My First Jamaican Trip, 1985

Jamaica Trip #1

Arnett Howard

Trip 1, September 25-October 2, 1985 with John Coke, Air Jamaica, Newark-Montego Bay, return Kingston, Newark.

Day one: John and I stayed in a different place each night. First day with Arthur Nelson, an engineer and school friend of John’s. Arthur owned a shopping strip center, his wife ran a grocery. Their home was out in the countryside and the living room was complete open to the elements. I remember eating a very hot pepper for dinner and sweet sop, a very tangy, sour fruit.

Day two; Negril. We journeyed by minibus to Negril and visited several sites on the cliff, the Mahogany Inn was under construction and I saw a perfect sunset the first night there. The construction crew slept in tents on the beach and cooked over campfire. John danced to my new boombox and the workers laughed into convulsions.

We went to the Tree House, met Jimmy Jackson and John negotiated a room price of $22.00 US for a standard room. We sat on the porch and enjoyed the laidback swing chairs that were very relaxing, as well as having fresh bananas hanging from the rafters of the porch.

I heard legend that Jimmy Jackson, a small, rich man, swam a mile each day. I awoke at first light to meet this superman. I went out lobster fishing and snorkling on a coral reef with two young men. They spoke Jamaican English but it was French to me.

We took a series of cabs and minibuses from Negril to Lucea, back to Montego Bay (Mobay) and stayed with the Nelsons that night.

Day Three: We were determined to get to Falmouth or Runaway Bay, on the North Coast, where John, a noted architect, had designed a vacation home for a Jamaica/New York family but never stayed there. We bussed to Falmouth, had lunch and caught a ride to the property from a businessman dining at our restaurant.

The home was incredibly beautiful, full of rich woods. We were right next to an FM transmitter, FAME FM, and the radio stayed on all night, filled with exciting reggae sounds. We rested in luxury.

Day Four: The next morning, we had a one mile walk from the home in Runaway Bay to the main road and the mosquitoes feasted on us along the wooded road. We caught a bus into Ocho Rios and had a breakfast of eggs and curried goat. The goat was the boniest meal that I had ever encountered, except for fish. Maybe I’ve had goat once since then.

Our next transportation took us to the coastal town of Port Maria, where we wander the marketplace looking for a driver that would take us towards Buff Bay, the closest town to John’s estate, Fish Dun, in Chepstowe, the northern reaches of the famed Blue Mountains. In no hurry our driver found enough passengers to fill his 1964 Plymouth Valiant and we journeyed inland for the first time.

Towards the late afternoon our driver delivered us to Chepstow and we walked the remaining distance to Fish Dun. I felt like we had completed a safari from tne humid sea levels of the coast to the slow four thousand foot climb into the cooler mountains.

Within minutes of geting to the cabin that John had built on fifty acres, we were decending a path that led to the Spanish River, a stream that began above John’s property, however he had the first property on it’s path to the sea. We began disrobing as we got father down the path and when we got to the right spot, we dropped everything and immersed ourselves in the cool, virgin waters.

Heaven must be like the Blue Mountains; waterfalls, pools, crystal clear, drinkable. My body temperature met the temps of the refreshing waters and John and I spent a good hour walking upriver, through gentle falls, pausing to allow ourselves to be massaged by the freshness of a new cascade, ooohing and aahing to the climax that awaited us after a couple thousand miles of travel.

Yes, I’m convinced that Heaven is in the Blue Mountains. We slogged downstream and when we rounded a corner, we encountered Dean and Sandra, also in their natural state, splashing in a pool close to the cabin. They were newlywed; Dean a tradesman from Columbus and Sandra, a recent Miss Jamaica from Kingston. Where else but in Heaven would you be introduced to Miss Jamaica au natural?

Mrs. Thompson was a Chepstow neighbor who was John’s property manager and cook.She killed a chicken for our evening meal and I must say, that yardbird did not die in vain; Mrs. Thompson gave him an exquisite preparation.

John’s cabin was wellbuilt, with its galvanized roof and rain barrels to collect fresh water and quite far removed from the luxury that we had been resting in during our gad about the coastline. Oil lamps provided our nightime light and I took some memorable photos of Dean and Sandra holding hands in that soft amber glow that illuminated their skin.

Heaven gets a lot of rain and a galvanized roof becomes a drum in a tropical storm. More beauty to enjoy.