One Love

The last day of vacation always comes too quickly. Our last morning at the castle was to be very short; airport transportation was due at 9:00. Even though last night was a late one, everyone was up early, wandering around the grounds and taking last-minute photos. I had never officially checked in, since I had arrived after hours. I took care of that task, finally meeting the charming manager Petrona. The sun was shining, the sea was calm, and it looked like it was going to be another glorious day. But...it was time to leave.

Mark joked about how quiet everyone was on the 1-1/2 hour ride to Negril. Riding on the ocean side of the van, I tried to look at every little thing, hoping the images would stay with me forever. At the airport, we initially went our seperate ways to check in. After the lines at security, we were able to spend a little more time together, eating lunch, shopping, and just visiting.

Hugs all around, and off we went to resume our old lives. Our luggage was a little heavier, and our wallets a little lighter; though poorer in dollars, we were immeasurably richer for having spent this time together. 'One Love' - Jamiaca's motto - describes the reason we all came to Blue Cave Castle. Our love for our dear friends, Ralph and Mel, brought us there. Though they could not join us after all, they were certainly there in spirit. We spoke of them at each experience, each new adventure. The trip was dedicated to them, and many toasts were drunk in their honor.

The in-flight announcement welcoming us back to the United States made me smile. Although I love to see the world, I am proud to be an American. Even with all our flaws and problems, this is a great country! The new computerized customs forms at Dallas Fort Worth are a dream come true compared to the long lines in Jamaica. I sped through customs with no wait at all. Next stop - Quad Cities International Airport! Moline has a great little airport; every time I fly in or out I appreciate it all over again, especially that it's only 5 minutes from my house. I texted Dawn when the plane was taxiing and by the time I picked up my bags she was at the curb. The short ride gave us a few minutes to catch up. Back at home, there was a flurry of activity as I dumped my bags, repacked another one, loaded the car, and packed a lunch for work. 5 1/2 hours and a very short night's sleep later, I drove out of the parking lot at CharNor headed for Transworld in St. Louis. Crazy? Maybe a little!

In his song, "One Love," Bob Marley urged, "Let's get together and feel all right!" Rucker and Sharon, Marshall and Rose Anna, Mark and Chrissy, and I did! One love brought all of us together for a fabulous adventure in a castle by the sea. This one's for you, Ralph and Mel!

Somebody's Watching You

I watch the sun sparkling on the waves from the balcony of my castle by the sea. I wave to my subjects…no, wait a minute. This is not a fairy tale, and they are not my subjects. Those are my friends, waving me to breakfast. It must be time to start our day!

The craft market is a place you don’t go to alone. Rows of small, open-fronted sheds are manned by aggressive salespersons all vying to get you into their space. And they’re all selling the same things. They’re in cahoots with the cab drivers, who take you to their personal favorite, and get a kickback if the tourists buy something. But we kill an hour there, looking for souvenirs and watching out for each other in case a seller tries some funny business.

We returned to Rick’s Café, settling in at a booth with drinks and plenty of sunscreen. I staked out a good spot to watch the cliff divers. There are many different types of divers, from the terrified to the nonchalant, from novices to experts. The kids are the most fun to watch – seeing their fear turn to joy as they make that first leap safely, then beg to do it again. The lifeguards put on their own show, diving from handstands or doing backflips, or diving from a tower far above the cliffs. And like the audience at a car race waiting for a wreck, so does this audience wait for mishaps. Thankfully they are few, but there are some rough landings that make everyone gasp. And we all keep watching…

I soak up the sun, circulating between the pool and our table. Boats and catamarans come in with their tour groups, the brave ones swimming over to dive the cliffs. Everyone waves madly to Donovan in the Yamon catamaran, Rasta Ralphie included. We watch dolphins frolicking in the waves, and lovers frolicking on the dance floor. When the dinner hour arrives, it’s cheeseburgers all around. We are done with rice and peas and callaloo for this trip!

Rick’s Café is the hot spot to be at sunset. Everyone watches as the sun sinks slowly into the sea, cell phones and cameras at the ready. As soon as the sun sets, a big portion of the crowd leaves, us among them.

