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Published: June 10th 2005
“One Love” Montego Bay, Jamaica
9th May - 16th May 2005 The number one rule of travel writing, according to one travel editor at TNT Magazine in London is never, EVER start your story at the airport or on the plane.
The have obviously never experienced Air Jamaica’s in-flight aerobics program!
The sight of a plane load of people waving their arms and legs in the air simultaneously is one that makes you excited to be landing in Jamaica - the German tourist board should definitely take note of this!
Following my marriage to Victoria Kiss on Saturday 7th of May, 2005 we headed off to Jamaica for our much anticipated honeymoon. The insurmountable stress of planning a wedding was offset by the promise of a relaxing week of sun, sea and sand, with plenty of free cocktails thrown in for good measure.
Greeted on arrival with Red Stripe, Jamaica’s beer of choice, a mini-bus was on hand to take us to Sandals Inn, Montego Bay. We are both very impressed by the over-all friendliness of the Jamaican people, who became even friendlier once they learned we were not American.
Inside the hotel walls,
there is massive American influence, whilst still trying to promote the Jamaican experience, I felt that Sandals had succumbed to their most frequent customer’s way of life.
That said, outside the hotel walls, Rastafarians wander the streets with their long dreadlocks and relax on the small beach across the road.
Rastafarianism, usually associated with dreadlocks and ganja smoking, is the common religion of Jamaica although Christianity still features heavily. Marcus Garvey, born in 1887 is credited with starting the Rasta movement that has become a way of life for many Jamaicans.
Garvey was an American Black Nationalist who tried to form a "back to Africa campaign that he hoped would create an independent African country filled by American’s with African heritage.
It is alleged that Garvey’s prophecy said, "Look to Africa, where a black king shall be crowned, for the day of deliverance is near."
Rastafarians believe that Haile Selassie, the last emperor of Ethiopia, was to be that king.
Those who believed Garvey’s prophecy withdrew from mainline Jamaican society. They also deemed traditional Christianity to be "white religion" and rejected Western culture because they considered it to be the modern "Babylon."
Some
Sandals Inn
The pool, the beach...the weather!Rastafarians also adopted ganja (i.e., marijuana) as their sacred "herb." They consider smoking the "Holy Herb" to being filled with the Holy Spirit.
These days, a short walk down any Jamaican street will tell you that although many do not smoke it, almost everyone is willing to sell marijuana. In fact, we began to believe that everyone in the street was selling two things - a woodcarving or a Jamaican bracelet and weed.
On our first day we went for a walk down the street, which we found was a dead-end. It was made this way because walking any further would have taken us onto the runway of Montego Bay’s airport.
Along the way, we found a secluded beach, which we were to make “our Oasis” for the duration of our stay. It was here that we came to the conclusion that everyone sells weed and something else, probably only to cover up the fact they are only trying to sell weed, which is illegal to do in Jamaica.
We witnessed a young Jamaican man cut some Aloe Vera stems from a near-by tree and then try and sell them to anyone who would listen (for
Deckchair Dinner
At dinner on our second-last night. twenty USD no less!).
After politely refusing the Aloe Vera, he next said to us “Ya smoke, man?”
“I’ve got the best weed, Mon!”
Getting back to the American influence within the hotel walls, sitting by the pool for a light lunch, we over-heard a big fat American family (no stereotyping here) complaining about the lack of “facilities” in the hotel.
“I can’t believe they only have, like, 80 channels on TV here, like that’s so like, lame!” “And these burgers are so, like, wanna-be McDonalds!”
Maybe I’m being a bit hypocritical because I know I always take a small tube of Vegimite with me when I travel, but why do people bother visiting different countries if all they are after is what they can get at home?
Lunch soon arrived accompanied with Pina Coladas and we guzzled both down in quick fashion to avoid any more whinging from the Americans behind us.
We made our way back to our “oasis” and along the way a man in a bright orange shirt calling himself “Captain Elroy” approached us.
“Ya Mon, welcome to Jamaica!”
“My name is Captain Elroy and that is my
Posing by the seaside
at the Royal Caribbean hotel vessel over there”, pointing to the small glass-bottomed dingy floating in the crystal clear water.
“She’s the fastest glass-bottomed boat this side of Jamaica, Mon”.
I had to interrupt him there “Excuse me, Mr Elroy”
“Captain Elroy, Mon!”
“Sorry, Captain Elroy, but isn’t the whole point of a Glass-bottomed boat experience to actually see what is beneath you? How can that be possible in your boat if you are going so fast!”
“Ya Mon, you’re quick, I like you!”
“We go fast to get to the outer reef and then we stop, you can go snorkelling there man.”
