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Published: January 20th 2006
In The Beginning
The start of our Black River Safari Tour. The sky is blue, the river is black, and the mountains are in the distance. What more can you ask for?BLACK RIVER SAFARI ADVENTURE TOUR
We started at about 9:00am from the "bus terminal" in downtown Kingston. It was just Nancy, Dr. Pedro, and I. And by "bus terminal", I should clarify that I mean a place where deformed, maltreated, and attention-starved shacks on wheels are parked so that men in drug-induced stupors can be paid by drivers to herd riders onto particular buses....sometimes despite their intended destination. Hence, we ended up on a bus bound to somewhere (Lord only knows where) other than our initial destination: Black River. Once on the bus, an argument erupted between one of the aforementioned men in a drug-induced stupor and a Rastafarian who was sitting on the bus next to Pedro. The man, who had previously been smoking ganja outside of the bus, climbed on and told the rasta he'd have to move his bag, which occupied precious floor space, if he wanted to ride the bus. The rasta refused, thus inducing rage in the man who was hell-bent on squeezing 30 people onto a minibus made for 20. In the end, the rasta moved his bag and the space was quickly occupied by another rider. Twenty minutes later, we finally left the
Ten Little Birdies Sitting In A Row...
Egrets not only nest in the trees along the riverbanks, but it is known on no uncertain terms that they own the boats tethered along the docks, as well. bus terminal and had officially started our 2 1/2 hour ride to Black River. Or rather, that was the predicted amount of time that we expected to ride. The traffic had other plans and the ride took about 4 hours. As we sat in traffic on the busy highway, the loud-mouthed woman in the back decided she could no longer wait and so climbed off the bus to urinate. Unfortunately, bathrooms are scarce on highways (duh!) so the woman ended up squatting in front of our minibus. This would have been fine had either side of the space see was peeing in been concealed and had the truck in front of us not chosen that exact moment to finally move forward. As fate would have it, our peeing woman was left with her pants around her ankles while cars driving by on the opposite side of the road stared in wonderment. I wish I could report that the rest of the drive was uneventful, but this is Jamaica, people. There's no such thing as uneventful. So as we continued to drive, Rasta was still steaming about his run-in with the man at the bus terminal and had stated, in rather
Giant Mangrove Trees on Black River
The river really is black from the soil that lies below, and gigantic mangrove trees grow on either side of the river. loud and indiscreet terms, that he was only going to pay for half the bus fare since only one of his butt cheeks was actually touching the seat, since he was developing arthritis in one leg and since his other leg was entirely numb. The Rasta soon found more to complain about, as he wasn't satisfied with the choice or volume of the music. Thus, as he was sitting in the very back of the bus and the driver was, obviously, in front, he repeatedly yelled "DRIVER, MUSIC" and "DRIVER, VOLUME," to which the driver repeatedly mumbled under his breath "Shut yer mouth rasta fi ya gwan meet me gun." Several minutes passed silently, then the rasta broke into argument with the loud woman who had peed in front of the bus, during which the rasta called the rest of the bus-riders impure for eating meat and the loud lady called the rasta a dirty old man with smelly, unwashed hair. Luckily for Pedro, Rasta had a problem controlling his spit, so with each complaint, a wave of slobber washed over Pedro's face. One thinks it might have been enough of an experience just riding the bus and skipping the
Pete the Crocodile
Really, his name is Pete. Or so they tell you on the Black River Safari tour. safari altogether. But alas, we eventually arrived in Black River via a nice taxi driver in a red hat who pulled over to pick up passengers on several occassions despite the fact that the car was already full. Red Hat Driver dropped us off right at the Black River Safari for only an extra $100 ($1.50), though, so we didn't complain.
The safari was terrific! Black River is just gorgeous and, come to find out, is not only the longest river in Jamaica, but is the only river where salt and fresh water meet. The riverbanks were overflowing with egrets and herons and birdlife of all kinds, not to mention enormous mangrove trees whose branches grow straight up out of the water. We saw quite a few crocodiles and those of us with no brains (aka, Nancy, Pedro, and several other crazy Americans) dove into the water for a swim. One of said crazy Americans was Mike, a portly fellow with a propensity toward wearing too-tight speedos that are entirely worn out in the back thus allowing innocent passersby to view much of his blindingly white behind. And Mike did several cannonballs unabashedly, so we viewed his blindingly white
The Tragedy Of See-Through Speedos
A fellow American tourist was unfortunate enough to a) not only wear a speedo, but b) wear a speedo that was entirely too small AND worn out in the bottom so you could see his crack. tré unfortunado. behind on several unfortunate occasions. We were sad to see our new friends leave, and it was with great distress that we got back in Red Hat Driver's taxi (he gave us his cell phone number so we could call him when we were finished. would that ever happen in the US?) to return to Santa Cruz, where we would catch our bus back to Kingston. In Santa Cruz, it should be mentioned, our bus driver first smoked a ganja spliff, drank a bottle of Guinness, then climbed onto the minibus and started the engine. Thus, it was another long and crazy drive back to Kingston, during which I am proud to announce that Pedro threw caution to the wind and peed on the side of the road for the first time. (I promised not to post the pictures we took, but believe me...they're entertaining.) We arrived home safe and sound at about 10:00pm.