Back at the castle, we’re reluctant to call it a day. This is our last night here, and we just don’t want it to end yet. So we have a few drinks, a lot of laughs, and reminisce about old friends and old times. And we watch…the stars, the waves, the boats, but always, the people, because that’s how memories are made. Goodnight, friends.

Sunset in Jamaica

Powerful

Today’s events were brought to us by Donovan. It was his day off from Yamon, so Rucker arranged for him to show us some of the island. Our chariot arrived at 9:00 AM, and to our surprise it was the same vehicle that had taken us to our cruise drop-off the last two days. Problem was, we had 9 people and 7 seats –you do the math. It worked on the short ride to the beach, but only with Anna on Marshall’s lap. And now that Donovan was riding along, there was no way we’d fit. Like a gentleman, he volunteered to sit on Sharon’s lap! Her indignant reaction was priceless, as she quickly put a stop to that nonsense. Another form of transport would have to be found.

It was only a few minutes later that another, larger van met us and we switched vehicles. We were to be taken to breakfast in Donovan’s town, Grange Hill, so we left Negril and headed inland and uphill. The road was blacktopped, but narrow and full of potholes. Homes seemed to be clinging to the hillsides, propped by blocks, rocks, or any combination of sticks and stones to keep them upright. The condition of the homes was shocking. Ramshackle dwellings made of cement block, plywood, corrugated tin, tarps, and weathered paint were the norm. As Mark put it, “Everything is either under construction, or destruction”. The unfinished buildings seem to outnumber the finished ones, and most show spires of rebar jutting from the tops. The driver that picked me up at the airport had explained that it is very difficult to get loans in Jamaica, so people save up money to build. They build until the money runs out, hopefully with enough construction done so part of the structure is liveable, then wait until they save more money to continue. It appears that many never save up enough to continue. Nothing seems finished here. Nothing.

As we ascend, the town gives way to a more rural setting. There are fields and cattle, and the ubiquitous goats. They forage in the ditches, on the hillsides, and in yards. We pass sugar cane fields in various stages of growth; the mountains appear in the distance. The road narrows even more as it wends its way between fields. We pass a young girl, filling her water bottle from a leak in the irrigation pipe. Two shirtless men with machetes cut sugar cane while large, open sided wagons wait for their loads of cane. Soon we arrive at our destination, “the best restaurant in Grange Hill,” Donovan assures us.

It’s a small, one-room building that clearly has seen better days. There is one table and a couple counters along one wall, covered in peeling contact paper. They seem unprepared for a group of our size – and we’re only seven! After some discussion, a plate of food appears. It’s a ‘sample’, and I somehow get elected to taste and approve the dish. It consists of dumplings, yam, callaloo, and a thin banana. The dumplings are very dense and doughy, but edible. The yam is light yellow, not orange like we’re used to, and tastes more like a regular potato. So does the banana. I already know what callaloo tastes like. I approve the dish, and more plates are brought out. What’s this? More discussion takes place at the counter. It appears they’re out of something, and plates of chicken curry are brought out for our approval. Chrissy does not care for curry, so we switch plates and forge ahead. Soon everyone has something to eat, and a carton of orange juice to drink. The chicken is tasty, but has been randomly hacked apart and has little bone fragments throughout. It’s how they cut up chicken in Russia! I remember wondering at the time why no one knew the proper way to cut up a chicken. We appear to be attracting attention, and a young man keeps slinking closer to the restaurant. At first he nonchalantly watches from across the street, then he crosses the street and takes up a position near the van, and before long he’s at the side of the restaurant peering through the open side. A laughing man on a motorcycle roars up and checks things out, chattering rapidly with the locals. We finish our breakfasts unmolested and move on.

After a quick stop at the local market for drinks and snacks, we are underway to whatever Donovan has planned for us next. The town falls behind us, and we’re in a more rural area once more. There are fields of sugar cane on both sides, and we pass a sugar mill. The number of abandoned homes is simply unbelievable. One house in particular catches my attention. It is large and roomy, with a beautiful porch and columns in front; a tile roof tops the bright white walls and a solid fence surrounds the entire property. But it is empty. Abandoned. I wonder who owns all those abandoned houses we see, if anyone. Why don’t squatters take over? I will never know.