“Ok well, thanks we’ll consider it. It’s our first day here today so we are just relaxing for now.”
“Ya Mon, I’m here everyday so you just come see me, Mon.”
“Ya Mon” I responded as we began to walk away. I’m getting used to making that a viable response to any question asked.
Just as we turned to walk away Captain Elroy tapped me on the shoulder and in a whispering voice asked, “Ya smoke, man?” We had to laugh. In the five minutes we have been outside the hotel walls, we have been offered ganja enough times to start our own business.
“Ya Mon, my name is Rob, Welcome to Jamaica” said a tall man who began following us after leaving Captain Elroy.
“I have a similar business as Captain Elroy, except I am on land”.
“I can take you anywhere you want to go, Mon.”
“Ok thanks, good to know. As I just said to Captain Elroy over there, we are here today to just relax.”
At this point in time another Jamaican, tall-ish with dreads approached us and put these Jamaican bands on our wrists.
Before introducing himself he went on about how Jamaicans need to treat their visitors with “riiiispect”. Then he told us what the colours of the bands meant.
“Green is for de ‘erb Mon, Red is for de love, Yellow is for de sun dat shines, Black is for de people and de ‘ardships Mon.”
At this point, the man walked off say “Gwan, finish your conversations Mon", leaving us with the bracelets.
We thanked Rob promising that if we had anywhere to go, we would seek him out and began to walk away.
Our Rasta friend soon caught up with us and again welcomed us to Jamaica. We had taken the bands off our wrists and attempted to give them back to him, knowing full well, at some point he would ask for payment.
“No mon, it is a gift from Jamaica to you”.
I told him in no uncertain terms that we did not intend to pay any money for these “gifts”. He gestured down the road and said “Come, we talk as we walk.”
He introduced himself as “Farmer”.
“Ya smoke, Mon?” he asked.
“You know why dey call me de Farmer?”
“Coz me ‘as dem big ganja plantation, up in ‘de ‘ills, Mon.”
After several “No thank you’s”, “No’s”, “Alright now p*ss off’s” Farmer finally got the message.
“Why you no gimme some money for de bracelets? Is for de children!”
“We don’t have any children, mate!” I explained.
“Nah Mon, mi children. I is sellin’ dem ‘tings to make money for mi children.”
He left begrudgingly after I told him he should be thinking of his children when he’s looking after his ganja plantation.
Finally we got some privacy at our “oasis” and we were able to relax in the cool Caribbean Sea.
A second man approached us selling Aloe Vera stems but I told him that if I wanted some, I would go over to the same tree he cut them off. That way, I could save myself twenty bucks. He left pretty quickly.
Not since sitting on Upolo Cay, a small sand island that resides somewhere in the outer Great Barrier Reef in Australia, had I seen sand so white or water so clear.
We could do nothing more than smile at each other. After all the stress of the past few months, neither of us could believe that we were here. Who wouldn’t want to be here?
Jamaica, so far, is one of the few places I have been that delivers the same images displayed in the tourist brochure.
As Bob Marley once said “The sun is shining, the weather is sweet.” With that thought in our minds, we relaxed on the beach for the rest of the afternoon.
A few taxi drivers, who like in Turkey beep their horns, just so you know they are there, passed as we headed back to the hotel. Most even slow down and shout “Taxi” out through the window.
One particular car slowed right down and as the window rolled down a man with thick dreads and sun classes poked his head out to chat with us.
“Ya Mon, where ya from?”
“Australia mate!”
Given the large American & British contingent at Sandals and indeed in Montego Bay, we decided it would be more fun if Vicky became Australian for this trip. It made conversations much more interesting and us more unique as Australia was a 36-hour flight away from this tiny island.
“Australia! Riiiispect Mon!, Rastas Respect Australians Mon!”
“Welcome to Jamaica” he said with a smile. Before driving off, he added “Ya smoke, Mon?”
The US crackdown on drugs during President Reagan’s term in the early 1980’s forced Jamaica, who were one of the main exporters of ganja to the US to tighten their laws on marijuana.
The Jamaican drug policy now states that ‘reasonable’ amounts of ganja can be possessed for personal use however it is still illegal to sell and to buy. If you are caught doing either you could be facing years in jail.
That night after dinner we took in a few more pina coladas at the bar followed by a live performance by a local steel-drum band.
The next day was a very relaxing one indeed. Breakfast on the terrace was followed by a (very) brief work out in the gym. We returned to our beach oasis shortly after and we were pleased to see that the streets were empty. No hassling by anyone trying to sell us anything.
