June 16^th

                  ^{The sun is shinning and feels warm upon my shin.  Not enough to ease the pain of the freezing breeze that follows soon after.  I feel the party from last night creeping up on me.  After many cocktails, a lounge, and a reggae bar, I am so desperately craving a carbohydrate. Sifiso tells me that breakfast is a small drive, but promises me that it is worth the wait.  Probably not the best idea for me to wear a tiny little dress and drink whiskey all night in the middle of winter.  This is not going to end well I can feel it, but at this point nothing can get me down.  We are on our way to Boulders Bay to see the penguins.  Yes penguins!!  I never saw that coming from Africa so I have to see this for myself.}

^{I vaguely recall my conversations at the bar last night.  All the local black men wanted to talk about was politics and sex.  Why do those two things always go hand in hand?  Well I guess in the end, either way you get screwed.  I learned a lot more about how they felt about what is going on here.  It is a burden they all hold on their shoulders, but they do not let it define the boundaries of their lives, though I do think some of them may use it to their advantage.  I was accepted with open arms, as long as I listened, which I was more than happy to do, but I did not get much talking in.  Their opinion seemed to be the only one that mattered.  They would ask me questions, but then begin talking before I had a chance to answer them.  So I just listened.}

            ^{The drive is so beautiful.  I am in love with this place.  On the way we pass by the Beverly Hills of Cape Town, modern mansions with huge gardens and chandeliers hanging in the entry room window.  It is hard to believe that this is a developing country from everything that I have seen.  I know the illusion will end once I leave Cape Town.} 

            ^{When I arrived at the airport in Cape Town there was a mural on the wall of all these beautiful rainbow houses on the beach.  I have been asking where to find these houses and no one seemed to know where they were.  I was beginning to think they did not exist.  Not a moment later we pull around a bend and there they are.  Just as cute as I though they would be.  Every color of the rainbow all wooden huts lined up next to each other right on the water.  It is a dream.  So beautiful.  I want one.  Sifiso gladly pulled over so that I could take a picture} 

^{About ten meters up the road we pulled over again, the famous breakfast stop that was worth the wait.  It was small and all black and white, very quaint.  All the tables were perfectly placed though very close to each other.  It reminds me of something I would find in Venice Beach, California.  It was a bakery with a small menu, but that was all they needed.  I ordered the same thing as Sifiso.  As I waited I could not help but to notice the amazing black and white photos on the wall behind me.  They are of the Zulu tribes adorned in ritual and costume.  They are so beautiful.  The concept of their accessories is duly noted for my future designs.}  

            ^{Within minuets the breakfast came and it was the most amazing meal I have had in months.  Eggs with cheese and a fresh baked croissant, baked mushrooms and bacon, I could eat three of these.  It was well worth the wait and them some, everything my body needs and more.  I am beginning to feel better.  We are sitting at the counter at the front of the bakery facing the water.  Crowds of hippies and barefoot travelers with their dogs pass by.  Men selling hand crafted items made of glass and soda cans also fill the streets.   The small towns feel laid pack nature makes this place so desirable, the perfect pit stop on the way to Boulder Beach.  This is it.  This is the place I could really live.  Salsa would love it here, Kulk Bay, Cape Town.}   

            ^{Boulder beach looks exactly like Virgin Gorda Baths in The B.V.I.  The water is crystal clear and so inviting, but I am not to be fooled by the temperature.  The penguins run around as though in a constant state of play and curiosity.  Each one seems to be joined at the hip of another.  They are creatures of love and seem to travel in pairs.  I cannot tell the sex of the penguins but I assume they are traveling as male and female.  They fill the beaches and the long brick pathway that lines the water.  It is truly amazing to see them here.  This is one of my most favorite places I have ever been, I actually wonder what it would take for me to live here, how much I would have to alter my life.  This is the only place I have ever said that about.  It is so absolutely beautiful.  I can’t even imagine how amazing it would be in the summer time.  Despite all of its problems, I could one day call this place home.  That is assuming my parents would one day find a love for travel.}  

           

^{June 16th The Feast}

            ^{After what can only be described as the most perfect day, minus the extreme hangover, Sifiso tells us he has more in store for us.  It is a holiday here, a day to remember a group of rebel teenagers were brutally murdered during a protest.   So in honor of the day off, we eat.  There is a special kind of feast where they cook from a Potjiekos.  This is a small pot that is hooked up to a gas canister.  Only I had no idea what kind of feast we were going to have.  In the U.S. we would have a B.B.Q with hot dogs and hamburgers.  I can’t wait to see what their traditions are here.}

^{After a twenty-minuet drive back towards town we stop at a cute little cottage style apartment.   A beautiful blonde girl answers the door and greats us with a smile, a hug, and glass wine.  I love her already.  A few of Sifiso’s co-workers were spending the holiday together and invited us to join them.  The house has a very warm feeling, it is raw and artistic.  Beautiful black and white photos of their trip to Venice and Florence hang on the wall in the entryway.  As I want through the kitchen I see a man full of smiles sitting on a small stool stirring a small pot attached to a gas unit.  I recognize him as the man in the photographs.  He has been working on this dish since seven this morning and now it is about 5:30 p.m.  He smiles and tells me to have a seat in the family room and help myself to some snacks.}

^{The room is full of conversation and laughter.  I stand near the couch admiring the empty picture frames on the wall, all in different colors and textures.  Introductions go around the room, too many for me to remember.  The energy is warm and everyone is so welcoming.  What an amazing group of people. I smile remembering all of these amazing nights with my friends.  An hour of socializing and drinking goes by then the announcement is made.  “Take your seats everyone.  The feast is finally ready,” after about ten hours of cooking.}