I enjoy looking at the lush foliage that I only see as potted plants at home. Crotons here are large bushes; pothos climbs to the top of tall trees, the leaves getting bigger and bigger as the plant gets higher. My favorites are the fan palms, with their giant fronds fanning outward and upward, like arms reaching for the sky. Riotous blooms of azaleas and bougainvillea make lively spots of color in even the most humble yards.  We pass another abandoned business, and I spot a pile of rubble with broken concrete columns and pillars. It’s exactly what I want for the ‘ruins’ I’d like to create on my back hillside! Too bad…

We arrive at our next destination, Roaring River. Donovan explains that tourists go to places like Dunn River Falls, but locals go to Roaring River. We pay our $12 fee in a tiny decrepit shed, and a young barefoot Rasta sweeps us up. His name is Dirt. Seriously. But he works hard for his money, and shows us every small detail of his world. Dirt wades into the river, picking plants for us to taste. He points out the types of trees, and picks leaves for us to smell. “See the shape of these roots? It’s an elephant. There’s his eye, and his ear, and his trunk reaching out to the water. Powerful.” He randomly shouts out to no one in particular, “Jo! Rastafari! Powerful!” At the top of a short path, we arrive at a cave entrance. We have to duck beneath a low-hanging rock to enter. “Cheap rock. Expensive brain,” Dirt explains.

Inside the cave, he shines a light around the chambers, illuminating the animal and human shapes. “All created by water. Powerful!” In one chamber, 2 drummers play and sing for us. In another, you can see the stubs of candles where people come to pray. Dirt explains there is a cold mineral spring inside the cave and the water has healing properties. He takes us to the spring, where Sharon, Chrissy and I submerge ourselves in the flowing water. Dirt’s final trick for us is a spectacular dive into a ‘bottomless’ pool. Powerful!

After the cave, we are taken down to the river where we can swim. We seem to be attracting the attention of the villagers, who saunter closer and closer, one or two at a time. After a quick dip, we’re on the road back to Negril. But first, we need to pick up the driver’s son at school. He is 3, and cute as a button. The school uniforms are made of purple gingham, and he looks adorable in his little purple shirt and Cars backpack. He sits quietly on the seat next to me as we make our way back to Negril.

Back in the city, Donovan takes us to a couple shopping spots so Sharon can look for the elusive wooden giraffe she’d seen on her first day in town. Funny how all the booths and stalls carry the same merchandise! Back at the castle, everyone disappears for naps before dinner. Are we getting old, or what?!

We try Rick’s café for dinner. It is a popular tourist spot on the cliffs, famous for sunsets and cliff diving. We missed both, but enjoy the starry sky and the ocean waves at an outdoor table. I choose jerk chicken, and Chrissie finally gets the beef she’s been craving. I am disappointed in jerk chicken. Both times I’ve had it, it was kind of blah. Once it was salty, but not spicy. This time it’s just bland. I thought jerk chicken was spicy? I remember when I made a Jamaican dinner for Christmas. Josh and Mariah had honeymooned there, which is why I chose it that year. Mariah said my food was much better than what they had in Jamaica, and now I know what she means.

I ended the day on my balcony, enjoying the warm sea breeze and reggae music from somewhere in the neighborhood. How many people in the world right now are in a castle by the sea? Not many, but I am! Powerful!

Sun Is Shining

I love themes. My whole family does, actually. We can come up with a theme for even the most mundane event, and then feel compelled to carry out the theme to the nth degree. Winter Wonderland weekend, Bacon birthday, Pumpkin Recipe day – yes, we’ve done them. Dr. Seuss Christmas, Rubber Ducky birthday, and Olympic opening ceremonies dinner have all happened. So a castle-themed resort in Jamaica is a perfect fit for me.