More Mayhem In Montego Bay
We started at about 9:00am from St. Pius. Nancy, Pedro, Lesroy and I all piled into Lesroy’s car and settled in for the long drive to Montego Bay. Other than a small incident at the gas station, in
En route to Mo Bay
During hurricane season, many of the palm trees lose their tops in high winds and rains, leaving open fields to look a little something like this. which Lesroy (a seminarian, mind you) yelled at the gas station attendant for about ten minutes (and that’s not an exaggeration) because she had waved him forward to the next pump and he hadn’t seen her. We tried repeatedly to stop him but he was, apparently, enjoying himself. After this nasty display, we set out for MoBay, Nancy as our navigator, Pedro sleeping in the back left, and my squished into the seat behind Lesroy and his long legs on the right. Other than a few small traffic delays and flood detours, our ride was successful and only took about 4 hours. Our first stop was at KFC to pee, then the convent to put our stuff down and change, then the beach!
Oh, the beauty of the beach in Montego Bay. You can see picture after picture, but it’s never the same as being there, in person, with your feet submersed in the warm, turquoise waters and your toes curling in the white sand. Nancy and I had purchased snorkels and goggles for our attempts at snorkeling but they turned out to be just that….attempts….as the goggles were made for children and barely fit over our heads, never
Doctor
The torquoise and blue of the water in the Caribbean is absolutely breathtaking. And warm. You can't beat warm. mind keep the salt water out of our eyes. So we had to settle on standing on the reef and watching the brightly colored fish through the surface of the water. The afternoon was incredibly relaxing, not to mention a bit hilarious when we discovered the man we can only hope was either a) gay or b) European who was building sand castles in his little black and green polka-dotted speedo. Our parking pass set to expire at 4:53, we were a bit concerned at 5:00 when Lesroy still hadn’t returned from his walk along the beach. We split into teams and Nancy and Pedro stayed on the beach to look for Lesroy while Sr. Priesta and I went to wait by the car. Upon our return to the car, we found a man beside the passenger side door, his back to the traffic, and upon further approach of the car, we saw this man zip up his pants and step over the puddle of urine he had so graciously left on the ground in front of him. He tried to sell us some line about “guarding” the car for us and then proceeded to ask for money for doing
It Was An Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Black Polkadot Speedo
Someone should really talk to people about appropriate beach-wear. such a noble thing as “guarding” the car for us.
When everyone had finally returned to the car, we headed home to shower, but we weren’t there for long before turning around to go back downtown and hit up Margarittaville for dinner. Jimmy Buffet’s very own restaurant. And, a little known fact - Jessica, the lady we go to the prison with, is married to a helicopter pilot whose job it is to fly Jimmy Buffet around the island whenever he visits Jamaica looking for places to build new restaurants. Crazy eh? So, dinner went off without a hitch: the ambiance was great as there was a steel drum band playing reggae music and Lesroy was showcasing his dance skills. Then all the old people started showing up and the tables were moved to make space for the dance floor, at which point I turned around to say something to Pedro and was instead whisked into the arms of a giant green parrot who wanted to Tango. Good thing I’m a great dancer and an even better improviser. I showed that parrot and thing or two about dancing, alright. The dancing continued into the wee hours of the morning.
Sunset in Montego Bay
I love the light breaking through the clouds...how lovely. On the bottom floor of the restaurant, a DJ spun the latest and greatest Jamaican dancehall tunes mixed with some good ‘ol fashioned hippity-hop. On the top floor a live band belted out reggae, including a string of Bob Marley’s greatest hits. We alternated between the top and bottom floors, dancing our hearts out and downing water in obscene quantities because we were thirsty as heck and had no money for decent alcohol. A bit into the night, Nancy, Pedro, and I found permanent dance partners who showed us the ins and outs of Jamaican dancing, while Lesroy stood to the side of the dance floor doing his own willybounce and shaking his head. At night’s end, the three of us had managed to acquire the phone numbers of our dance partners (though I don’t think any of us actually asked for the numbers or even wanted them), and I think we can say it was a good night had by all.