^{I grab my plate and head to the kitchen filled with excitement. He puts a strange looking pile of food on my late; the famous dish looks more than appealing.  I help myself to many other strange dishes I have never tried before and sit down to dine.} 

^{“What is it?”  I asked, as my mouth was full and a smile on my face.  The dish is filled with pasta noodles, vegetables, and some kind of jerky that they made themselves.  I had three servings…….}

^{These are my last few days with Sifiso.  I will miss him so much.  The time I have spent with him I will cherish forever.  See, this is the downfall of traveling. Always having to say good-bye.}  

^Knysna

^{It hits me like a ton of bricks.  It might as well be raining pins and needles.  Hands shaking, sweating, miserable, I am sick.  It is not your run of the mill cold; I am down for the count.  The tiny black dress in Cape Town, I knew this was coming.}

            ^{I am standing at the corner of the main street in Knysna, South Africa, a small artsy town about six hours up the coast from Cape Town.    I am freezing and sick.  I need home.  I need my mother, any mother.} 

            ^{“Alex, Courtney.”  A skinny blonde man asks us.  I am so happy to hear someone’s voice that will take us out of the cold.  It is our host on couch surfing.  He walks us about six blocks, the longest six blocks of my life, to his apartment complex.  Of course the elevator is broken so we drag our bags up three flights of stairs, I am dying up the stairs.  Not the best first impression.  He swings open the apartment doors.  I peer into the room only to find it empty with nothing but a small desk and computer facing the window and a mattress next to it on the floor.  Tough there are two bedrooms, the mattress remains in the family room.  He escorts us to the nearest bedroom and I fling open my bag, tear out my sleeping bag and excuse myself to bed.} 

            ^{I wake to find myself still freezing and still on my deathbed.  The windows are covered in dew from the cold weather and my breath is visible even in the bedroom.  There is no heat of course.  No one in South Africa seems to have heat.  It is crazy because they have a very dramatic winter.  I am not sure how they survive like this.} 

            ^{Alex sees the pain written all over my face and offers to walk me to the local pharmacy.  I get every drug they sell for cold and flew and take myself back to bed.  I only have three days here and I am going to miss them all.  This is a terrible way to try and make friends with our couch host bus he doesn’t seem to mind; he is at his computer working on music for the next music festival.  He is a DJ and his concentration on his music is perfectly distracting for all us.} 

            ^{I wake the next morning to find myself still on my deathbed.  I cannot waste another day.  I agree to go on a canoe safari down the river.  I just hope it does not rain, that is all I ask.} 

            ^{The canoe trip is nothing less than peaceful.  The air is filled with pure silence, other than the coughing and sneezing on my end.  Birds fly in all directions, dogs swim in the river, men are fishing off the side land, I gently float downstream.  I can’t help but to think of my family and what they are all doing right now.  I miss them so much and it is days like these that I wish we had to share together.  I wish they could see this.  We pull over an hour later to the side bank and have lunch.  It is just Alex and I and the guide and one other kid who happened to also be on our bus coming here.  The four of us settle in and take in the view.} 

            ^{We head back upstream to the car.  Now we are going against the current and I have to actually work, and lone behold it begins to rain…………}

The New South Africa....

June 15^th

            Every time I think of where I am I have to pinch myself.  I still cannot believe I ended up here.  It all seemed so simple; 1. Buy plane tickets to everywhere I want to go around the world, 2. Quit job…..I just wish everyone was here to share it with me, especially this place. 

Cape town is a magical city.  The mountains, the city, and the beach are all within ten minuets of each other.   It is giving Cali a run for her money.  This is more or less a Cali winter as well.  A friend from couch surfing, Sifiso, has agreed to take us in for a few nights.  He is the warmest sweetest person and makes us feel right at home in his more than cozy apartment right in the middle of the city.  This is a good feeling to have since it is so cold outside.  He works for Facebook in Cape Town, but is a political science major.  We are the perfect students to hear his ideas about politics as a black man in South Africa.         

Though South Africa is one of the most amazing places, its social problems  are bubbling at the surface.  Its social structure is well, new, and will take some time to develop.  Civil rights and equality of man is very new here and it cannot go unnoticed.  The city is filled with security in every corner, yet I feel no actual presence of danger anywhere I go.  I am sure it is here but fails to show its ugly head to me.  I am not sure if I am lucky or naive.  Benches marked in “non whites only” still stand by Parliament to remind the country of its progress in ending segregation. 

            In South Africa there are many tribes but there are two main languages are spoken among the natives, Zulu and Swahili.  They’re the two most dominant tribes.  There are many other tribes that fill this lustrous land as well.  The earliest people to inhabit this land were the San and the Khoek Hoe people.  I am not sure what happened to these people, but I am pretty sure that when the Dutch settled here in the mid 1600’s, it is not good.   Just writing this story and thinking about the similarities of America I get this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach.  The Dutch did not rule for long, even though many of the buildings and roads are market in their language.  In the early 1900’s, South Africa became a British Empire and the tyranny continues. 

            Under this rule the natives were put into groups and sent to live on their own reservations away from the white people.  The first group was the Blacks; these were natives with both parents being African, purebreds.  Then there were the colored people.  This group of people had mixed parents, one black and one white.  Though it seems crude to call them colored people, this is their actual nationality and is marked as such on their personal identifications.  Then of course, you have the whites.  “The Man”, who will forever continue to take what does not belong to him.

            This brought war.  The fight for freedom stained the streets and would hopefully one day belong to them again. Freedom seemed so far away.   In 1994 Nelson Mandela, the first black man in South Africa to become president, would make their freedom a reality.  The civil rights movement would begin.  Equality for man would soon be the new pulse of South Africa, whether everyone liked it or not. 