In all, it was a pretty uneventful day, although that was to change when we sat at the sunset bar in the cool afternoon breeze.
I was watching the cricket on TV with Woolfe the barman (West Indies eventually lost to South Africa by 1 run on the final ball) as Vicky circulated among the other guests making friends.
As if we had been suddenly surrounded by squawking seagulls, a large crowd of (large) Americans arrived at the bar - the same Americans we had overheard complaining at the restaurant a day earlier.
The biggest American, obviously the mother and leader of the group demanded that Woolfe change the channel because “nobody knows how to play cricket”.
I had to say something.
“When you say ‘nobody’ you’re really talking about American’s aren’t you? Woolfe and I have been watching this all afternoon.”
Mother America seemed totally surprised by this, I may have been the first person to stand up to her since she had arrived, and judging by the disturbed look on her face, she wasn’t happy about it.
However upon learning that I was from Australia, her mood changed and she became very anxious to talk about Russell Crowe and Steve “Crocodile Hunter” Irwin.
Whilst doing my best to live up to the Australian stereotype, I tried several times to escape the conversation but I was stuck. The only thing I could do was listen and drink as much as I could, so Woolfe acknowledging my predicament kept the drinks coming at a fast pace.
I got to learn all about how the Boston Red Sox are the best baseball team in the world and how the NFL is the best kind of football there is. Although I disagreed, I was powerless to say anything - the sphere of American ignorance was fairly thick around me.
The good thing was I was not the only one caught in a conversation trap. Vicky was stuck talking to a lesbian (who was also married to a bloke) from Tampa Bay, Florida.
Finally I saw an opening to escape and I excused my self to go to the toilet. When I returned, I made sure I went to the other side of the bar. Mother America, fairly drunk by this stage, had already claimed her second conversation victim for the day so I was sure I was safe for the time being.
Before too long I was introduced to the husband of the lesbian who had by now taken quite a fancy to my wife.
“I play foot-ball and I like to hurt people” he said upon meeting, in a very Forrest Gump sort of tune. I didn’t catch his name but in keeping with the stereotypes of the afternoon, I imagine it was something like Chad or Randy.
After a few minutes of talking to this guy, I realised he was no rocket scientist. In fact I ended up having to give him (and a few other interested onlookers) a detailed geography lesson.
When he found I was from Australia, as expected the first thing he said was
“Oooh, Russell Crowe!” followed by “I like him, he likes to hurt people!”
It was then that I said that Russell is from New Zealand.
A puzzled look came over his Forrest Gump-like face and I had to explain that New Zealand, while very close to Australia was in fact a separate country in it’s own right.
I got the feeling I was breaking new ground with this guy (and the others who were listening in). As I continued with a bit of Australian geography, I mentioned that I was living in England at the moment.
At that point, the husband of Mother America chipped in with “England and Scotland are really close to each other”. Looking suitably impressed with himself, I didn’t have the heart to inform him that they were actually joined and part of the same country.
Vicky and I left the American gathering and moved again to another side of the bar. A middle-aged couple sat down next to us and introduced themselves. They were from St Louis in Missouri but seemed very much low-key compared to the American Patriots we had been speaking to.
They both actually cringed when they saw the other Americans in the bar and said (and I quote!) “They are an embarrassment to our country!”
You had to feel sorry for them. We did, but we had to leave this American get-together so we went to play pool.
Vicky got a bit of her hair braided by Miss Birdie, an elderly lady who works in the hotel. She likes to wander around and observe the different kinds of people who stay at the hotel.
“Yes, my child” is her answer to almost every question.
After dinner we call it a night having had too many pina coladas.
The next day we caught the shuttle bus to another Sandals hotel - the Royal Caribbean.
Unfortunately on this day, Jamaica was hit with a few tropical storms so what was supposed to be the biggest and most impressive hotel of the Sandals suite in Montego Bay ended up looking fairly un-impressive. So bland in fact that we left only an hour after arriving.
The bus ride to and from the Royal Caribbean was our first real view of Mo-bay Bay, as the locals call it. Despite being Jamaica’s “second” city with Kingston being the capital, Mo-bay is the tourism capital of Jamaica.
The landscape consists of mostly hills covered with palm trees and combined with the humidity it immediately reminded both of us of Tropical North Queensland in Australia.
The city itself however is a diverse combination of resort-town, commercial centre and slum.
We spent the rest of the day sitting on our balcony as 3 hotel staff took on 20 guests at Pool Volleyball in the rain. The staff won easily.
When they all disappeared indoors, an eerie feeling surrounded the hotel. The rain had stopped but grey clouds still lingered. The sea was calm but set against the dark sky it looked almost purple.
