Negril Notes

Weekend in Paradise – October ’04 – Part Four

April 13, 2005

Saturday and Sunday 10/9/04 thru 10/10/04

I was up before dawn, stumbling disorientated around my new digs. I’ve come to love Negril at sun-up, the way it slowly wakes, rolls around for a while and then gets up for work. This morning I went out to the second floor balcony, sat at the small table and began to write in my journal. Somewhere in the garden I heard a gentle motion and looked over to see Mark getting the hose for what I would come to know as his watering ritual. Everyday in the morning and in the evening Mark would be watering his new plants, coaxing them to take root in their new home.

The sun seemed to be in no hurry this morning, it was the new moon, the sky was blacker than usual and the ocean was a deep black void. Then almost imperceptibly over the next half hour the sky turns every possible shade from deep purple to a hazy blue. Way out on the horizon the clouds are the first to react as the sun peeks over the hills behind me.

My morning meditation is usually performed on my stinky blue country colonial style couch with some soft esoteric music playing and often a little incense burning. I sit quietly and sink into the music, raise my awareness, and with eyes closed and senses sharp I drift off to find the center of things. Some times are more satisfying than others, but the discipline has helped to quiet the voices in my head.

In Negril you never have to close your eyes to meditate, the such-ness of the place is so complete, so close to the center that you realize you’re already there.

As the light strengthens the fishermen begin to work the reef, they work much closer to the cliffs than they do the beach. Most of the boats are small one man skiffs though a little farther out larger craft with three to four men seem to be using traps.

Mark noticed me and came over to my porch and waited till I came back to earth and we said our good mornings. He invited me over for coffee and I enthusiastically said yes. Mark was living in Seaside Four which is on the second floor of the office or main structure. Seaside Four also survived Ivan and seemed no worse for wear.

Talking with Mark was cool. His book “Banana Shout” had taught me a lot about the old days of Negril, but raised many questions and avenues for discussion. The poor guy was at the mercy of my relentless query. Mark had amazing stories about every famous and infamous visitor to these parts not to mention all the characters who came to live and work in paradise.

Mark told me he was thinking about killing a goat in the next few days to thank the stone masons for all their hard work, and to ask the gods to bless this new venture. In Jamaican, Caribbean and African culture the killing of the goat is a very meaningful gesture. Mark had killed a goat on the property across the street that he owned and it’s still standing, no goat was killed on this side and it got hit. Now Mark never said there was any cause and effect here, but it was better to be safe than sorry as a wise old Jamaican once said.

We talked in some depth about the killing of the goat, how the Rolling Stones named an album Goat’s Head Soup after spending some time in Negril and participating in a goat killing event. I learned all about Mannish Water, AKA Goat’s Head Soup which is actually made from the goat’s head and his “mannish” parts. It purports to enhance your mannish prowess and make you “strong like bull.” They take the rest of the goat and make “Curried Goat“, now that’s real Jamaican cuisine. I was excited about this meal and hoped Mark would go through with it. I’m always looking for real Jamaican experiences and this would be as real as it gets!

Saturday was housekeeping and communication day. I walked over to the little market a few blocks away and picked up all the essentials, Red Stripe, Ting, coffee, water, sugar, bread, eggs, bacon, milk, and some fruits and veggies. I felt good having a full refrigerator, again I was trying to be cost conscious on this trip and the prices at this little bodega were very low. Also Seaside One was so much more like a house than a hotel room that you lived there for the week, and not just slept there.

While walking back from the store I met a driver named Clive, he had the cleanest and most polished minivan I have ever seen. He talked me into being my driver for the day. I needed to go into town to send a few emails and to post a message on the board to communicate my impressions after a day in town to the Negril faithful concerned with the whitewashing of facts by the tourism folks.

Clive drove me crazy as we cruised into town. He hit me with every sales pitch one could possibly stuff into a ten minute drive, there was no way I would be driving anywhere else with this guy!

I went into the internet cafe on West End Road with the hoochie-mama sign out front. I had an “Italian Ice”, called a “Water Ice” in Philly, and I emailed my buddy Nick and my daughter Kristine.

I also posted on the Negril.com message board about how cool Banana Shout was. I think the lead was “Banana Shout Lives!” and the body was a thumbnail damage assessment on Negril and her environs.