Tolerance should not have to be learned, but unfortunately it is a slow process. 

June 12th Cape Town, South Africa

 Table Mountain

           

            Checklist for Cape Town, first: climb Table Mountain, second: Get a coat, boots, and sweatshirts.  Since the day is slightly warmer than night we are fooled into believing that it is a good idea to do Table Mountain first.  Something we will soon regret.  We head for the hills, which inn Cape Town in a 10-minuet drive from the ocean and a 5-minuet drive form the city.  Another reason why I will soon discover this place is paradise. 

            Table Mountain is one of two major mountains to climb here in Cape Town.  It gets its name from the fact that it is totally flat on top like a table, after one hell of a climb of course.  It is tall and rigid. It is an overwhelming display of jagged rocks and steep mountain slopes.  The sound of a waterfall echoes among the ridges.  Drops of perspiration fall down my back in the mere twenty-minuet walk to the base of the mountain.  I stand at the bottom, head back and eyes up filled with intimidation.  ‘It is just one step after another,’ I tell myself.  I turn to the right to find Alex grinning ear to ear.  This is just the sort of challenge she was hoping for. 

            The slope is nothing short of dramatic.  I climb as fast as I can, still Alex is always twenty steps ahead of me.  She pauses time to time to let me catch up, snatching every photo she can of the torment that constantly fills my face. 

            We finally reach the waterfall and neither of us pauses to drench ourselves in the freezing winter water.  It was a good thing we did too because the hill above us is at least three times as steep as before.  It is a dirt rock path lined with a rock wall held together with twisted wire.  This is probably for safety so that people don’t fall down the hill, but I find that it is much easier to walk on top of the wall. 

            The estimated time to climb the mountain is two hours.  Already Alex and I are running behind, nothing short of being my fault.  The climb thickens and the sun is at its highest for the day.  I reach my hand high over my head and find a steady place to plant my foot to push me up the rock walls.  My breath is shallow and I am nothing short of exhausted.  I make it up the nearest wall and fall to the ground to take a break.  All I can hear in the background is Alex screaming words of encouragement like an obnoxious cheerleader.  She is full of endless promises that there is ice cream at the top of the hill.  Somehow it works.  I climb and climb.  Stopping at every moment I can to look back at the view of the whole city and my accomplishment. 

            A large propeller sound echoes in the valleys of the hillside.  I look up to find a rescue helicopter and for one split second I actually think of flagging them down.  Then reality hits me and I realize that would cost me like $10,000.  So I climb some more. 

            Just shy of three hours I finally make it to the top.  I have little to no energy left even to celebrate.  Somehow I find it in me to run up the last flight of stairs to the view and you will never believe what I see, an Ice Cream store.       

June 12th Cape Town, South Africa

 Table Mountain

           

            Checklist for Cape Town, first: climb Table Mountain, second: Get a coat, boots, and sweatshirts.  Since the day is slightly warmer than night we are fooled into believing that it is a good idea to do Table Mountain first.  Something we will soon regret.  We head for the hills, which inn Cape Town in a 10-minuet drive from the ocean and a 5-minuet drive form the city.  Another reason why I will soon discover this place is paradise. 

            Table Mountain is one of two major mountains to climb here in Cape Town.  It gets its name from the fact that it is totally flat on top like a table, after one hell of a climb of course.  It is tall and rigid. It is an overwhelming display of jagged rocks and steep mountain slopes.  The sound of a waterfall echoes among the ridges.  Drops of perspiration fall down my back in the mere twenty-minuet walk to the base of the mountain.  I stand at the bottom, head back and eyes up filled with intimidation.  ‘It is just one step after another,’ I tell myself.  I turn to the right to find Alex grinning ear to ear.  This is just the sort of challenge she was hoping for. 

            The slope is nothing short of dramatic.  I climb as fast as I can, still Alex is always twenty steps ahead of me.  She pauses time to time to let me catch up, snatching every photo she can of the torment that constantly fills my face. 

            We finally reach the waterfall and neither of us pauses to drench ourselves in the freezing winter water.  It was a good thing we did too because the hill above us is at least three times as steep as before.  It is a dirt rock path lined with a rock wall held together with twisted wire.  This is probably for safety so that people don’t fall down the hill, but I find that it is much easier to walk on top of the wall. 

            The estimated time to climb the mountain is two hours.  Already Alex and I are running behind, nothing short of being my fault.  The climb thickens and the sun is at its highest for the day.  I reach my hand high over my head and find a steady place to plant my foot to push me up the rock walls.  My breath is shallow and I am nothing short of exhausted.  I make it up the nearest wall and fall to the ground to take a break.  All I can hear in the background is Alex screaming words of encouragement like an obnoxious cheerleader.  She is full of endless promises that there is ice cream at the top of the hill.  Somehow it works.  I climb and climb.  Stopping at every moment I can to look back at the view of the whole city and my accomplishment. 

            A large propeller sound echoes in the valleys of the hillside.  I look up to find a rescue helicopter and for one split second I actually think of flagging them down.  Then reality hits me and I realize that would cost me like $10,000.  So I climb some more. 

            Just shy of three hours I finally make it to the top.  I have little to no energy left even to celebrate.  Somehow I find it in me to run up the last flight of stairs to the view and you will never believe what I see, an Ice Cream store.       