In the late afternoon we went back down to the sunset bar and made friends with Jack, the short chef who works at the Grill restaurant, which is attached to the Sunset Bar.
Unlike with the other American guests, Jack, now knowing that I was Australian made every effort to take the p*ss out of me at any given moment. I guess he realised that I wouldn’t be as offended as the others had been (he learnt this from experience, no doubt).
He was happy telling the other guests that all Australian’s are ugly and cannot play cricket. I was happy because I knew most of the other guests would have only ever seen one or two Australian’s in their life (Russell Crowe or Steve Irwin).
Never the less, we formed a love-hate relationship that would prove a good laugh for the rest of the week.
Friday was a fairly interesting day. After our morning beech ritual, we headed out for a shopping trip down Mo-bay’s famous “Hip Strip”, which is the main tourist street along the coastline.
Here you will find no shortage of souvenir shops or people wanting to sell you bracelets (and ganja), wood carvings (and ganja) or Bob Marley hats, t-shirts & CD’s (and ganja).
On leaving the hotel we were immediately swooped on by three large Mo-bay ladies, who wanted to take us to their shop. Actually they each had a shop and after we had agreed to visit the first lady’s shop, the other ladies protested that if we visited hers then we must visit theirs. And so on.
Along the short walk to the marketplace where their stores were located consisted of some entertaining conversation where they proceeded to tell us that they were “honest working girls” and would not take advantage of us.
The fact that they all had identical stores and stock was irrelevant although we were true to our word and took the time to visit each of the shops.
They seemed to try and make us feel comfortable and not feel as if they were just trying to make a sale.
After it became apparent that we weren’t going to buy from their store, each one of the ladies whispered to me as we left “Ya smoke, Mon?”
We couldn’t help but smile, Jamaican people are among the friendliest in the world, even if they are a little obsessed with selling marijuana.
The marketplace was a flurry of colours and locals randomly wandered from store to store. We did notice we were the only “Whities” in the whole market, but it didn’t bother us, nor the locals, who didn’t bat an eyelid.
We carried on walking down “Hip Strip” and began to wander in and out of the various souvenir shops, which were all surprisingly run by Indians who had moved to Jamaica to cash in on the thriving “Bob Marley T-shirt with a side of Ganja” business.
After leaving one store, we were approached by a short bald man, who looked to only have three bottom teeth. He introduced himself as “George” and remarked that he was a “Social Jamaican”.
“Where ya from, Mon?”
“Australia, Mate!”
“riiiispect, Mon! I have family who lives in de Australia”
I’m sure if I said I was from Bolivia, he would have family there too, but we humoured him for a little while as we walked along the shop fronts.
He directed us into one shop and said
“I will wait ‘ere for ya, Mon!”
Inside the shop, we met Charlie, the Indian shopkeeper. He had a big smile on his face (perhaps happy to see customers) and was eager to tend to any needs we might have.
I asked him where in India he was from and he seemed hesitant to answer.
“I’ve been to India a couple of times mate so I might know where you are from” I said reassuringly and he finally answered
“Agra, sir.”
“Ah, Taj Mahal!” I responded, feeling a bit like an American talking to an Australian (Ah Russell Crowe!).
“Where are you being from, sir?” he asked
“Australia, mate” as is my standard response this week.
This brought an even bigger smile to his face and I knew I now had some bargaining power.
“Shane Warne! Very good cricketer but a very bad man” Charlie said enthusiastically. I had to agree.
As we continued though a conversation about the possibility of India becoming the number one cricketing nation this century, Vicky was building up a pile of items on the counter.
I said to her, just put what ever you think you want on the counter and we’ll negotiate later.
When Charlie totalled up the cost, it came to about seventy US dollars. Most places in Jamaica accept either US Dollars or Jamaican Dollars ($JA). I blatantly ignored him and continued our conversation about cricket.
I then pulled out my bargaining speciality - an almost empty wallet. I looked at Vicky, we were on the same page, so I frowned and said “I’m sorry baby, we can’t afford all this stuff.”
Not wanting Vicky to be disappointed, Charlie quickly interrupted.
“No sir, do not put anything back, we can do a nice deal.”
“How much have you got?”
It was difficult but I managed to pull a few notes out of my closed wallet with one hand and presented a US twenty to him.
“I am sorry sir, I can’t give that large a discount”
I frowned and motioned to Vicky that we should leave.
Charlie, god bless him, chased after us and eventually caved, selling us seventy US worth of merchandise for a twenty. We figured he would budget for this kind of thing anyway so we felt no guilt.
George, as promised was waiting outside for us and said
“Come my people, I show you dis beautiful land.”