Blue Cave Castle is a quirky take on a Medieval castle, perched on limestone cliffs overlooking the Caribbean Sea. The steps to my room are very tall, like they were built for giants. There are wooden shields on the wall, the furniture has crenellated edgings, and gold and red tapestries adorn the windows. My family would call it very ‘Spanish Inquisition’ style. But the artwork on the walls is Jamaican, with carved wooden faces that look like Bob Marley, and one that looks weirdly like P. Diddy. There is a TV in my room, but I haven’t even turned it on yet. I probably won’t. I haven’t turned on the air conditioning either. There is a nice breeze always blowing through my room, and I love having the windows open all the time.

I woke to the sound of rain, but it was just a brief shower and the sun was back out in no time. I tried a Yardie omelet for breakfast, which is a vegetarian omelet with callaloo in it. (Why ‘Yardie’? Because it’s full of stuff growing in your yard?) We ate early so we would be ready for our day trip. Today’s itinerary is an Island Picnic with the same tour group we were with yesterday.

Donovan and Marlon were our guides and captains both days on the catamaran, and took us back to the coral reef for more snorkeling. There was a family of 5 from Burlington, Iowa on today’s cruise. Did I mention I really love to snorkel? I was cursing not having the underwater camera, because there were no clouds so you could see the reef perfectly. And I saw a cannon! Really! How cool is that?

After snorkeling, we cruised to Booby Cay for a lobster dinner. The lobster was grilled and served with, what else? Rice and peas, and callaloo. Then we relaxed on the island, taking photos with Ralphie the puppet and lying in the sun. There was a vendor selling jewelry and souvenirs, but no one bought anything from her because she was a total bitch. She was the exception, though, because everyone else has been very friendly.

Arriving back at the castle, I took a shower and did a total face plant on the bed. I’m talking dead-to-the-world asleep. It felt so good! Our cabdriver sang to us on the way to 3 Dives, where we watched an amazing sunset while waiting for dinner. The grilling is done outdoors in a steel drum, and all seating is outdoors. I had conch, rice and peas, and callaloo. Now, I’m not going to lie, I like rice and beans and callaloo but I’m starting to get a little tired of it. Sharon and Chrissy are done with it entirely. We need a different side dish, mon.

We ended our day with a phone call to Ralph and Mel. It was so good to talk to them, and Ralph loved hearing about our adventures. He wants to see lots of pictures, and we are certainly going to have some great ones to show them. Goodnight, Ironman and Lady Iron!

Come on feel the noise

The view from my room!

Loud. If I had to describe Jamaica in one word, it would be ‘loud’. Perfect example: I am typing this in my room at Blue Cave Castle in Negril, with all my windows open to the warm sea breeze. And I can hear a Jamaican man yelling loudly at someone, or something, or maybe just to hear his own thoughts. But he is LOUD! He is not nearby, but his loud voice carries through the night, letting me and everyone else for blocks know around that he has something to say.

Last night was like that. It was Saturday night, and the Jamaicans were enjoying the weekend. With loud music, loud voices, and loud laughter. Everything seems to be at full volume here. Jamaicans do not snicker – they throw back their heads and let loose with belly-deep guffaws. Their rhythmic patois pounds out like the beats of a hammer. Music is not played as background, for passive listening – reggae booms from speakers, demanding you to pay attention. I fell asleep last night to the unique sounds of a Jamaican night.

Even the animals are noisy. A cacophony of barking dogs can be heard almost continuously. A confused rooster crowed loud and long in the dark morning, hours before daybreak. And though I haven’t seen it yet, there is a very vocal bird lurking around the castle with a voice like a crow on steroids.

As I finished unpacking my suitcase this morning, I listened to a furious Jamaican woman as she sauntered down the road, tossing insults over her shoulder – at top volume - to an unseen adversary.  There was no answer, just her soliloquy; though I couldn’t understand a word, her tone made it quite clear that someone was in very hot water.

Breakfast at the hotel was a leisurely affair. Everything in Jamaica is a leisurely affair, actually. The cook decided to make breakfast when he was good and ready; the waitress finally came to take our orders just as Rucker had stepped away from the table, so she casually sat down on a nearby bench and said she’d wait for him. Sorry, no bacon. Sorry, no sausage either. Fruit? No. Okay. Pancakes or omelets it is.

