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.