His PSP is an instant equalizer, and while I'm not a huge fan of the electronic game, I learn that it's a thumbs-on manifestation of global culture -- instantly giving youngsters some common ground.

TEACHABLE MOMENTS

And I have to cut him some slack. It's not that easy being dragged all around the world. One day, you're happily sucking down tater tots in the school cafeteria. Twenty-four hours later your dad is asking you to check out a package of pig tongues in the grocery store, or to sample some curried goat.

I'm relentless in finding teachable moments. We play Boggle to keep him thinking about words and spelling, and when he asks if he can buy some Bob Marley wristbands, I tell him he first has to learn who Bob Marley was, why he was important, and how music, art and poetry can be forces for social and political change. A bit heavy perhaps, but he takes it all in stride.

One day we explore Half Moon Bay, a small beach six or seven miles north of Negril. The limestone ledge on one side of the bay is perfect for snorkeling, cut deeply by body-width inlets. We spot a puffer fish and some kind of purple-spotted flounder, along with usual assortment of gaudy yellow and blue fish. The little restaurant serves a mean grilled snapper sandwich, the Red Stripe is icy cold and the sunset is the best of the trip, the sky and ocean melting together in a curious blend of fire and water.

Several times we head to the West End, where we jump off limestone cliffs and snorkel into dark sea caves. Near the end of our stay, we venture inland for a day, hiking up the Mayfield River to check out a series of plunging waterfalls and crystal clear pools, a refreshing change from the briny ocean water.

All the while I wonder about the palm tree ordinance. It seems that it's true; I can't find a single building that rises above the height of the tallest palm. But it takes more than that to create a sustainable tourism economy.

Negril is obviously struggling with many of the demons associated with easy tourism money. The resort strip along the beach is fairly clean, the sand raked in front of each hotel and restaurant. But the community has a serious garbage problem. We find it piled up in great mounds near the roundabout junction that passes for a downtown, although a recently completed recycling center should help a bit.

The garbage, clearly a byproduct of the tourism industry, raises a larger issue in my mind about sustainable tourism. It's clear, after visiting this lovely and friendly country, that we, as tourists, are a big part of the equation. It's another teachable moment, this time for myself. A take-home lesson for my Colorado hometown -- and many communities across the United States -- where, despite all our battles to manage development, preserve open space and protect wetlands, we are losing the larger war.

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