TravelStream™ news feed for member kimandmartin on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/kimandmartin en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Fri, 16 Jan 2009 22:37:15 -0500 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kimandmartin/4/1203015060/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kimandmartin/4/1203015060/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kimandmartin/4/1203015060/tpod.html Fri, 16 Jan 2009 22:37:15 -0500 Yeah, Mon! Join us in Jamaica!

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Montego Bay, Jamaica

Suzanne made us coffee before our taxi picked us up for the long drive back to Montego Bay. We exchanged addresses, said our goodbyes and they headed down to the beach for the day with Smiley in tow, proudly wearing her new pink flea collar.

Our driver's nickname was "Simple". Similar to many of the drivers we have had here in Jamaica, he said little unless we inquired and even then, provided a minimum of information. That has been our greatest disappointment about traveling here; it's a beautiful place with spectacular scenery (the beaches, the mountains, the forests, waterfalls, etc.), but it's just not easy to get to know the locals who often have their guards up. Guess I can't really blame them as we must seem like rich white people who only want exploit Jamaicans for our own pleasure.

It took us about three hours to reach the airport at Montego Bay. There was a lot of construction and I noted a number women "flagmen"/looking after the "stop" and "go" signs. It was February 14, Valentine's Day, and there were lots of "love" games being played on the radio. The shortest route was via Ocho Rios, a hot spot for tourism (all-inclusives) in Jamaica; we were happy to just whisk by with a short stop at "Mother's" - for patties, of course!

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Toronto, Ontario, Canada

So we are on our way home again. In retrospect, would we return to Jamaica? Likely not because there's so much more of the world to see. Our favourite spot was Treasure Beach, though we also enjoyed both Miukzis.

Who knows . . . maybe some day.
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Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Canada

Martin and I were extremely happy to get out of Saskatoon because was -35C (-49C with the wind chill). Brrrrrrhhh!!! We'd completely forgotten that the cold weather might make it difficult to get a taxi! Luckily, our neighbour Karen was home, so she packed up her daughter and friend and took us in our car to the airport. It's great to have such nice neighbours!

Karen and her husband, John, have been to Jamaica many times BK (before kids, i.e., their daughter Abby). They were able to provide us with travel advice and information, though it has been more than 10 years since they'd been there. Many baby boomer North Americans travel there every year. Though it's not nearly as cheap a place to escape winter as it used to be, it's still their home away from home. Some have even picked up and moved completely, such as my sister's friend Peggy who sold her house in Saskatoon and all her belongings and never looked back!
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kimandmartin/honduras2007/1172269560/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kimandmartin/honduras2007/1172269560/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kimandmartin/honduras2007/1172269560/tpod.html Fri, 16 Jan 2009 17:29:19 -0500 Kim and Martin travel south to Honduras to escape the Saskatchewan winter.

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La Ceiba, Honduras

We awoke to the scent of the coffee trees blooms, so sweet and pungent. We ate with Marta and her helper in the kitchen. She divulged that she also had a daughter who was 27 and that she was a grandmother! It was hard to believe because she looked so young. We settled our bill, gave her a tip and got ready to head out and catch the bus back to La Guama. It pays to be generous! At the last moment, Marta offered to drive us into town.

It was a good thing she did. Upon inquiring she found out that there was no direct bus to La Ceiba until 1:30 pm. We would have to go to La Barca, then transfer to Santa Rita, then El Progresso to get to La Ceiba.

Sitting by the side of the road also waiting for a bus were Steve and Karen from Seattle. We had run into them yesterday while trekking back from Finca Las Glorias. They had been asking about a bus to La Ceiba, but couldn't figure out the response they were getting. Why were they talking about a boat? (la barca). They were certainly glad when we happened along with a Spanish speaker who figured out the mystery for them. We would have also been in the same "boat" if Marta hadn't have been with us!

So we took the milk route to La Ceiba. We boarded a modern beater bus to La Barca, caught a school bus to Santa Rita where we changed to another school bus bound for El Progresso, then another modern beater "directo" to La Ceiba. Local people readily helped point out or take us to the right buses and didn't expect any compensation for doing so, though we often paid those who helped us something small for their kindness.

The trip was a great way to get to know Steve and Karen. Karen is a civil engineer; Steve is a community developer. They have two grown-up sons. They just started traveling in 1998, but, in the past 11 years have been to many places and have had very ambitious itineraries. We felt like slackards compared to them! It was fun to compare notes on Honduras and talk about our experiences. The weather was cloudy and wet, so it was a good day to be on the road. We fumbled along in Spanish together, though Steve was much more able to converse with the locals than the rest of us.

Steve and Karen lived briefly in Edmonton; they joke about getting kicked out Canada. Apparently, the company that hired Steve didn't get him the proper clearance to work in Canada so they had to leave. He packed up their little car with all their belongings and, along with a very-pregnant Karen and their baby son, hightailed it back to the US. Karen describes one very lonely and long Canadian winter caring for her infant son. It was Canada's loss that they couldn't stay!

We arrived in La Ceiba about 2 pm and shared a taxi to a hotel that we agreed on. However, it was closed so we had to opt for something else. La Ceiba, the largest city on the north coast (population 115,000), is a rather seedy and dirty port city know for its discos and nightlife. It's also the jumping off point to explore the nearby nature reserves or to catch a ferry to one of the Bay Islands.