Breakfast over, we made arrangements for a dinner excursion later on. Mark and I explored the cave beneath the castle, and scared out a couple big bats. The cliffs and caves are made of limestone, created 40 million years ago from marine sediment. The fossilized creatures are visible throughout the rock. Ladders reach from the cliffs into the sea; we climbed down and swam in the crashing waves. (Hey, I’m from the Midwest – they’re all crashing to me!) I tried to sit on a submerged rock and it was like clinging to a greased pig. The waves pummeled me back and forth; I had bleeding lacerations on my palm and rock chips embedded in my fingers from the short time I managed to hang on.

We walked to a nearby hotel to find lunch, where we were the only customers. I think the restaurant is open only if and when anyone shows up. I ate red snapper, salad, and rice and peas while listening to some crazy religious songs on the radio – our church service for Sunday? The short walk to and from the restaurant was interesting – there are no shoulders or sidewalks so you just walk along the road, dodging cars (they love to honk their loud horns), noisy motorcycles, potholes and trash. Lots of trash.

It was starting to spit rain just as we were picked up for our catamaran cruise, but it was a brief shower and didn’t dampen our spirits. Our first stop was at a coral reef, where we could snorkel. We geared up, and went over the side. Breathe, Sandy, breathe. While I love to snorkel, it takes every bit of my willpower to overcome the panic I feel when I put my face in the water. Irrational, I know. But it’s there just the same, and I have to talk myself into the fact that I can breathe through the snorkel. Once my initial panic is over, the rest is pure magic. There is a lot to see – corals, sea fans, sea urchins, and brightly colored little fish – and our 45 minutes is over far too quickly. Once I’m back on the boat, I can finally relax with a rum punch!

Tis is when my camera fails. One second I’m taking a photo of one of our guides; the next a message pops up that the battery door is open (which it’s not) and I cannot take another shot. Fabulous – my first full day of vacation and the camera quits. No more pictures for me. Damn, damn, damn.

Our next stop is Pirate’s Cave, and we bail off the boat to swim to the cave. These cliffs are full of caves and undercuts, large and small. Inside the cave is a place to climb out of the water, where we catch our breath before swimming back to the boat. Of course I don’t have any pictures of this since my camera decided to die! Once aboard, dinner is served. The traditional Jamaican meal of jerk chicken, rice and peas, and callaloo (cooked greens of some sort) is washed down with plenty of Red Stripe beer or rum punch.

We motor along the cliffs to Rick’s place, where brave souls can dive off the cliffs from platforms of varying heights. None of our group wants to dive, so we watch and cheer the more daring people as they plunge into the waves. We stop one more time on the way home, to watch the gorgeous sunset. Ralphie (Mark’s newest puppet) comes out for a photo shoot and to entertain the crew. They want to keep Ralphie. Wouldn’t a Jamaican puppet, with dreads and a Marley shirt, be awesome? Mark’s next  project?

Back at the castle, I start searching Google for information about the camera malfunction. Bad news. It seems the error message I saw was a common problem when these cameras were first introduced. This is an older model, but it has always been a great camera and has been all over the world with no other issues. No suggestions for overriding the message are available. L

What’s that? Oh goody, a dogfight. And that stupid rooster is at it again! GOODNIGHT JAMAICA!

You know, I don't know!

Well, that was interesting! I spent the night trying to sleep in a 'bed' made of two armchairs pushed together. I say trying because the only way to lie down was on my side curled up like a shrimp. That would last long enough for me to doze off, when my hip would start to ache and wake me up. I would then flip over and repeat the process on the other side. At one point I made the mistake of stretching out, which caused the chairs to slide apart and left my butt hanging in mid-air. That necessitated a complete repositioning of both the chairs and myself. Good grief!

5 AM arrived, and apparently I had actually fallen asleep at some point because 2 of the soldiers and their cots were gone. They may have simply fled in terror after glimpsing me in my sleep mask, earplugs, and bedhead. But Tumbleweed was still there, albeit groggy. (The nickname came from his disjointed story about a tumbleweed changing his life. No, I have no clue.) I said goodbye to him and Renee and left for my next connection.