After computer time I began walking into town, I planned a stroll along the beach then maybe a beer at Kuyaba, but after about half a mile I was sweating like a fat man in a sauna, because that’s pretty much what I was. No sooner did I begin to rethink my plans then my new best friend Clive was pulling up next to me with the air conditioning on full blast.

“I LOVE YOU MAN!” I emoted as the door opened and the cold air hit me.

“Vinny, you need to watch yourself out here!!” Clive teased as we pulled away. “What kinds of fun you looking for this week? Clive is your friend, I take care of everything.”

I guess Clive grows on you because as of that moment he was our driver for the week, and he did seem to be able to get everything we needed all week, though we didn’t take him up on the young girls offered on every ride.

It was just after noon when I got back to “The Shout.” I planned on spending the afternoon in the second story hammock, and that’s what I did except for running downstairs for ice cold beers from our ice cold fridge from time to time.

Part of me felt bad just watching the workmen working so hard, of course I rationalized by thinking that this much work was probably a real windfall for these guys as full employment is rare in Jamaica. There were three crews working. One was building Seaside Two attaching the corrugated zinc roof and building something inside. Another was framing forms for the poured concrete walls and posts on Seaside Three. Then there were the stone masons, several guys shaping irregular limestone blocks and fitting them into place in the seawall like mosaic artists, and thier two helpers mixing cement. Now that was hard work, these two were the lowest on the totem pole and I guess after some pre-determined time mixing cement with your eyes open and your mouth shut you graduate to stone mason.

A few days later I walked past a small yard about a hundred yards past LTU Pub where an old truck was dumping half dozen huge limestone boulders six to eight feet around into the yard. As I walked by I was floored to see the real low men on the totem pole that would be thrilled to be mixing cement all day. These guys had the job of breaking these huge boulders into small irregular blocks about ten to twelve inches around, loading them into barely functioning wheel barrows and bringing them to the various construction sites along the cliffs. There was no shade and I immediately stopped feeling sorry for myself having to walking uphill in the ninety degree heat, but in true Jamaican fashion when I made contact with one of these guys he flashed me a big bright smile and waved. I love this place!

Let me tell you, watching two guys mix cement by hand for hours on end is the most relaxing thing you can imagine, I’m not sure if it’s the rhythmic scraping and shoveling sound, or if I was amazed watching the ingredients change form, or maybe I was just really baked. First they pile an assortment of sand and gravel in the center of what will become the patio, then they form it into a ring just like when you make pasta, and add water into the center. The sand and water is mixed from the outside in, till it forms a smooth mortar. I tried to figure out what kind of cement they were making. Wall mortar was thick and dry, medium concrete for poured forms like posts and finally a thin slurry used like stucco to cover the cinderblock walls of the houses.

Later I climbed down the cliffs to the waterline to watch the sunset. I brought a few Red Stripes and a sandwich with me and had a little picnic. This is a great little place to hide from the world. The coolness of the water is like air conditioning. If the sun gets too intense there is plenty of shade in the shallow coral caves. It was a bit cloudy that night and the setting sun kicked up oranges, yellows, silver and gold from the water. Depending on the time of day you can see every color in the spectrum reflecting from the ocean, it’s no wonder Caribbean art is so colorful and vibrant.

Being right on the waterline, I could see miles and miles in each direction and since the ocean is completely flat in all directions you get the feeling of looking through a wide angle lens and get a feel for the curvature of the earth.

Looking north towards the beach I could see a large craft coming my way. This wasn’t a fishing boat and as it got closer I could see it was a large double hulled boat moving quickly. Closer still it I could hear music and finally could see it was full of dancing partying people. It was a strange feeling because the cliffs were so deserted, but the all-inclusives were obviously well stocked.

It was hard to make out what boat it was since it was silhouetted by the sun, but it was coming straight for me, so it wasn’t too long before I saw the name “Wild Thing” painted on the hull and a bunch of people frolicking on the deck. Damn, I needed to get into town. This boat was full of hotties! I waved and they all waved and back, I guess they were still making their nightly trips to Rick’s Cafe maybe to ooh and aah at the destruction, but they’ll be no cliff diving tonight. There must be a channel between the reef and the cliffs because the boat came only twenty yards from where I sat.

I laid down on my beach towel just inches above sea level and watched as the sun kissed the top of the ocean. Sailors of old say you can hear a hiss as the blazing sun hits the cool water.

