Boston Bay, Port Antonio & Negril - Negril, Jamaica
Negril, Jamaica
It really is true that people make the place - and once again I have been fortunate to spend the majority of the week in the company of great people. Arriving at Great Huts wasn't exactly what I expected. Parts of the property were absolutely amazing with the buildings being sculpted around the natural landscape and creatively reflecting Jamaica’s connection to African culture. It was also stipulated at the time of booking that anyone staying at Great Huts needs to be willing to share the place with local wildlife and this didn’t bother me. In fact I grew quite fond of the giant cockroach that lived on the outside of the mosquito net right above my head – ensuring he was my first sight each morning. However, I do think some of the small details let the place down a little. For example, there were no lights or locks on the communal showers which had the potential to go all kinds of wrong, the only available food was full meals that had to be pre-ordered, and somehow there was a lack of ventilation in my hut (35 USD per night) despite the absence of an actual door. In the dry season this likely wouldn’t be a problem, but in November the Portland skies had a tendency to open up out of nowhere and pour with rain for ten minutes a couple of times a day which meant that the contents of my pack gradually developed a damp mustiness that wouldn’t dry out as the week progressed. Still – these are the only things I can possibly criticise and I would go back to Port Antonio and Boston Bay in a heartbeat.
Boston Bay was the perfect place to base myself. It is a tiny area about 15 minutes east of Port Antonio that is developed around a small cove known for great surf and the origin of jerk meats. This remains the claim to fame and the main strip was simply a collection of jerk stalls which sell slow cooked jerk chicken, pork and fish based on old family recipes for around 4 to 6 USD a plate – resulting in a fragrant spicy smoke (mixed with the standard cannabis haze that encompasses Jamaica) constantly hanging overhead. As expected, the first time I walked through this area, stall owners intensely vied for business or dates in about an equal ratio. But the thing I love about small communities is that you soon become known to everyone and I was able to progress from the generic title of "whitey" in Kingston to calls of “New Zealand” or “Nicky” accompanied by a variety of funky handshakes each time I went outside. Some of my most treasured moments subsequently came from sitting with the stall cooks as they prepped for dinner, or hanging out at the local bar where the bartender continued the mission of teaching me to dance like a Jamaican (I will post video later) and others’ sought to increase my understanding of Patwa or current slang. I love that it turned out to be true Jamaican people say “yahman” all the time, and my other favourite terms acquired have included “soon forward” (see you soon); “wagwan” (what’s going on); and “ting irie” (is everything alright / how are you). However, I think the winning line came from a young man at the homeless shelter which was “rastatute” (a guy that gets dreads and pretends to be a rasta because they think it will give them a better chance at sleeping with or dating a foreign women) which he explained in such a funny way that both of us were crying with laughter.
Volunteering at the homeless shelter was an interesting experience. I was only there for two days so I have to admit that my observations are limited – but it appeared the type of issues that contributed to some residents homelessness (I.e. mental health issues, having escaped from violent relationships, and deportation from other countries) had a very negative stigma amongst the general community; and severe under-resourcing meant the primary focus had to be on securing enough money to simply feed the residents and other homeless people in the area and upgrading the parts of the building that were leaking or covered in mould. While I understand these basic needs have to be prioritised, it was sad that with the exception of one recently arrived volunteer no one seemed to spend any time with the residents and there appeared a total absence of rehabilitative or reintegrative work occurring. Ie. none of the residents had an intervention plan and there were no relevant structured activities. Yet most of the residents backgrounds and resulting needs were so similar to what we what we would deal with everyday at work (without the complication of offending behaviour) or any community mental health team, and with the right (qualified) staff so much could be achieved. A further ethical / moral dilemma I faced was that I suspect a couple of the residents may have been misdiagnosed (and appeared quite heavily medicated) - yet I am not licensed to practise in Jamaica so there was nothing I could do and without access to full medical histories it would be premature to really question these anyway. But it was because of these emerging dilemmas I didn’t extend my time at the shelter and instead spent my final days in the region walking or catching route taxis for around 1 USD to pretty local spots such as Frenchman’s Cove (7.80 USD entrance fee) and Blue Lagoon (free entry).
As I said earlier, I think people always have a significant influence on my experience of a place and my time at Boston Bay was undoubtedly enhanced by the other travellers there. This included a young guy with an endless amount of energy from Holland, a laid back girl from Texas, and a beautiful couple from Wales – all of whom had a great sense of humour and adventure. Despite our eclectic backgrounds, we certainly had a shared sense of shock when watching the American election results together on Tuesday night. This was the talk of the town the next day and one of the things I have realised is that when Jamaican people are passionate about something – their speech becomes so rapid and heavily accented I can barely understand it – and the shared taxi ride the next day with a group of highly animated Jamaican women expressing their distain for Trump was like being part of a comedy skit. It wasn’t all great social experiences though and I had my share of awkward moments. The worst, which I still feel terrible about, was with a Jamaican man I met at a party who told me about a bonfire on the beach the following night. I had the impression that it was a regular social event so although I said that it sounded good and I might see him there – when it started to rain I decided to stay indoors with other friends. I then found out via a local man that the bonfire was not a routine occurrence and although everyone would have gone along once they saw it - the young man had spent the day collecting the wood and building it by himself so I would hang out with him and then I didn’t show up so it was never lit! I did eventually find him and apologise but I think I really hurt his feelings because he barely spoke to me again!
