She'd been too tired to notice the weather or much of anything the night before but as the plane descended into Kingston airspace and she looked out the window at the familiar scene, she realized she could feel the very air on her skin. After a couple years in the dry West, the moisture and warmth seemed to blanket her and even her lungs felt heavier, like the air was thicker and wetter.
After checking into the Four Seasons in New Kingston she was keyed up and energized, ready to get started on her refresher course in No Problem Mon. She wasn't scheduled to pick up her rental car until the next day but she needed to burn up some energy so she showered, changed, grabbed some cash and walked out into New Kingston to hunt a good meal and Q of rum.
the two major uptown centres of New Kingston and Half Way Tree. Nestling behind secure walls in
grounds embellished with a wide selection of bearing tropical fruit trees, the hotel exudes a
fascinating combination of continental European and Jamaican flavour.
She began to feel hungry and remembered her old time favorite spot for some spicy fare. She stopped a youth walking the opposite direction and asked if he knew the Kohinoor restaraunt, Indian food, and if it was still open. He'd never heard of it but an older lady sitting nearby told her "oh, long time ee gone, mon, oono mus a old time Town gyal ee?" She felt sad to hear she'd never have another wonderful Kohinoor chapati with mango chutney and curry green peas and beef. She sighed and walked on, then went to the Indies, which she could always depend on being there to serve her a wonderful jerk anything.
She sat in the patio at a table and sipped rum and grapefruit juice, enjoyed a cool breeze and some low reggae riddims wafting across the courtyard. She began to feel every muscle in her body relax as she came fully alive, her senses awakening to the smells of spices and flowers, her eyes and ears taking in the lovers in the corner whispering quietly, the tall colorful crotons, and the big belly men sitting at a table impressing each other with tales of race horse winnings and female conquests.
She nearly jumped into her clothes and was early at the Island Car rental the next day. She had a full agenda for this trip and didn't want to waste a moment. She wanted to see places in Jamaica this time she'd never seen, and some she hadn't visited in twenty years. Lynn had already decided to avoid all her old friends and their entanglements, because on her previous visit to Jamaica getting involved with an old flame that took her to a mosquito-infested villa in Black River had almost killed her with Dengue Fever.
She found some wonderful woven baskets but they were too bulky for the plane so she limited herself to jewelry, statues, masks, stone bead necklaces, a couple watercolor paintings, leather sandals, two photographs, t-shirts, and some carved shells. There was a beautiful silver and coral necklace she almost succumbed to but she held back, though it was worth every penny and more than they'd wanted for it. She placated her disappointment with two batique outfits.
She then drove out to Port Royal for some fry fish and bammy. She'd almost forgotten what bammy tastes like, it had been years since she'd left Florida and bammy, or even cassava flour, was not to be found in Colorado. After lunch she went for a swim outside Port Royal. She floated in the water, just laid in the water, motionless, staring at the sky, thinking about how things change and how things stay the same, and remembering another day in this same spot, so many years ago, floating in the water by the side of her poet, lover, newsman, soul-mate. A tear came to her eye as she missed him for the millionth time, wondered if he could see her here in the water and know she was thinking of him, and if she'd ever find another soul to be as close to as he.
That evening, after dark, she headed up to Red Hills Road to take stock of what changes had occurred up there. Amazingly, the seafood shop where she'd had her first lobster pattie was still there, but larger and with a different name, now run by the son of the man she'd met so many years ago when he converted an old two room house into a seafood restaurant.
There were some new nightclubs she'd never seen and she bar-hopped for an hour, then was AMAZED to find the Turntable Lounge was still open in the Tai Plaza. Oh the nights she had spent there til after dawn, so many years ago! She danced about a dozen times with men her age, in their forties, and even twice with a younger man, but not speaking much to him or he to her. She talked with a couple men and had a few drinks but skipped out "early," about 2, and realized as she drove back to Four Seasons her priorities had changed over the years. Where once dancing the night away til dawn on Red Hills Road would have been the high point of her trip, she now longed to hit the road early in the morning to tour the country places and best beaches in the island. Clearly she was not the urban party girl she had been in her youth, though she still loved to dance, but, apparently, in moderation.
Heading out of town on the coast road she passed Old Harbour and left the city, wondering how many years it would be before she returned.
She drove slower than in days of old on this road, which was winding with many dropoffs and narrow passages along the coast in Saint Thomas. Again she was reminded how crazy she once was and how much more cautious she'd become at 40.
She rented a room for one night at the Golden Shore and dropped off her bag, grabbed her camera and a beach towl and headed out. Driving around the area she was enveloped in color and beauty and the friendliness of the people.
She always did a lot of thinking during trips to Jamaica, but not stressing and planning and making mental To Do lists. Jamaica was always a place to come and put things in perspective, a more cosmic perspective, and realize what the important things are in life.
The water was cool and clear with no wave action, which was less usual for this side of the island. There wasn't a cloud in the sky for two hours and she even fell aslep for twenty minutes laying on the beach, until the scent of Deet wafted up into her nostrils and mind and woke her. She used a LOT of the stuff, due to being paranoid about mosquitos and the diseases they can and often do carry.
The raftman was a little extra "friendly" since she was traveling alone, but a perfect gentleman and very knowledgeable about the river and the inhabitants in and around the water. It was a bit too hot that day but staying wet helped and all in all it was a lovely trip and not a disappointment for her years of waiting.