South Africa June 11th

            A light breeze turns into a harsh wind.  The chill of the air numbs my face, the hair on my exposed arms and legs stands call.  I am in Cape Town South Africa and it is dead middle of winter.  Every breath I take appears as thick cigarette smoke.  I am freezing.  My tank dresses and linen pants are no match for this South African winter.  
            The temperature of the hostel we are staying at is no different than that of outside.  Our sleeping bags are our only saving grace at this moment, We spend the entire first night trying everything not to leave them.  

Dubai June 10th

            A dramatic clash form an ancient world to a futuristic world lays the foundation of Dubai.  Women dressed in black Chador’s and men in white Thobe’s fill the streets even at this late hour.  Our stay in Dubai is on the basis of a twelve-hour layover and at night, so our time is valuable here.  To make the most of the time we have, Alex and I decide to do a night tour of the city. 

            I am in awe of this magical city.  At first glance, everything is breathtakingly avant-guard.  It is so far over the top that it almost doesn’t seem real.  The tour leads us to all of the most dominant attractions, including the Atlantis Hotel.  At first I questioned why we would be stopping at a hotel is on our list of attractions, but as I walk in all of my questions are answered.  It was one very special reason alone.  The largest aquarium I have ever seen.  Floor to ceiling fish, stingrays, sharks…you name it.  Alex and I so desperately want to jump in.  I could stay here for hours, but the tour must go on.

            We drove along the palm tree islands that are only visible as a palm tree from satellite, a man made paradise, only you have to be a multi millionaire to enjoy it.  Houses start at Eight million dollars. 

            The rest of the tour includes famous buildings and hotels, including the tallest building in the world.  The Burj Khalifa stands 2,717 feet and cost 1.5 billion dollars to build.  All of Dubai is filled with these elaborate futuristic creations that cost an ungodly fortune.  Even with all the millionaire vacationers, I still don’t know how they stay afloat.  The main line of work, and on of the only lines of work here, is real estate.  80% of the population of Dubai is tourists.  There is absolutely zero, and I mean zero, crime here.  There are no drugs, bars, casinos, or nightclubs.  Dubai is the only one of the seven Emirates that even serves alcohol at all. 

            So you can guess that this does not make Dubai my dream vacation getaway.  And twelve hours is enough to satisfy

New York City

NYC  May 7^th

                New York.  Lights, music, fashion, shoes, shoes, pavement, smog, people, chaos, subways, shopping, art, books, coffee, fashion.  What a sigh of relief to be in a place that hosts all of these things on a single block.  We arrive at our couch surfer’s house at around midnight.  After a whole fiasco with the airline ruining our bags, we were happy to get a good night’s sleep in a real bed.  A skinny EMO kid, Johnny, from Florida answers the door.  He takes us in and shows us the ropes of the house.  After giving us a plethora of information, he informs us that he is also a couch surfer and does not live there, but that he was staying here for four months.    

                There is a shower upstairs and a bathroom downstairs where we will be staying.  The downstairs is a living room filled with beds and pull out couches.  It turns out that this entire apartment is dedicated to couch surfing and there will be eleven people from all over the world sleeping here tonight.  This does not include the 5 roommates that live here in this three bedroom house.  The five roommates are all artists, the kind of person it takes to live in a house open to absolutely everyone.  Anyone can come and stay as long as they need to.  A girl comes home and greets us. She is one of the roommates.  She takes a $20 deposit from me for the key to the house and tells me to put my bags on the huge shelf marked luggage.  The air is filled with many different languages and people from all over the world.  We put our luggage down and claim the top bunk bed in the corner of the room and settle in for a long overdue sleep. 

May 8^th

I have only been away from the U.S. for a short while but the noise of the city and smell of pollution from something other than burning trash is somewhat comforting.  Today is a day or errands.  Laundry, shopping, and well Mexican food are at the top of my list.  We walk to the local Laundromat located next to the subway entrance.  It is pathetic I am sure, but this is the first time I have ever done laundry in a public Laundromat. 

                After laundry and the most amazing $3.00 breakfast, which I had no idea was even possible in New York, we head out to S.O.H.O. to return our luggage and do some shopping at the outdoor store.  We realized that after two weeks of camping in Jamaica, there are a few more things we need.  The subway ride is long and dirty.  It is the one and only thing I hate about New York.  How dirty it is.  I am constantly trying not to touch anything, but being in this vibrant and pulsating city makes it tolerable. 

                The air is hot.  And I mean hot.  Just being outside for a mere ten minutes is exhausting.  We exit the subway and walk carrying our bags for twenty nine blocks.  After what seemed like forever, we finally arrive at our destination to find out that it does not exist.  The man working behind the counter took one look at our thankfully empty backpacks, and knew why we were there.  He informs us that this location will not be open until November.  “You have got to be kidding me!!”  The next closest location is in long Island.  This is my third time in New York, and I have never even been close to Long Island, nor did I want to.  We took the train. 

May 9^th

We rise for an early morning and full day of New York City tourism.  One of the most amazing things about NYC, is that the art is available to everyone.  We start the day off at the M.E.T.  The entry fee for the M.E.T. is by a requested donation of $30.00.  We donate $2.00 for the three of us and head over to the Alexander McQueen exit.  Johnny, the skinny EMO kid, never seems to leave the house so we dragged him with us. 

                The tragedy of Alexander McQueens’s death pours into the hearts of the many people who gather to form the hour long line to get into the exhibit.  Three women that surround me are adorned in McQueen themselves.  The entrance is everything I wanted it to be and more.  A fiery lipstick red dress and a white floor length dress made entirely of sea shells greet us at the door.  It scales down to the floor carrying a light shimmer that reflects across the room.  I can imagine the Queen of Narnia wearing this piece. 