Thankfully all this partying does not come with a high price tag when you stick to local hangouts in Jamaica (or don’t turn up at all!). I.e. a beer cost around 2.30 USD; a rum and lemonade cost around 1.20 USD, and a small bag of cannabis that would make a couple of joints cost around 0.40 USD in Boston. I was told that things may be a little more expensive when I headed for the tourist mecca of Negril on Friday morning and repeatedly warned I would regret going there as it was not “the real Jamaica”. I hate to admit it but they were a little right and in hindsight I wish I had stayed in Boston Bay longer. However, Negril did grow on me slightly and it wasn’t all bad hanging out at 7-mile beach and watching the cliff diving at Rick’s café despite its super touristy nature. It was also really easy to get there because it is such a major tourist destination. And while a guy I met in Boston offered to drive me (which I assume would have had a few strings attached), I have been consistently under budget since I got here so I had more than enough money to catch the flash air-conditioned Knutsford bus (which I think cost about $35 USD) that departs at 6am every day to travel the four hours to from Port Antonio to Negril. I stayed in a dorm at a place called Judy House (20 USD per night) whilst in Negril which was ok but I think some type of travel karma caught up on me and the only other people there the first few nights were a little beyond my realm of crazy. I.e. there was a French girl who was so stoned throughout the day she could barely speak and never left the hostel; countered by an American boy who never stopped talking – mostly about his experience of being abducted and forced to undergo surgery by aliens a few years ago.
So not surprisingly I spent the majority of my time in Negril alone or with friendly locals who would sit and chat with me on the beach, until the arrival of a lovely girl from Sweden who agreed to do a 10km walk with me in the peak of the Negril sun to a lighthouse that the Lonely Planet said you were allowed to climb. While we made it to the lighthouse and were let inside the locked gates by a slightly dodgy man who had keys – we weren’t allowed to climb it so I had to give up on my intended pararamoic photo of the coastline and settle for a close up shot of the relatively ugly concrete lighthouse! Having ticked off these monumental feats, I decided to leave Negril early and head for Treasure Beach which is much more my style. Even though it was only a couple of hours away I did notice that I felt a little nervous the morning I was leaving which I think was due to the fact I had to take at least three different shared taxis to get there – which based on my logic means there are triple the odds of something going wrong along the way. While I didn’t have any problems, I did find out enroute that the shuttles between Savana-la-mar and Black River weren’t running so I had to divert to a place called Whitehouse which I had never heard of before and I then got stuck there for a little bit as there was a pretty nasty murder where the victim had been ambushed in the middle of road (which makes it the second murder I have come across since I arrived in Jamaica). I also got overcharged about 3 USD on the final route leg from Black River which I knew at the time I got into the taxi but I couldn’t be bothered arguing - although in hindsight I wish I had just because I don’t want the driver to think he can overcharge tourists. He did, however, leave straight away rather than waiting for other customers to fill up the vehicle and dropped me off at the place I am staying rather than the central strip which meant the entire trip from Judy House to Welcoming Vibes (where I am currently based) still came in at less than 10 USD.
And I would still say that travelling in Jamaica has been humbling because of the amount of kindness and protectiveness I have been shown by the local people. For example, I found it particularly adorable in Whitehouse when a school boy that must have only been about 8 years old took it upon himself to reassure me I was safe and he would look after me (as we stood by the murder scene); and then at Black River a guy in his mid-20s that had been in my last vehicle escorted me a couple of blocks after we had to rapidly bail from our ride early because it was an illegal taxi and we were approaching a police block to make sure that I was ok. These things make such a difference when travelling alone and I hope that I always remember what it feels like to be on the receiving end of such genuine acts of kindness, and ensure I repay the favour to others whenever possible. One of the other things I have been reflecting on is whether some of my ambivalence toward certain places when travelling (I.e cities) is more about the fact I can feel a little hesitant when I first arrive in unfamiliar settings, and it takes me a few more days to get my bearings and thus feel comfortable in bigger areas. Still - this is not a personal flaw I need to work through just yet as the small size of Treasure Beach means that it falls right in my comfort zone! I will write about Treasure beach next week but I will quickly say that consistent with the rest of my time in Jamaica - I keep catching myself smiling and thinking about how grateful I am to have a life where I am able to travel like this.
One last thing before I sign off for the week – I should have said in the previous entry that my photos are a little deceiving as the streets are actually quite busy here but I don’t think its polite to photograph people without asking permission hence why most my photos are taken in the quieter areas when there are few people around. I do hope that you are all well. I am really sorry to hear about all the earthquakes going on at home which must be incredibly stressful, and I hope that no one has been hurt or left dealing with major property damage. My thoughts are certainly with you.
Love
Nicky