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!