                A turn of my head leads me to find the geometric room.  A kaleidoscope of color and texture are the essence of the collection.  The asymmetrical shapes are more than pleasing to the eye.  It was his last and final collection.  This is followed by my favorite room.  The gothic room is filled with black leather, lace, feathers, and sequins, all upon each other in a simple embrace topped with layer and layer of hand done work.  A fan blows into a floor length cape that is bound at the ankles.  Its dramatic nature does not go overlooked. 

                Just when you think, ‘wow , what sexual clothing,’ you get to the actual room dedicated to sex and impractical accessories.  Head –dresses made of leather, feathers, and shells.  A skeleton like corset made of metal with a tail that came off its spinal shaped back catches my eye as the moaning of a woman’s voice plays in the background of the exhibit. 

                A white strapless dress, which was worn in a runway show where machines containing spray paint rolled out to adorn the dress, stands tall in the corner.  And then I see it, the piece that takes my breath away.  Now if you know me at all you know the louder the color and the more feathers and sequins the better, but this, this is perfect just the way it is.  It is a wood corset that shapes up into huge wings rising up over the shoulders of the mannequin as she rotates in a *360 motion.  This is all she wears.  It is absolutely fabulous. 

                To my left, I am attracted to something shimmery.  I run to the window.  I am not disappointed.  A metallic gold feather floor length coat stands above the most amazing shoes I have ever seen.  Studs, pearls, shells, sequins, and glitter make up the shoes that at this exact moment just thinking about them takes my breath away.  What I wouldn’t give to walk a mile in those.  I peer down to cringe at my torn up, over used flip flops.  “There will be a day, “ I tell myself, “a day when my feet get to again feel the pain and beauty of over elaborate and unnecessarily fabulous shoes. 

                My dirty flip flops then carry me through the Victorian room filled with velvet and brocade.  The detail is remarkable.  The next room is a video.  As I start to watch it, it appears to be a small flower petal blowing in the wind.  As it gets bigger and bigger it turns into a woman wearing a long flowing dress blowing in the wind coming from every direction as she turns, as though to represent an angel of purity.  Its beauty is so captivating; I watch it three times before moving on.  These are just a few of the things I loved in this exhibit.  The magic continues and continues for four more rooms.  I am so happy to be here among such beauty everywhere.  I feel privileged to have seen all of this.    

                The creation and innovation of Alexander McQueen leaves me breathless.  He is such an inspiration, art at its truest most raw form.  His heart and soul bleeds into his every creation.  It breaks my heart that the world has lost such a talent, a beautiful, vibrant, exciting and twisted soul.  His work will live long beyond his short lived life.  Alexander McQueen I love you. 

                To carry on the cliché of going to the M.E.T. in NYC, we follow it up with a picnic in Central Park.  And by picnic I mean hot dogs in Central Park.  It is the perfect day followed what will be the perfect night.  Alex and I go on a double date with two guys in downtown Harlem.  Alex falls in love.                  

Jamaica to NYC

May 27^th

            We rise after a night of sound sleep to the crashing of the waves to the most beautiful view in the world.  The beach is full of the local kids and already feels like home.  All the locals know us now and watch out for us.  Fabian and Jason ask us what we would like to do today.  We both jumped up say “whatever you would do today.”

They disappear for about five minuets returning with fins.  They then hand us our snorkels and tell us to leave everything else here and follow them.  We walk over to the surf shop where they pulled out two spear guns.  Alex and I look at each other and smile.  We walk up over the bluff on a dirt trail for about ten minuets.  A place we did not even know existed.  Since everyone fishes here and the waters are over fished so everyone has their secret spots.  They take us to theirs.  We strap on our gear and head out for the open water.  Since Alex and I are not qualified to spear fish, we decide our job is to swim ahead and point them in the right direction.  The bottom of the ocean is filled with huge boulders of plant and marine life.  I could snorkel every day; it is so relaxing, but not today.  Today we are on a mission, a mission for lunch.  We spot a school of fish along a huge ridge not to far away.  We yell at the boys to come.  Jason takes two deep breaths then disappears under water for what seems like forever.  He returns to the surface with a lobster.  Yes a lobster.  We never even saw it, but it is beautiful.  I am getting hungry.  As we swim around the bend Jason keeps disappearing and returning with fish.  He is such an amazing shot, that all of the fish are speared right through the eye.  After about an hour and a half we finally make it back to the beach.  Fabian starts cleaning the fish as we walk back up to the bluff and gather fruit for the meal.  B the time we make it back Fabian is already cooking the fresh hour old lobster. 

            Alex and I try to help over and over again, but our help is not wanted.  They boys love taking care of us.  I ask them where their girlfriends are and why no girls are hanging around.  If I were a Jamaican girl, I would be all over these guys.  But there are no girls in sight.  Their reply is that we are enough for them to take care of right now.

            After fifteen minuets fresh lobster is served.  It is the most amazing thing ever.  It melts in my mouth.  This was our appetizer before lunch.  The real lunch was the five other fish Jason caught today.  We were served fish and rice and ackee, a truly amazing and Jamaican dish. 

           

May 28^th

            Today Fabian takes us to work with him.  He goes every morning at six and every night at six as well.  He is in charge of several goats.  He tells us we will need tennis shoes.  I strap on my water and hiking shoes and backpack with my water bottle, and hit the road.  The road was right across the street from the beach.  We walk up about one mile and come to a small shack on the hill with a huge yard.  In this yard there is a horse and several goats.  A mother goat of two tiny little new bourns eats mango peels out of my hand.  I get close enough to hold one of the baby goats.  He does not like this, but I calm him as best as I can.  He is so cute. 