I felt almost human again after brushing my teeth and drinking a cup of hot tea. We flew out over a sleeping Dallas, the city lights brilliant in the pre-dawn. I hadn't realized Dallas was so flat. No, actually I had never even thought about it before until I saw it stretched out for miles beneath me. It's odd how there are things you don't even know you don't know until you know them.

I watched the sun rise from 30,000 feet. After a short layover in Charlotte and a quick breakfast, I was back on a plane - this time for Jamaica! As we descended to the island, the dark blue of deep ocean water gave way to the lovely aquamarine of shallower seas. The kids in front of me were giddy with delight, planning how quickly they could change into swimsuits on and get in the water.

Unfortunately, it wasn't going to be very quick at all. With 4 planes arriving within 30 minutes of each other, the crush of incoming tourists caused an immense bottleneck at immigration. I spent over an hour in line, and another 30 minutes at customs. The delay caused me to miss Rucker, Sharon, Mark, and Chrissy who actually arrived on a later flight but got through customs faster. (More on that later!) By the time I found a ride to Negril, I had been at the airport for over 3 hours. Not gonna make the beach today, I'm afraid!


One for the road!

The drive from Montego Bay to Negril takes about an hour and a half, over a narrow winding road full of potholes and bad drivers. We stopped at a roadside bar (with a goat) for a Red Stripe beer. There are obviously no open container laws here - we grabbed our drinks and kept on going. When I finally arrived at Blue Cave Castle, it was raining. Sigh. I joined the Poseys and Souzas for warm hugs, lively conversation and cold drinks; we toasted Ralph and Mel who were unable to make it. We miss you, Ironman and Lady Iron!

Over peanut butter crackers, rum, and Diet Pepsi, I found out that the reason everyone made it through immigration and customs ahead of me involved speeding wheelchairs and big tips. All those handicapped tourists in wheelchairs - they're not handicapped at all! Who knew? And the peanut butter crackers were all there was for dinner because the hotel restaurant was closed due to the
waitress not showing up. Seriously. You can't make this shit up! But somehow Sharon used her Southern charm to get somebody to make us some dinner, and he even delivered. Fried chicken, rice and peas, and coleslaw never tasted so good! (And peas aren't what you know as peas - they're red beans.)

Tomorrow we will explore. And there will be pictures! Goodnight, mon!

Travel...it's always an adventure!

I’ve never been to Texas. But I’m here now- at the Dallas Fort Worth airport to be exact. Not exactly seeing the sights, but having an adventure just the same. If I were a gazillionaire, I could get afford a flight without an overnight layover. But I’m not, so I couldn’t. And the thought of paying for a hotel room for a few hours just didn’t work for me, so here I am in an airport lounge preparing to do a sleepover.

It doesn’t look like it’s going to be too bad, really. The chairs are comfy, the lights are dim, I have a blankie and pillow and warm socks. I’m sharing the lounge with a nice lady named Renee who works for the airlines and has been flying standby but hasn’t made it home yet.  She’s stuck here until morning too, and we’ve been sharing stories of travel and kids and life.

Did you know there are websites dedicated to sleeping in airports? Seriously. With lists of the best and worst airports for overnight stays, and tips and reviews and true stories. Check out www.sleepinginairports.net. Apparently I’m not the only cheap ass out there.

Hey, more company! We’ve now gained 2 army guys and a Marine. Some girls dropped their packs too but I don’t know where they wandered off to. There’s a stack of cots from the USO, and the Marine offered me his. It’s shaping up to be a party! Or would be if someone could get his game connected to the TV…then it would be Just Dance in this lounge! No luck – the USB port is behind the TV and short of taking it down off the wall there’s no way to connect. But wait...they’re not giving up yet! The Marine has turned his phone into a remote and is in control of the TV now. Here come the wheelchairs! Wheelchair races in the hall? Maybe!

That bitch on the intercom needs to shut up. Her announcement is getting on my last nerve! The earplugs will be coming out soon. By the time my flight leaves in the morning I will have heard her grating voice about 100 times. Oh joy there she goes again!

What goes on in the airport at night? So far they have installed a new TV and vacuumed. Exciting, right? Hey, in 20 minutes it will be tomorrow and then I will be in Jamaica today! Goodnight Texas!