All Aboard The Death-Mobile To Negril
To bed at 2:30 and up again at 9:00 to decide what to do with the rest of the day. Our original plan was to find some sort of
The Guardian
We walked back to our car from the beach to find this man peeing on the side of our car. When he spotted us, he claimed to have been "guarding" it for us, and wanted money for his noble services. cheap activity in MoBay, but it turns out there ARE no cheap activities in MoBay, other than lying on the beach, which we’d done sufficiently the day before. Thus, after throwing some ideas around, we agreed that driving westward to Negril would be a grand idea, and off we went. The drive to Negril is just a lovely, if not moreso, than the drive to MoBay. Swiveling between towering palm trees and large expanses of green fields and effervescent water on which sit little brightly painted fishing boats. It’s like a dream. So after an hour and a half of driving, we arrived in Negril just in time for lunch. Is it goes, the place we decided to stop for lunch only had enough food to feed 3 people, and we were a group of 4, so we had 45 minutes to kill before they had cooked enough food to feed all of us at once. In the spare time, we did some trespassing and exploring of the hotels and caves that lay on the coastline. Pedro and I descended a large flight of stairs then maneuvered our way over slippery wave-washed stones and around sharp, pointy rocks to where
Look A Gift Shark In The Mouth
Me, Nancy, Lesroy, and Pedro in the shark's head at Margaritaville in Montego Bay. we could put our toes in the water if we dodged the giant crabs just so. Turns out there was a group of topless swimmers, too, which was not at all to Pedro’s chagrin. After taking a few photos and attempting several death-defying stunts, we found our way back to the “restaurant,” ate a hearty lunch, then continued onward to the glorious white sand beaches for which Negril is renowned. Within minutes we had lost Lesroy (again), but didn’t mind because the sun was shining, the water was warm, and we had been offered ganja (again) before we had hardly set foot on the sand.
Now, the beach in Negril is not renowned for any old reason. It’s a seven-mile long expanse of white sand and turquoise water and green palms that’s absolutely breathtaking and absolutely overrun by tourists. And where there are tourists, there are Jamaicans scrambling frantically to sell their goods. And so as I walked along the beach to take pictures, I was offered about 300 necklaces, a couple towels, a talking bong, some “original” pieces of artwork, several pairs of slippers, and a pineapple smoothie. Too bad I was broke. I was also asked, on
several occasions, whether Lesroy, “the tall whitey”, was my husband, and then was told that Jah would bless me with a man when I was ready. Thank goodness I have so many Rastafarians looking out for me.
It wasn’t long before our reason for going to Negril in the first place - to see the sunset from the western-most point of the island - was upon us. It had been several hours since we arrived and we still hadn’t seen any sign of Lesroy and the sun was finally starting to set. As Nancy played in the water and I took pictures, we looked over to see Pedro being picked up by a couple of Jamaican “dancers” who wanted to show Pedro a good time. Of course, we snapped a couple blackmail pictures then watched as Pedro left, arm-in-arm, with one of the girls! What a ladies man! The sunset and it was, undoubtedly, one of the most spectacular sunsets we’d ever seen. We tried, to no avail to take cook silhouette photos, but our major problem was that one of Pedro’s girlfriends was our photographer, and she’d never heard of a silhouette, let alone taken a picture of
En route to Negril
It almost looks panoramic, huh? Really, I just cropped it to cut out the power lines that seem to ruin every picture. But this is what most of the coastline along the northern coast of Jamaica looks like. one. Alas, we were unsuccessful, but had a good time trying, at least. We departed the beach, but not before Pedro got one last smooch from his call girls and not before Michelino, the man who spent the entirety of the afternoon hitting on me, inquired as to why I didn’t want to wash his back in the shower.
It was a long, five hour drive back to Kingston with a bit of quarreling, some light-hearted banter, a stop of Juici Patties, and a few near-death experiences, and I think we’re all excited for the next big adventure that lies before us….whatever that may be…..
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Always readin n listening
non-member comment
Just go with it!
Jus open yourself to just being there, sex-crazed 'rastas' and all. 'Call girls" taking your pics - maybe you don't know what takes a woman down that path, she's a woman, so why bother mentioning it, or the fine idea of sillouhetes. peace.