            Jason then leads us to the horse.  He cares for this horse and it is one of two horses in all of Boston Bay.  By the way he turns twenty-five years old today, so as soon as we re done working we head over to the local shop for a special dinner.  We got a bunch of chicken, rice, carrots, and a cucumber.  I hand the woman $1000, which is about $12 and we head back to camp. 

            We are out of water at this point and the whole town is still in a drought.  Alex and I are dyeing.  We need water to drink and need a shower desperately.  The boys tell us not to worry that we will get everything we need after dark.  We wait patiently. 

            As soon as night falls, they boys hand us a bunch of plastic containers and tell us to follow them again.  We cross the main road and walk down an overgrown path then under a bridge.  I am skeptical, but I give it a chance.  Fabian pulls out a wrench and walks under the bridge.  He twists the top of a pipe several times until fresh water comes shooting out.  Alex and I are in awe.  We are so excited to see water that we ran back to camp and got all of our showering products.  I even take this opportunity to shave since I don’t know when the next time I will get the chance to shower is.  It feels amazing t be in fresh water and be clean.  Even though I am standing in the mud under a bridge, I am so thankful and happy for this shower. 

            May 28^th

            The familiar smell of the campfire fills the air and I know the boys are preparing to cook dinner.  Since I know they will not accept my help, I came up to my tent to write.  I don’t even get a sentence down on paper when Fabian decides to join me.  He talks of his life and love, and sheer joy to be alive.  It is beautiful to see someone who has so little be so happy.    When he talks, his smile is more than captivating.  I take his picture.

            I ask him a few questions about his family and he begins to choke up.  He tells me that he cannot speak any further until he lights his half soaked joint that lies limp in his mouth.  I hand him a lighter. 

            When Fabian was fourteen, his brother a mere seven, and his mother were walking home after a day of running errands.  She had just gone to the bank and has a lot of cash on her.  A local boy who lived up the street knew her routine and his drug habit forced him to take advantage of this. 

            (Fabian pauses to smoke and take a deep breath.  He is silent for about three minuets until he continues.)

            On their way home, out of nowhere the man jumps them and holds a knife to her throat.  She offers him all of her money and tells him it is in her purse.  He is caught up in rage and slits her throat and stabs her in the chest three times.  His kid brother decides at this moment he is going to be a man.  He runs and jumps the man from behind to deter him form his mother.  He beats him with all of his might, but the man is too strong and pulls the boys in front of him.  The mother still alive, and with the little strength she has left, manages to run.  She hears the cries of her boy as she runs down the hill for help.  When the cries of her son stop, she fears the worse and stops running.  Soaked in blood she is bound to the floor. 

            Fabian comes home at the end of the day for his daily duties with the goats.  He finds his mother and kid brother left for dead.  The crimson pools that line their cold bodies leave little hope.  He calls for help.

            After months of being in the hospital and literally all of their life savings, Fabians mother and brother walk out ok.  It is truly a miracle. I cannot help but to cry.  Fabian kisses his hand then touches the tattoo on his chest and looks to the sky.  His tattoo reads “Thank you mother for the nine months you carried me.”

            He sighs, “every day I try and be a good man and love my mother.”

            At twenty-five Fabian is more of a man than most men ever hope to be.

May 30^th

            Though Boston Bay has been such a wonderful home for us, we decide to head out to Ocho Rios.  It is about a two hour drive north form here.  We call a local driver who takes us for $100.  We left just in time as a crazy tropic al storm moved right in and almost postponed our travels.

            When we arrive in Ocho Rios it is all city.  It is dirty and people are yelling at us from the streets.  It is like they can smell we are tourists and think we are their ticket to ride.  We pull up to the place and it is beautiful.  It is an actual hotel.  The man shows us the room to see if we like it.  I walk over tot he sink and turn it on.  Yes there is running water.  I will take it.  This means a shower and laundry.  We are so happy to have a bed and running water that we don’t leave our hotel room other than to eat for three days. 

June 2^nd

            Oh My GOD!!!!!!!!  I am 28 today.  Well at least I am tan, and in Jamaica.  I really can’t complain.  Plus life seems to keep getting better and better.  I walk into the lobby to order my usual American Breakfast when the receptionist asks me if we would like to join her tonight, and that she will pick me up at 9:30.  I agree.  Her family owns a local bar and every Thursday is Dirty Thursday. 

And it was, but in a good way. 

June 3^rd-7th

Alex and I are done with Ocho Rios there are too many pimps and drug dealers.  It is about $300 dollars to get to Montego or Negril on the bus.  Since it turns out it is about the same price to rent a car, we do.  Everything we read about Jamaica made it very clear that we should never driver there and it is too dangerous.  We ignore all signs and head north. 

We successfully make it to Montego.  Since Montego looks just as touristy as Ochos, so we keep on driving to Negril.  Negril is still a very touristy town but much more laid back.  It is seven miles of white sand beaches.  We find a little place called The Yoga Place and stay for two nights. 

Next stop, Treasure Beach.  It says there is no camping anywhere here but Alex and I are over our budget with the car and are determined to find a way.  After about thirty minuets of being lost in Treasure beach we finally end up down a long and narrow excuse for a road.  When it ends there are little huts and apartments full of children and families.  We ask them if there is anywhere we can camp.  They laugh and say no but that we can walk up the road to where his brother lives and try asking him. 

