Jamaica

Jamaica Warmth

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Thursday

I was tired, and I twisted my ankle yesterday when getting into the sea, so I walked rather than ran in the exercise room this morning. It’s a very good exercise room—everything works (not always the case!) and there are remote buttons to work the air-con and telly, clean towels, wipes to clean the machines, a water dispenser and rubber mats for stretching afterwards. I think it would be too hot to run outside (plus we would probably be hit by a car on the crazy roads).

After breakfast we went back to the supermarket to buy more water. It was busier today, with security guards at the carpark entrance (free parking for 2 hours, but we needed to get the ticket stamped in the supermarket). We looked at the shops in the small precinct. Lots of bright clothes, a barber shop, two book shops, a shop of spare engine parts. Plus a toy shop—which displayed white babydolls in the window. Why white? Nearly everyone here is black. Makes no sense to me.

After the supermarket we went to look at a ‘craft fair’ opposite. It was full of stalls, all selling the same thing (as far as I could see)—brightly coloured dresses and hats, fridge magnets, beads, knitted goods, carved wooden goods. It reminded me of a similar craft fair we visited in Zambia. All the stall holders encouraged us to look at their goods (even though they were identical to the stall next door) and asked us to name our price. I checked the price of their fridge magnets (in Jamaican dollars). Most were $1,000 (about £5) though some were double and some were half that price. One lady was nice—friendly but not pushy, and her price was $600, plus she had some nice wooden magnets rather than just plastic ones. I bought one, and asked for a photograph. She was called Dianna. You can look for her if you ever visit Ocho Rios—I liked her.

One stall had an open Bible on the table. I asked the man serving what he was reading. He told me it was a Bible, and he had it open to encourage good vibes. I felt like I should say something—to maybe encourage him to read it, or to ask him what he believed—but it felt inappropriate. Not the time for a deep discussion, and I thought it might appear intrusive. (I tend to react against the ‘scalp-hunting’ mentality that typified my teenaged religious experience.)

We drove home without incident. It was a fun little excursion, and I feel more comfortable now. I am used to being the only white person.

Friday

Another lovely day in Jamaica. After running in the gym, we had breakfast next to the sea. I had pancakes. The menu lists the food—so it said banana pancakes with caramalised banana and maple syprup. I have learnt that when I order food here, I need to include the whole description, otherwise half the dish is missing. (So when I ordered grilled fish and veg, I received grilled fish and veg—but not the potatoes or sauce listed in the menu), Today I forgot, and asked for pancakes. Therefore I received plain pancakes. Luckily I relised my error and snaffled a banana from the fruit plate. Nice breakfast.

As we walked back to our room I threw some leftover toast into the sea (I have watched other guests doing this). Lots of striped ffish (I think called Sargeant Major fish) scurried over (can fish scurry? These could!) to eat it. Fun.

We chatted to one of the hotel managers, who spotted that we are new guests (most people have been coming here for years, and the staff also tend to stay, so it has a family atmosphere). The hotel is relatively small (50 rooms) and there is a sense of space and privacy even when (like this week) there are no vacant rooms. It has also hosted a few famous faces (Marilyn Monroe honeymooned here).

We heard there is a deserted beach further along the coast, so drove there. Driving in Jamaica is quite an adventure—massive pot holes to avoid, while someone sits inches from your bumper (sometimes beeping) and drivers whiz towards you on the wrong side of the road. Husband is very calm in these situations, and we arrived without incident (but personally, I would never drive here). We followed Google Maps to Duncan beach, and parked on the verge of an unmade road, near to where some houses are being built. There was a pathway, towards the sea. It looked private, but we went along it anyway. At the end, a man was leaning against a tree, watching us. We asked if we were allowed there—was this the right way to the beach? He smiled, and waved us on, and said yes, we were welcome, have a great day. This typifies my interaction with people here—they have mostly all been friendly, smiley, and helpful.

The beach was narrow, with volcanic rock beneath the surface of the water—the water was turquoise, and warm, and completely clear. We walked along the beach for a while, looking for shells, finding washed-up coconuts, and saweed, and lots and lots of plastic bottles. In the sea, tiny fish darted (these were not the scurrying kind) and crabs scuttled away from us. It was very sunny, so we didn’t stay too long (I have already managed to burn one arm, which was very silly of me). We ate a picnic of digestive biscuits and water before driving back to the hotel.

As we drove, I tried to take photos, to capture a flavour of the place. This part of Jamaica (St, Anns/Ocho Rios) has some luxury resorts, and some fairly basic-looking housing. Everywhere has bright colours. Goats and dogs wander next to the road. There are a few places with heavy industry, linked to the bauxite quarrying. (Bauxite is a metallic mineral, and it’s the only source of extractable aluminium.) Bauxite is a soft red clay, and as we drove near to where it was being loaded onto ships, the road and trees were tinged with the red dust. I worry it might not be too healthy for people living nearby. I didn’t manage to capture photos of the fishing boats bobbing on the sea, or the children playing, or the animals. But you can see how green everywhere is, with lush plants filling almost every space, and trees covered with vines and air-plants.