I woke sometime later, it was dark and for a minute I didn’t know where the hell I was. I laughed at myself, “Boy am I glad I didn’t roll over.”

One place you don’t want to be just after sunset is near the water without bug repellant. I got bitten all over, and even with a cool shower and some of that bug bite stuff, I had a long restless night. I was tempted to go buy a bottle of over proof rum to knock myself out, but as the morning stirred I felt great.

I used a coffee percolator for the first time ever, running restaurants for years I knew the process, but back in days of percolators I was under the coffee drinking age. I cooked an egg, put some jam on some sweetbread and went up to my balcony to enjoy my second Negril sunrise.

Out on the horizon there was a huge cargo ship I assumed was headed to the Montego Bay Freeport. I tried to use the zoom on my digital camera to read the ship’s name but there was too much haze. I had more than a hundred and eighty degree view of the ocean that it took half the morning for the ship to cross my view.

It was Sunday in Negril which meant Selina’s for the RealNegril.com webcast. This time I made sure I’d sent everyone a link to the site and was ready to mug for the camera. I walked out to West End Road figuring it wouldn’t be long before a taxi came by, but as soon as I cleared the gate, I heard an engine start behind me and the unmistakable sound of Clive’s voice.

“Vinny needs a ride? Where’s Vinny going?” he said as he was right next to me.

“Hey Clive! How much to Selina’s?” I didn’t remember telling him about Selina’s, I was beginning to think he was psychic.

“I’ll give you a good price!” He countered, not answering my question.

I got in and told him I liked his van and how he always seems to know when I need a ride, but when I ask about price I expect an answer, I even told him I didn’t care what he charged as long as it’s fair. I really had no problem paying a premium for his good service and comfortable reliable transport.

One great thing about Clive is that he drives slow, really slow. I love to explore and I’m too lazy to walk all the way into town so this is a happy medium. I told him I’d be hanging out at the beach most of the day and I’d be starting back around three. I also told him Nick was coming tomorrow and we’d need a ride in the evening. I’d already made plans with Banana Shout’s driver to pick up Nick, and I would have gladly paid twenty or thirty dollars US more for the comfort and charm of Clive’s Island Tours.

Selina’s wasn’t too busy. October is one of the slowest times of the year in Negril and being only a few weeks post Ivan compounded the effect, but it was still nice to see Rob, Selina and her family, I met Coinmon and a woman named Laura I’d emailed off the board as I relentlessly posted my “sleeps” countdown.

I’ve been to Selina’s many times and always have a great meal, but unfortunately since the hurricane there was no ackee thus no Jamaican breakfast, so I ordered Big Roy’s famous Banana Pancakes. Woohh Hooo!! A definite 4 out of 5 angels on my “Heaven on a Plate” scale.

The coffee is always great so I tried to buy some of Selina’s famous beans, but she wasn’t doing a roasting till later that week, this was great because I’d still be in town next Sunday and would be in for the webcast. This ten day vacation thing rocks!

It was overcast that morning so I took the opportunity to walk Beach Road all the way up to Firely and out to the beach. The view from the water’s edge was awesome, I hadn’t seen the view from this end of the beach in a few years, and I was proud that I’d walked this far up and still had my breath. I’m not a beach person per se, I don’t like to lay out slathered with oil and I’m not a big swimmer, though I float pretty good, but I love to walk along the beach in the cool of the day, and since it was cloudy, the whole day was the cool of the day, and I seized the opportunity.

Walking up the road about three miles or so took an hour and a half, walking down the beach took about four. I do a lot of stopping. I love stopping at the little bars along the beach, talking to the bartenders and waitresses, and watching people walk by. Conversation comes easily for me, but it was easier still since the lack of tourists and Ivan were top of mind for everyone.

It was about four thirty when I popped out on Beach Road cutting though Travellers, I planned to stop in at the Yoga Center to say hi when Clive pulled up in his icy cold van. You gotta love this guy!

Back at “The Shout” Mark declared tomorrow was goat day! Wow, I was so excited to witness this pagan ritual, I steered all subsequent conversations goatward. Finally I realized I might miss the whole thing because I was going to the airport to get Nick at eleven AM, which was right about goat time.

This brings me back to where I began this tale. Laying in my hammock with my lizard friend looking on, having enjoyed my quiet first three days, but looking forward to the more kinetic week ahead.