            We come to a Rasta man sitting of his front porch smoking a joint, which if I forgot to mention everyone in Jamaica smokes weed all day every day.  They can’t afford more than one meal a day but you will never see them without a joint in their mouth.  He looks up with his glazed eyes and asks us what we want.  We tell him we want to camp but only have $10 a night to spend.  He laughs and tells us we can pitch a tent in his yard.  By this time it is dinner and he allows us to use his kitchen to cook.  He lives in a little house that is like fifteen by twelve feet.  In there he has his bed, a shelf for his books, and his TV.  In another hut he has another bed and all of his belongings.  In the hut behind the two huts he has a small kitchen with a tiny stove and sink.  And in another even smaller hut behind that, he has a toilet.  Now when I say toilet, I really mean drop hole.  A hole in the ground that went about ten feet.  Uuumm Yeah!!!! That happened for three days. 

            One the last day we woke up at 4:15 a.m. and left at 5:00 a.m. to drive back down to Kingston for our 12:00 flight.  We barley make it.  I am writing to you in the plane right now.  We are on our way to New York.  We are going to stay with some kids we found on couch surfers.  They live in Brooklyn and are all artists.  One is an actor, one is a trapeze artist, and one is a painter.  This should be interesting.  And being in Brooklyn. That should also be interesting

Gangster's Paradise

Virgin Gorda and St. Thomas

           

            From Tortola we take a short ferry ride to a smaller island called Virgin Gorda.

The ferry docs and we scramble with our oversized luggage to get off the boat.  At the end of the peer is a British phone booth, really the only sign of these being the British Virgin Islands since I arrived.  Nigel greets us at the Doc.  He laughs as he sees our luggage, takes both big pieces and begins walking up a more than steep hill.  Every car we walk by I get ready to get in but he keeps walking and I get the feeling there is no car waiting for us at all.  But the walk was short.  At the top of the hill we walk down this very steep driveway and come to a beautiful circular house hanging off the clip right above the ocean.  “This is it.  I hope this is ok.”  Nigel says looking for confirmation.

As we walk in there are two floors divided by a spiral staircase.  The bottom floor is a bedroom, kitchen, laundry room, and bathroom.  This will be my room.  Yes I get not only my own room but also my own floor.  Greed!!!!!  We make our way up the black iron spiral staircase, leaving our luggage of course, and come up to the main room.  It is a huge living space with a veranda than surrounds the entire house.  On the veranda is a hammock that Alex finds her-self in right away.  As we peer down towards the ocean we realize we have our very own doc.  This is heaven and far more amazing than anything we had in mind.  How we are staying here we have no idea but we have the feeling that this will probably be the nicest place we stay on our trip. 

            It turns out that this is a $3,000 a week rental that his friend owns.  Actually she owns most of the houses on the hill.  She is in the Warner Brother family.  It is funny, even here we can’t escape LA.  She heard how we were traveling and was eager to help.  We could not thank her enough. 

            Virgin Gorda is amazing.  Not a whole lot to do but the perfect place to vacation or retire.  We set out for the day to make it down to the resort bay to go kayaking.  We have no car so we walk down the road and hitch hike with the first car we find.  We make it to the bay where we take another super small ferry to the resort part of the island.  It turns out that Nigel knows everyone on the island so every activity we do will be free for us as well.  Locals never have to pay just the tourists; so being with one certainly has its advantages.  We kayak to a smaller beach on another part of the island.  There are only two other people on this part of the island so Alex and I take advantage of this moment and work on erasing our tan lines.  

           

The next day, after the most amazing sleep ever, we head to “The Baths.”  It is a national park filled with boulders forming pools you can hike and climb through.  There are ropes to climb with and rocks to slide under, and all lead to another amazing pool.  We hike as far as we can go to the deserted pool and head for the water.  Eels and tropical fish swarm around us with no fear.  Alex pulls out her knife and cuts open a sea urchin.  All the fish come swimming up to feed.  Nigel takes the knife from here and leads us over to a rock where he begins to cut something off that slightly resembles an armadillo.  As he breaks the crustation away from the rock and cuts it our of its shell, he pops it in his mouth and eats it.  I am horrified.  He hands it to Alex, she eats it, and I am more horrified.  They then hand it to me.  I claim that I am not hungry and continue to snorkel. 

Gangster’s paradise, ST. Thomas

After only two nights, which was nowhere near long enough, passed it is time for us to say goodbye to Nigel and head out to St. Thomas, just another short ferry ride away. Alex chose a guy from couch a surfer to stay with who was nice enough to pick us up form the doc.  He owned his own taxi service and agrees to drive us anywhere we want to go.  “But first” he says, “I have to pick up some school kids.”

            “Fine with us.”

            We jump into the open back taxi that more resembles a trolley and enjoy the ride.  He stops off at an elementary school and picks up 11 kids and takes them to the beach for a field trip.  I have no idea how this is happening but I wish I went to this school.  They were supposed to go kayaking but since it was raining they decided to go to the beach instead.  Yes why did I not go to this school?  As we arrive at the beach I ask the kids if they would like to be in a photograph holding my “Live with Love” banner.  They agree with excitement and all pose with attitude.  I love this picture.

            Jimmy surprises us on our last night with tickets to see Damien Marley.  The concert went until 3:30 in the morning.  Not the best hour for a 9:00 a.m. international flight, but more than worth it.  He ended the concert with the finale of Welcome to Jamrock.  How fitting.  Jamaica or bust!!!!!

Jamaica May 22^nd

            After another all nighter, which I predict is going to be a trend the night before we have to travel, we finally make it to Kingston Jamaica.  We arrive at 1:40 p.m.  It is loud and crowded and people seem to be gathered everywhere outside.  We do not feel comfortable to be in Kingston alone so we catch the first bus to Bull Bay, which is a small surf town eight miles east of Kingston.  When we arrive there is nothing but concrete and broken down shacks for $25 dollars a night.  Since we have our own tent they allow us to camp on the concrete in the courtyard for $10 dollars a night.  We stay two nights. 

