Negril Notes

Yoga Center Trip April 2004

January 18, 2005

From Philly to Negril

It was cold for an April morning in Philadelphia as I walked the quarter mile from my house to Crestmont Station. I was rushing to catch the 5:51AM train to the Airport when I began to panic.

“If I miss this train, I’ll never get to the airport in time!!” My panicked brain cried out. Maybe it was the caffeine, maybe I really needed this vacation, but whatever it was right after crossing Old York Road I began to run. It’s not like I ran too far, maybe a hundred yards, but I felt better as I stood breathless at the deserted little depot.

I decided on this trip when a woman I had a crush on with since the 9th grade told me she had gotten married, again. Yeah! She’d married two men that weren’t me! I think it’s time I lose the torch! I was invited to a reception thing in Houston on a Saturday in March, so I figured I’d take a week off, make an appearance, and then explore Southeast Texas.

Screw that! I’m sure Galveston is great but if I’m spending a week at the beach, I’m going to Negril! I flew to Houston for a day and booked a week at The Negril Yoga Centre a few weeks later.

“Nice Shirt!” The conductor shouted as I climbed up onto the train.

“I’m on vacation!” I said excitedly, as the conductor pantomimed climbing into my suitcase.

“Yeah, I’m on vacation,” I thought, and as I sat in the hard plastic seat, and already I could feel the stress begin to leave my body.

About a year before this trip, I’d finally left the restaurant business. In twenty years I’d taken only six weeks vacation. In my new career, regular vacations were actually encouraged, so on my first day I promised myself no less than a week per year in Negril.

Soon I was at the airport, through security, and in the air.

The flight was uneventful, thank Jah, and by 10:30AM I was on the immigration line in the stale, humid air of Sangster International Airport. There’s a timeless quality to Sangster, from the ladies singing that same old song to the over eager Red Caps. Maybe it’s the government issue paint job or the dated style of the employee uniforms. I can’t put my finger on it, it’s welcoming but at the same time you can’t wait to get out of it.

I dodged said Red Caps, found a driver named Gordon and negotiated a $50 trip to Negril. Gordon was an older gent who didn’t say much as we drove through downtown Mobay. I asked him to please make a stop for Ting and Red Stripes, he just nodded, motioned forward and drove on. A few minutes later we stopped by a little bar where Gordon seemed to know everyone. I bought two Red Stripes, a Ting and a pack of Rizzlas.

Back in the van I cracked open my first Red Stripe. As I raised the beautiful sweaty brown bottle to my lips, Gordon hit the gas and my first swig went down my shirt instead of in my mouth.

“Woo Hoo!” I laughed. Even down my shirt this stuff was refreshing! I chugged half the bottle.

Gordon looked at me like I was crazy. Then he took the pack of Rizzlas out of my bag, looked me over and said, “I got a guy down near Lucea.”

“Cool, we’ll check it out,” I said, not wanting to seem over anxious. We drove in silence for the next thirty minutes.

The new road to Negril was finally done, and though it still wound though many small towns the clear parts between towns were able to be run at much higher speeds. I guess there was less romance to it, or maybe I’m just older and less romantic.

Just past Lucea, we met up with Gordon’s “guy”, and after a smooth transaction we were on our way. The section of road between Lucea and Negril was even faster, and in what seemed like minutes we were pulling up to the Negril Yoga Center.

The Negril Yoga Center Day One

I walked through the gate of the jungle like Yoga Center. I made my way along the path and came to a small cabin with open shutters and a small office sign.

Marcia stood in the window smiling. “You must be Mr. Vinny!” as she came out to greet me. “My name is Marcia.”

Marcia was tall and very pretty. Like many Jamaican women she held herself with a kind of dignity that both demands respect and is very sexy. We shook hands and walked into the small office. We did all the paperwork and went through all the rules and quirks of the property. Then she then walked me to my room, Bamboo One, and showed me around.

Alone in my new space, I began to explore. My first impression was that the place was too rustic, but as I unpacked, changed clothes, showered and shaved, it was definitely growing on me. I got over the bright pink walls by referring to them in my journal as “coral.” The cabin was a classic Jamaican eight sided hut with a bamboo and corrugated zinc roof. It had a nice queen sized bed, with a locally woven blue bedspread, plenty of shelf space, an armoire and a very cold refrigerator.

I opened the package I purchased from Gordon’s “guy”, took my pack of Rizzlas, and rolled a phattie. I sat on my bed, and enjoyed this refreshment. Soon I was sitting in meditation feeling the energy of this place coursing through me. MMMM! This place is great.

One of my goals for 2004 was to get a handle on my spiritual self. I had been very influenced by Eastern Philosophies through the works of Alan Watts in recent years, and I knew a Negril trip would help me focus my quest. A little ganja can help to disconnect from the distractions of life.

Moving from my room, I began to explore the Center. What a cool place! There is a yoga pavilion with a highly polished wooden floor and mats stacked in the corner, very yoga-ish! In the back corner of the small property was the hammock hut, a thatched roof hut with no walls, several hammocks and a few benches. All over the property are sitting areas with beautiful mosaic tile tables by Alan, an amazing artist who was then residing at the Center. The energy of this place was inspiring. The mature plants and trees seemed each to have a story. The entire place was more a garden with a few cottages than the other way around. I felt as if it was their domain and I was their guest.

I walked into town to get some J and to stock up on provisions. This was my first visit here off-season and the vibe was more laid back than I remembered. The Burger King looked remodeled, almost new. I wondered who went there. Who would? I crossed West End Rd and walked into the Hi-Lo Market. I bought a liter of water, a six-pack of Red Strip and a few bananas. After paying in US dollars, I decided I wanted to use Jamaican dollars on this trip, so I hit the Cambio and cashed in $200US for about 12,000J. The two bags of groceries were also heavier than they looked, but I refused the boy who offered to carry it back to my hotel. I tipped him a buck anyway, for effort.

The rest of the afternoon I stayed at the Yoga Center. Just before sunset I rolled over to Bar-B-Barn for dinner. I sat at the bar right on the beach. I had a great dinner and a few beers as I watched the sunset with a pretty Jamaican bartender. By beer four I found out she was not only a bartender but a part time working girl. I didn’t take the bait. I’m not above giving this pretty girl the business in particular, but call me old fashioned, but I think it’s disrespectful to Jamaicans in general, to use their women, however willing, as sex toys.

About 9PM I staggered back to the Yoga Center. It is so silent here. No, not silent really, but no man made sounds. I went to my room, put on some mosquito repellant and finished a spliff from earlier.

I sat for a while in a small courtyard and met a nice couple from New Zealand, who seemed freaked out meeting an American with a Phillies baseball cap and a loud Hawaiian shirt.

I also met Alan, the tile artist who had created the beautiful tables all around the property. He had been living on site in a tent for the last three months. He was a long time Negril traveler and a cool, interesting guy. He seemed to know everything about the Yoga Center, Negril and Jamaica. We talked for hours that seemed like minutes. By the time I looked at my watch it was 1AM, AKA bedtime.
Vinny