I thanked him for his time and suggested that we should be all right on our own, knowing full well that eventually he would ask for some form of payment for his troubles.
We walked up to a place called Doctor’s Cave. In 1906, Dr Alexander James McCatty donated his beach property, which at the time was only accessible through a cave, to the City of Montego Bay to form a Bathing Club.
The cave itself was destroyed by a hurricane in 1932 but the area went on to become the centre of Montego Bay’s resort district with many tourists flocking to the crystal clear waters with its average temperature of 22 degrees Celsius in the summer months.
The walk back to the hotel was quiet, we only got asked if we smoked the one time by a scruffy looking lady who said, “Smoke for de boy?”.
We also, for the first time surprisingly, hear Jamaicans speaking their native language of “Patios” which is a combination of French, German, Spanish and various African languages.
We spent the night drinking at the sunset bar and arguing with Woolfe over various points of Australian history - he claimed he would know more than I did.
(He did).
In the background various guests were partaking in Karaoke night, if they could get the microphone away from the hotel manager, Warren, who openly admitted he liked the sound of his own voice (even if the rest of us didn’t).
Jamaica put on a glorious show for us the next day and as we sat on the talcum-white sand, Bob Marley was preaching in my ears “I hope you like jammin’ too”.
Seagulls are flapping against the wind in the distance and as the turquoise Caribbean Sea laps at my feet, I dare anyone to suggest that life could get better thank this.
Bob Marley is an important part of Jamaica. He has become a patriotic icon for the country and it’s people. All are proud of his achievements and are more than happy to speak about him for hours on end.
While reggae music has always been popular in the Caribbean, it wasn’t until four young men from Kingston formed a band called The Wailing Rude Boys (later shortened to ‘The Wailers’) that the genre really took off.
Robert Nesta Marley was one of those young men and as reggae took the Wailers to new heights, Marley was lifted even higher, becoming the original “Third World Superstar” as Time Magazine once called him.
Marley worked most of his life to spread the message of rastafari, world-wide. And while he died in a Miami hospital on Monday May 11, 1981, his legacy and more importantly, his messages continue to touch all those who listen to this day.
After a few hours of lying in the sun, we headed off to the Royal Caribbean hotel again, this time for dinner at the famous Royal Thai restaurant. The Royal Thai is located on a private island only a 2 minute boat ride from the Sandals hotel.
This island, now called Sandals Cay was formally known as Kokomo, the island made famous by the Beach Boys song of the same name. The island itself began as purely a sandbank but over the years foliage began to grow and expanded all over the island. Now alongside the Thai restaurant, there are three bars and two swimming pools. These are privately owned by Sandals hotels however and only available for hotel guests.
Our last full day was a relaxing one. Having both had our fair share of sun, although myself much more than Vicky, we spent most of the day in doors and making use of the room service food and beverage hotline.
For dinner we visited the other hotel in the Sandals suite of three - Sandals Montego Bay. It was big and spectacular and you could tell that the American guests staying there absolutely loved it.
We walked along the beach at dusk and watched a Caribbean band cover Bob Marley songs before heading back to our humble abode.
Despite our flight not leaving until 11pm, checkout on our final day was 11am, but we were free to continue using the hotel facilities until we left.
I played volleyball with the other guests for the first time while Vicky worked on her tan, sipping pina coladas throughout. In the afternoon, We made the most of the hammock under the palm tree by the beach sleeping peacefully for almost four hours.
A final swim in the pool and a quick shower saw us head to dinner for the last time at Sandals Inn, Mo-bay, followed by a last drink at the Sunset bar.
Woolfe made me promise to send him an Australian flag for him to hang in the bar and he let me behind the bar to take some photos of us sharing Appleton Rum.
Our goodbyes said, we vowed to return one day as the mini-bus shuttled us to the airport.
We amused ourselves at the airport by taking photos with the bobsled used in the movie “Cool Runnings”, the story of the Jamaican Bobsled team.
After a very relaxing and at times exciting seven days, not even a delayed flight could rise any sort of frustration out of us. It was too late - we had already adopted the Jamaican way of life: “No problem, Mon!”
As if to complete our Jamaican experience in authentic fashion, I was approached by a customs official as I was wandering around the terminal. He strolled up beside me and whispered…
“Psst…ya smoke, Mon?”
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dave
non-member comment
nice write-up
I'm planning a trip to jamaica and your journal popped up in a google search. Very entertaining and I think it gives me a pretty good feel for what to expect. Sorry about the americans, though. I'm an from the US and I hate that people see us that way, but as a group, we probably deserve it.