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Published: March 20th 2023
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Now that we had made it all the way here, and all those headaches of the airports and roads were far behind us, we really began to enjoy our time in paradise. This Saturday was a beautiful, sunny day and it seemed like everyone was out there enjoying it. We needed to find a beach.
But where do you go to find a good beach in Jamaica? It
is a tropical island in the middle of the Caribbean Sea, so logic would dictate that it's probably covered in great beaches. But, I'd learned years ago from some of my Jamaican friends, and from my earlier trip here in 2012, that almost all of the beaches on the island were private property. Large resorts and wealthy landowners controlled most of the little patches of sand where one would want to take a dip.
The beach in town was private, fenced off, with limited hours, and you had to pay a fee. We weren't interested in that one anyway, too crowded (by people and buildings) and unattractive. So, we went in search of a public beach nearby that we'd seen on the maps called Mahogany Beach. We drove ourselves in circles,
but couldn't find the access to that beach. We got a little bit lost, which is one of the joys and privileges of travel. After all, if you never got lost, how would you ever find your way? Asking for directions, we were guided to a completely different beach: the White River Beach.
The route there was a bit convoluted. Make a left onto the main road, turn right at the light, take the road down the hill and curve around to the left, go under the bridge. From where we were standing and the maps we were looking at, it didn't really make sense that there would be a beach there. But, then again, we didn't know anything about Jamaica and our sense of scale was totally off. This route took us to a really interesting place.
Under the bridge, along the banks of the lower portion of the White River, you will find a cluster of little businesses. Restaurants and guide services with sound systems blaring, they're all there to service customers for the bamboo rafts. These were really cool bamboo rafts (I didn't get a picture) that they pole up and down the river, from
the jungles up above to the beach below. We didn't get on a raft this time, but we took in all the visuals and it was something special. There were also some motored skiffs that we did get a picture of.
Parking our car and walking a bit, we found a little fish shack where Chelly got some of what she needed for breakfast. I had my takeaway food from Calabash Itals. We sat down in the shade, enjoying the tropical heat, and savoring our tasty Jamaican food. Two great sound systems competed for our attention. Both were playing classic Reggae sounds. One was closer and sounded like it was tuned into the radio, but the other was louder, especially the bass, and free of commercials or interruptions. I loved listening to them and was dancing in my seat, singing along to the tunes I knew.
From there, we were told to walk along the banks of the river to get to the beach. We found a gorgeous, secluded bit of sand with only a few people on it. To the Left (West), there were some hotels and things, people picnicking in a grassy yard, and--yeah--somebody blaring Reggae
and Dancehall on the sound system of their van, loud enough for everyone to hear. To the Right (East), there was a private beach, attached to a resort.
I couldn't tell at first what was going on down there. It looked like that beach was only white people, while our beach was mostly black people. That was interesting. But, when I looked at those people over there, it seemed like most of them were wearing bathing suits in tans and beiges, flesh tones basically. Then I took a closer look. No, they weren't wearing bathing suits at all. An older gentleman with his back to us bent over to pick something up off the sand and we got the full view. It was a nude beach.
We had a good laugh about the conspicuously-foreign nudists. Our beach was much more comfortable and modest. The locals made it clear to us that they were not into that kinda thing. But, the people-watching on our side was still good. I remember a handful of elderly white ladies, one of them had dreadlocks and some mixed grandkids. There were also some teenage girls dong "model shots". A jet-ski rental guide took
hesitant land-lovers out one at a time to make a few waves. When someone challenged him to show how it was done, he put on an impressive show of jet-ski tricks right in the mouth of the river. That was rad.
Sun was out, sand was warm, water was cool. We did some sunbathing, I went swimming, Chelly got on the phone with her family back home in Kenya. I did some Yoga on the beach and even took a nap. We could have stayed there forever. Then a couple of stray dogs playing around nearby splashed sand on my face. That's how I woke up. It was getting later and the sun was headed down behind some clouds and mountains. After going in for another rinse and letting the water dry on my skin, we decided to move along.
This time we tried to walk back to the car along the road, rather than along the river. Looking for the way out, we were stopped by a security guard who explained that we'd wandered onto a private beach. Another private beach. The rumor is true. There really aren't many public beaches in Jamaica. The beach we'd been
on probably wasn't public in the first place, but because we'd come down the river, we'd sorta sneaked in the back way. He let us out though, without charging us any fee.
From there, we headed back to the car, then back into town for some showers, and naps, and another night out on the town dancing and celebrating Chelly's birthday.
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