I have enjoyed Jamaica, even though we have seen very little of it. Maybe next time we will do more touring, and try to see more of the island, but even this short week has given us a flavour of the place (and a warm flavour of rum and smiles). The service here is warm and relaxed, and you have to lean into the pace and forget the English schedules. Jamaica is a place to relax.

I hope you find time to relax too this week. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

I am going to miss the fruit punch!

anneethompson.com

More Jamaica Inn

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I am beginning to relax into the rhythm here. I wake about 5, and lie in bed, listening to the frogs (which are very loud—they sound like the ceiling fan is struggling to turn, a volley of squeaks—they start at sunset and continue until dawn). At 6 am an urn of Blue Mountain coffee is put out on the veranda. It’s super-strong, and kick-starts the day wonderfully. Today as I stood on the veranda, looking across the palm trees to the sea, something wafted, very quickly, overhead, then disappeared behind the branches. Pretty sure it was a ghost, pale grey, silent, floating at speed. Began to wonder what, exactly, might be in the coffee. Then the ghost reappeared, did a speedy lap of the bar and library before floating back towards the sea. A huge grey bat. It was light grey, and much bigger than the mouse-like bats we have living in our garden at home. I don’t know much about bats, or whether they bite people, so I went back to the room. (Later research found it was probably a fruit bat.)

The library, sans bat.

I persuaded Husband to come to the exercise room, and ran for half an hour. Then we had a quick dip in the pool before breakfast. We have freshly squeezed orange juice, strong coffee, and a whole selection of food. I’m trying to not eat too much fat (many meals here, so bit of a losing battle). I tend to order mint tea, porridge (called oatmeal) and fresh fruit. Then I eat bits of Husband’s Egg Benedict or pastries or toast, and steal sips of his coffee. He has started moving his food further along the table…

Breakfast room.

There are activities here, which Husband is keen to investigate and I am keen to avoid. He has already made friends with some croquet players, and today he plans to go out in a boat and snorkel. I want to stay in the room, staring at the beautiful view, reading theology books. Today, by chance, I have started to read a book by J.Richard Middleton, about the image of God or imago Dei. He begins by explaining that as a white man growing up in Jamaica, surrounded by mainly black friends and neighbours, he felt unsure about his identity, which led to his research into the imago Dei.  (Genesis describes humans being created ‘in the image of God’ and people have decided this is what defines us—and they then argue about what exactly ‘the image of God’ might be!) It feels very appropriate to be reading a book written by a Jamaican, about an aspect of creation, while being in Jamaica, surrounded by Eden-like beauty. I will let you know what he writes (unless it’s boring—some theology books are best forgotten).

While reading Mr. Middleton’s book, a waiter appeared on the veranda, delivering drinks to the room next door. He asked if we had had our complimentary drinks, and said we are entitled to a free drink every day, after 11, from the bar. I’m not sure if this is true. He then said he would collect us some—would I like a rum? Well, it would have been rude to refuse. He yelled to the man in the beach bar, telling him to bring us a complimentary rum. (Husband had an orange juice. You can make a man retire, but you can never remove the accountant within.) I drank my rum. It was strong. Feeling very fuzzy. Mr. Middleton is now not making as much sense as he did 10 minutes ago!

Tuesday

We spent the day at the hotel. It’s too perfect to want to leave.

We have to dress smartly for dinner here—men must wear long trousers and a shirt with a collar. It’s quite fun.

This evening they set up the beach area for a gala. There were drinks on the terrace then a buffet on the beach. Lanterns were strung from the trees, and a band played. I had bit of a headache, which was a shame. They let us take our food back to the room—a waiter carried a tray and set up the table on our veranda with a cloth, salt and pepper, cutlery and napkins, glasses of iced water, a basket of fresh bread—as well as the plates of food we had collected. We could see the beach, with lanterns hanging from trees, and hear the band playing. It was a shame to miss it, but where we ate was still beautiful. This is one of the things I love about this hotel—they seem to genuinely want you to have a lovely time, there are very few ‘rules’ and if you prefer to eat alone on your private veranda, well that’s fine, and they will carry your food and set your table, and do everything they can to make it special.

I hope you have something special today, wherever you are. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Jamaica Inn

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Day 6

A travelling day. Never fun. Miami airport was quite difficult to negotiate, with various steps which were not obvious. We flew with American Airlines, which involved checking-in at the airport (using a screen, but it needed a person to verify our documents so not possible to check-in ahead of schedule in the hotel). Then we had to add the labels and drop our bags ourselves, which always makes me nervous. But all was fine. The security check was as rude as most security checks in the US, with officials snapping instructions, and our stuff whisked away on the conveyor belt before we were ready, and then it arrived in a heap the other side, with no time to snatch our belongings before the rude person operating the machine dumped another lot of belongings on top—so we lost a nail (but not a finger) and nearly lost a passport, and the man next to us couldn’t find his backpack and all was confusion and stress.

