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!