But by the time she was back on the road in Port Antonio preparing to drive in the direction of MoBay, the romantic feelings for Jules passed and she was her free-spirited self again, with no regrets and no unrequited passions. As she drove into town she considered stopping in Buff Bay to visit an old friend. But then she realized he could be married, cohabiting, or even passed away, for all she knew. She stopped at a pharmacy in Port Antonio all the same, and picked up a package just in case the mood of the moment carried into the evening.
It was late afternoon when she reached the Sunflower Cottages in the Runaway Bay area that she would be using as home base for a few days. The cottage was small but clean and comfortable, with a nice yard and right on the sea. The staff was friendly and there were great places to eat and shop nearby and she heard, almost as soon as she got settled at a table to eat dinner, that there was a "session" at a "lawn" that she could attend that evening. The man in the jerk hut that told her about it not only knew the bartender here at the cafe but apparently, was the owner of the restaurant and he said he knew the folks that were holding the session. It may have been the herb she'd smoked before eating, or the rum she'd been drinking after, but he seemed to be a nice, well-mannered gent of about fifty with a "risto" Jamaican accent and she accepted his offer to go dancing with him that night, no strings attached, with the stipulation that she would drive her car there and back. Since he was fairly attractive, with some gray at the temples but a lean tight body, she put her "package" from the pharmacy in her bag when dressing that evening. Hey, she IS on vacation, right?
She met Vincent there at the cafe, then deserted, about 9:30 that night and they drove up into the hills a bit, finally coming to rest at a large wood plank fence with a cricket field on one side and a rum shop on the other. There were a few cottages scattered about but in the darkness she could see that this wasn't a residential neighborhood with densely-packed homes. No street lights of course, or sidewalks. People were beginning to pull up and park but mostly, a lot of motorcycles and pedestrians were arriving, giving more than a passing glance at Lynn as this was clearly a locals dance for the area people. Since the looks were not unfriendly or threatening, and Lynn was used to being places most tourists never went, she walked toward the gate with Vincent. Some distance off a small cluster of scantily-dressed Jamaican women looked her way. They said something inaudible but by tone, unfriendly, but Vincent took Lynn's elbow, strictly Old World style, and led her in, with the Jamaican women lowering their voices a notch or two.
Vincent and Lynn danced and drank and had a good evening listening to a mix of oldies Reggae from the seventies and eighties and some new "slack" stuff for the younger attendees that were there. There were only three very local DJ's there with names miltary or African in style. This wasn't a true "dancehall" dance; there were many more older persons (30-40's and up ) than she'd ever seen collected at a session like this. There were plastic lawn chairs about as well, and ancient metal folding chairs and a couple church pews along the fence. Yes church pews. Lynn was amused at that. There were many plastic or homemade wood tables about the yard in varying degrees of decay but functional and she felt this little bar must have been having these town dance sessions for years. There were about 5-600 people at the session and Vincent did indeed know the owners of the little bar on the "lawn" that was servicing the crowd.
With a nice vibe around the place and no arguments, rude boy style, or music to encourage it, the evening was pretty wonderful and the inevitable happened between Vincent and Lynn. After he drifted off to sleep Lynn snuck off to rest at Sunflower for a few hours before starting her days' adventures on the North Coast.
She decided to swing by Jarrett Park for old time's sake, to take a peek. She found the neighborhood a little more decayed but about the same, and the park was being used as a football field for practice by what appeared to be professional soccer players.
De Bus, plastered herself with Deet to ward off the sand flies, and hit the beach for some jerk chicken and Ting. She knew she might end up having trouble finding the right room til morning but she could always spend a night at Roots Bamboo if necessary and look in the morning.
And that is what happened. She didn't get to Roots until nearly midnight but the sense of old lang syne was strong as Roots had been her first resting place in Negril, back in 1983.
on the West End Cliffs.
She arrived in time at noon to rent the last cabin available that day, and thanked her Irish luck. She got her bag unpacked and borrowed some snorkel gear and hit the water for a wonderful afternoon vainly searching for colorful fish and turning her fingers and feet into prunes.
She drove down the beach until she couldn't hear that place anymore, toward Rutland Point, and stopped for her evening at a little bar on the beach between Charela and Firefly. She ended up in a long philosophical conversation about a thousand subjects (it seemed) with a pair from Atlanta and an old dread calling himself Mr. C, just Mr. C.
Christa and Larson (Lars) M-- had fallen into her discussion the night before about the South (U.S.) and that had led to hours of conversation and eventually the couple and Lynn decided to share a boat trip the next afternoon, splitting the costs and checking out Negril's reefs.
She didn't talk all that much to the Moores that day as, without the benefit of the previous night's rum, she realized she had less in common with them than she'd thought. They were nice people but a bit disappointed with some aspects of their trip, especially the harassment of beach vendors, which was understandable. They were first timers in Jamaica and had not caught that Irie bug of the place Lynn had caught so long ago. They doubted they'd come back but were more "making the best of things." Lynn thought they were oversensitive to the vendor issue but perhaps they'd led a more sheltered life . . .
On her last day in Jamaica she drove along the South Coast to Kingston, completing the circle she had begun there. She drove through beautiful Saint Elizabeth and stopped for lunch in Mandeville, then drove the final leg of her journey in through Manchester, past May Pen and Spanish Town, as she shuddered again, remembering her time spent in Spanish Town at Saint Jago de la Vega. But that's another story.
But the coconut talisman must have had dead batteries because when she arrived in Kingston the date and time on her tickets was the first of the stress and pressures to forebode her return to "civilization." She was late and to make the plane she'd have to abandon the rental car at the airport and call the rental company from Miami to tell them the keys were left at the Air Jamaica counter. So ended 12 days on tour in Paradise Lost.