To enter Jamaica we needed to complete an online form—the website was at the airport (though not advertised in advance, so was unexpected). We used our phones to complete the form while we waited for our flight, and then when we landed in Montego Bay we used the machines to scan our passports, and it photographed us and printed out a thin document, which allowed access to the country. It was very efficient.

One of the declarations on the form asked whether we had an fruit or veg. I had a packet of walnuts and almonds to snack. Did that count as fruit? I seem to remember that the outbreak of foot and mouth in the UK a few years ago was due to a lorry driver throwing away a ham sandwich. But I don’t know how anyone would know that, so possibly a myth—though the fact I had heard it made me wonder whether it was possible, and therefore whether carrying nuts—even processed ones from a supermarket—might be a problem. I decided I was too scared of security guards to not declare it, and too scared of Husband being annoyed because we would be delayed at the airport if I did declare it, so I threw them away before we left Miami. What a waste.

We arrived in Jamaica, picked up a hire car, drove to Jamaica Inn. Beautiful spot. It was like giving birth—instantly forgot the pain of travel in the wonder of being somewhere beautiful. I won’t remember it properly until I have to travel again, and then the horror of airports will come flooding back!

Day 7

I am writing this in our outside sitting area. We have never had one of these before, the hotel room is a suite, with the doors from the bedroom leading to a covered patio with sofas, dining area, fridge and lamps. The open side looks across the garden to the beach. Rather lovely. It’s currently raining. It seems to rain a lot here—warm wet showers that make the banana leaves glisten. In a few minutes it will stop, the sun will break through the clouds and the air will be warm and moist. Easy to relax in a place like this.

After breakfast on the terrace, we went to find a supermarket. Most were shut (it’s Sunday) but we found one online with a big car park, about 10 minutes from the hotel. Driving there was easy but we needed to be aware—lots of potholes in the road, fast drivers coming towards us and the car behind sitting inches from our bumper. We are the only people in Jamaica who obey the speed limits (but we’re foreign, I don’t expect they would be kind if we were caught speeding).

The supermarket was a mini adventure in itself. Supermarkets in other countries are always unfamiliar; this one had high shelves, and narrow aisles. We took a shopping trolley from outside, and searched the shelves for bottles of water and bread for lunch (because the hotel provides breakfast, tea and dinner, but we didn’t want to pay extra for lunches too). I felt very foreign, I was the only white person, and I was aware that people spoke very fast in a dialect that was hard to understand, so I walked round smiling at people but trying to look as if I knew what I was doing. At the checkout, the shop assistant told us we couldn’t take the trolley outside, there were other ones for going to the car. I went outside, found a metal trolley, started to take it into the shop, but a man stopped me, said it wasn’t allowed. I explained the situation, apologised, went back inside. The assistant told me I could not take the trolley outside. Another assistant appeared with a metal trolley, said she would push it, customers were not allowed. Now, this was difficult. In all probability, there was a system which we did not understand—but it was possibly a scam and the person pushing the trolley for us would expect to be tipped and be nasty if we refused. Difficult. Husband (who also spotted the possibility of a scam) politely refused, said we were fine, he could carry the water, our car was nearby. They looked confused (which probably indicates it wasn’t a scam) and let us carry our groceries. At the door, we were stopped by the man who wouldn’t allow me to move the trolley, and asked for our receipt. He took it, wrote something on it, handed it back. Husband checked it, we said thank you, left. I noticed as we left that the man who was behind us in the checkout also showed his receipt as he left. There was obviously a system here, which we didn’t understand. Maybe if you pack your own bag you need to show your receipt before you leave. I don’t know. We left, feeling foreign, got in the car, locked the doors—though nothing had been at all threatening, we just didn’t know the system. Drove back to the hotel without incident.

The hotel is lovely, too beautiful to describe though I’m hoping the photos give some idea. It’s not cheap—it’s Husband’s birthday treat, a once-in-a-lifetime trip. Most of the guests are English or American, and mainly white. The staff are all local, and I can’t help wondering what they think of us, a whole hotel of mostly white-skinned guests visiting their lovely island. I don’t know why I am noticing this. In SriLanka we were the only white people, and on some of our trips to India and to China. But it feels different here—I wonder if it’s because I know there was a history of slavery here, or because in the UK some of the dark-skinned people at university talk a lot about the history of slavery and systemic racism—whereas those of Chinese or Indian ethnicity do not, so I am less aware of the difference, less worried about how they view me, a white person. I don’t know.

We are right on the coast, but behind us are mountains. Everywhere is lush with plants. The coast seems to be full of resorts, with private coves and fancy hotels. The roads are less plush, and many of the buildings are either half-built or falling down (it’s sometimes hard to tell which one). There are brown dogs wandering around (not sure of the breed—maybe thin golden retrievers) and goats, and thin horses. Not sure why the horses are thin, as there’s lots of grass, maybe they are naturally lean, like the herd of cracker cows we saw in Florida which survive the heat because they are thin and muscular rather than fat. The road is lined with large billboards, often faded by the sun.

The island is very beautiful, and the people seem friendly and helpful. I will tell you more in another post. I have never stayed in such a luxurious resort, it’s such a treat.

Hope you have some treats planned too. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x