            May 24^th  The Great Huts Portland Jamaica

We ask the son who runs the surf camp where we should go to next if we wanted to see the real Jamaica.  He pointed east and said to head to Portland.

We hire his friend to drive us.  It was nothing but a small road filled with bumps and potholes in the middle of nothing but jungle.  It rains a lot here so everything is green and overgrown.  I attempt to fall sleep in the car but the swerving and the bumpy road does not make for a comfortable rest.  The drivers avoid the damaged road at all costs and all speeds so it is similar to driving in a video game.  

We end at a little oasis called The Great Huts.  It is a hippie commune where it is all jungle filled with little huts in all shapes and styles.  We ask for the cheapest hut, they are all out of our budget but it is the most amazing place we have ever seen, so we accept.  A woman walks us up a stone path where we have to make sure to walk on tree roots to get to our hut.  The hut has a 7 foot door way with a 3 foot door, just enough to cover us if we are changing.  It swings in and has no sort of lock.  It is a small circle hut with every inch of the walls hand painted in Jamaican hieroglyphics.  Everything in the room and resort is made form natural materials found in the local jungle and hand carved.  In the middle is a huge white bed with a mosquito net.  Down another crazy stone pathway there is a community bathroom and shower.  The shower is a bamboo half circle with no roof.  The only shower we are able to take here was in the rain.  It has been pouring rain since we got here and we were standing in the middle of the jungle naked and showering.  Amazing.  Little did we know this would be our last shower for eight days.  There is a drought in the whole area and there is no running water anywhere. 

May 26^th  “Boston bay”

            Night is going to fall for the third time in Portland Jamaica.  Our amazing stay at the great huts has to come to an end as NYC college students are renting out the whole resort.  Since we have no where to go and no place else for us to stay here we walk about 50 yards down the road, turned left at a broken and jagged rock wall and decide to camp on the beach. 

            As we turn the bend and go down the hill, nothing but crystal clear water welcomes us.  As we look closer two shirtless men also welcome us holding a hammer and machete.  You think this would be the part where fear sets in, but all is calm on the Boston Bay front.  They hand us a joint and bring us to a staircase they were in the middle of building which lead up the hillside.  We walk up the stairs as they are bringing up sand from the beach to lay over them, finishing each stair as we go.  The stairs are supported by bamboo, which they have secured with nails.  They are then filled with rocks form the beach and topped with sand.  AS we walk up the 8 hand crafted stairs we get to a huge platform at the top made in the exact same way as the stairs.  They had carved out a whole side of the hill and said it was all for us and told us to pitch our tent here.  It is so beautiful. 

            I guess a couple of the local boys overheard us saying we had nowhere to stay.  They began working right away.  I tell you, all the real men are in Jamaica. 

           

Our tent is pitched.  Done and done.  Now we just pray for no rain because we are not sure she will hold up.  I pull out peanut butter and guava jelly sandwiches from my bag and we have lunch.  We have enough to share with the boys.  They are in awe of this basic childhood pleasure as though it is their first time.  We plan to head out to Reach Falls and invite them to come.  They accept. This did mean of course that we would be paying for them, but we were happy to have the company. 

            We walk back up to the jagged broke down wall and wait to catch the bus.  Something half the size of our mini vans stops to pick us up.  We pay the driver $100 Jamaican dollars for each of us and find any open place to sit.  We take a short and very fast ride up into the hills just past Long Bay. 

May 26^th Reach Falls

As we hike down the road the sound of running water fills the jungle letting us know we are close.  We when arrive at the bottom pool we find yet another paradise.  Jamaica is full of them.  I dive right into the pull of freezing cold fresh water, which feels refreshing on this hot and humid day.  Alex follows.  The boys on the other hand think the water is too cold so they submerge inch by inch holding out as long as they can.  Their 80-degree oceans spoil them.

            We begin to climb the falls following their lead.  The rushing water beats down upon my face.  Every chance we get to the top of the fall and can jump into a new pool, we do so in style.  Fabian mainly does “the cannon boom” as he says.   As we reach the fourth pool Fabian jumps into a rock and disappears.  He yells for us to follow him.  Filled with intrigue I jump.  I pass through the rush of the water to find my-self in a huge dark cave.  Next he disappears again under another rock.  This time I see his hand come through the water to guide me through.  I duck my head under the jagged rock and take a huge breath.  This is an extraordinary day. 

            When we are done swimming in the falls the boys knock down four coconuts, chop them up with their machete, and tell us to drink up.  As we drink they are rolling their joints for the long 8 eight-mile hike down the road.  But this journey is beautiful.  It is fruit trees everywhere so, I’m sure breaking all laws, we help ourselves.  We sample many things, one of which I fell in love with, the Jamaican apple.  Its sweet and grainy texture reminds me of e pear as it melts across my tongue.  I could eat twenty of these.  All along the road are tons and tons o red coffee beans.  We collect as many of them as I can fit into my pocket in hopes of making a necklace when we get back to camp. 

            The moment we arrive back at the camp the boys light a fire and begin cooking right away.  They have this whole life down to a science.  I am not sure if they live here because they have nowhere else to live or because they choose to.  At this time I find it better not to ask.  After what seems about twenty minuets they deliver an amazing fish and plantain and rice dinner to our tent door and insisted we eat.  Fireflies fill the trees all along the coast of the bay as we eat dinner.  It is like I am living in a fairy tale, but there is no shower or running water.  I feel spoiled for the delicious Jamaican dinner, so to thank them I walked to the local store and bought a bottle of their strongest rum.  It cost me #6 American dollars.