It's along the north coast and on the islands that you will see the Garifuna who are Afro-Hondurans. The coastline is dotted with Garifuna villages and the culture takes on a Caribbean flavour. There are superb beaches and magnificent jungles in this area.

We spent the evening with Steve and Karen where we took cover from the torrential downpour at the Expatriates' Bar and Grill. We certainly made use of our umbrellas! We, as well as Karen and Steve, had plans to take tours into the countryside, but that may change if the weather doesn't let up.


]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kimandmartin/4/1201717860/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kimandmartin/4/1201717860/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kimandmartin/4/1201717860/tpod.html Fri, 16 Jan 2009 17:26:27 -0500 Yeah, Mon! Join us in Jamaica!

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Negril, Jamaica

It takes about an hour and a half to drive from Montego Bay to Negril, but it took considerably less with Kingsley behind the wheel! He was in a hurry to transport a couple of people from the Xtabi back to the airport and drove like a madman, apologizing profusely all the way. Martin and I just sat back and smiled.

I had done a fair amount of research on hotels in Negril and there are plenty to choose from, depending on where you want to stay - along the main beach (Long Bay Beach) or in "the cliffs". We opted for the cliffs as the area sounded quieter and more to our liking. The Xtabi is a middle-of-the road hotel located along the beachfront and built overtop some caves. It sounded fairly reasonable (about $90 CDN a night), small, quiet and interesting. Well-tended tropical gardens surround the hotel; directly across the road is where the restaurant is located and where you can climb down to the caves to explore. We quickly noted that we had to be careful crossing the road as the roads are winding and narrow, so it's not always easy to see vehicles approaching. Likewise, when we decided to go out for supper the first evening, we found ourselves clinging to to walls and fences along the side of the road because there is no where to walk - and certainly no sidewalks!

Negril (population 3,000) was a small fishing village before its heyday in the late sixties and early seventies when it became a popular hippie hangout. Those aging "hippies" still return year after year; some have stayed on permanently. Marijuana abounds - it's smoked freely just about everywhere and its potent aroma fills the streets and bars. Some joints we saw were rolled as big as cigars, with the partaker blissfully puffing away, producing a thick haze of heady, blue smoke. Negril is party central for those people wanting to get away from it all, laze on the beach and enjoy the night life.

"Rastitutes" or "rent-a-rastas", young (and some not so young) Jamaican men, roam the streets looking for available western women to keep company. All single female tourists are fair game here and and are pestered relentlessly by willing Jamaican men. (I was propositioned only once - when Martin wasn't with me, of course!) Many of these guys are not the real Rastafarians - the vegan, ganja-worshipping mellow fellows we all hear about.

Staying at the same hotel as we were was a couple of Winnipeg, Margaret and Lee. He had lived in Prince Albert for seven years and was a pilot who fights fires in La Ronge every summer. This was their ninth time in Jamaica. They return here every winter for a month or so. It was a theme we often encountered.

Our introduction to Jamaica was not very pleasant because we were robbed the first night we were there. Someone came in through the window of our hotel while we were sleeping(!) and stole my cash. We were in a room on the main floor of the hotel and did not realize that our windows (which had no bars or screens) were not locked. So whoever it was slipped through the window, grabbed my daypack, unlocked and exited through the door, went through the contents of my pack and returned it back through the window. (They had also gone through the pockets of Martin's pants and left them in the middle of the floor.) Luckily, I only had about $100 US/CDN cash combined and they didn't bother with my passport, credit card or camera! We found out that these sorts of robberies were taking place all along the beach, but they don't take anything that would incriminate them. Cash is untraceable, unlike camera equipment, jewelery or credit cards.

The hotel manager and the owner did seem genuinely concerned, particularly when the Xtabi is one of the only hotels along this part of the beach that has security! The silly part of it is that there was a safe in our room, but we hadn't checked into using it (nor had any of the staff mentioned it). At least they didn't find Martin's money pouch, though it was sitting on the night table right by the bed. They would have been about $500 richer if they would have scored his cash, too.

What was so freaky about it was that we were in the room sleeping when they robbed us. Usually, I might have woken up, but I was wearing ear plugs. We were both dead tired from getting no sleep the night previous (i.e., in Montreal airport). We assured the hotel manager that we were OK (besides being a bit freaked out), requested that we be moved to a room on the upper level and paid the small fee for a fee for the lockbox. We were determined that the incident wasn't going to ruin our holiday. (Word about the robbery quickly got out to the other tourists in the vicinity and we kept getting introduced as "the people who got robbed". As seasoned travellers, we felt rather embarrassed about it all.) That's just the way it goes sometimes.

Many of the Jamaican regulars had a daily routine which varied little from day to day. They would go to the beach or hang around their hotel, then head for the Samsura Hotel for happy hour from 5-7 pm (sometimes it lasted a little longer if someone could persuade them to extend it), then on to Pee Wee's bar until it closed. Pee Wee, the former owner of the bar, was the stuff of legends. One day 14 years ago he went out for a swim and never came back. His sister now runs the bar and every year the regulars have a big celebration on Pee Wee's birthday.

Single drinks are the cheap at Pee Wee's and no one blinks an eye about anyone smoking pot. The thatch roof that covers the bar must be permeated with the stuff and the air is so smoky you can barely see across the room. The night we visited, a huge Jamaican man with dreadlocks appeared, smoking a spliff the size of a large Cuban stogie. Although cheap and abundant, Jamaican pot is not for the faint of heart. That spliff would have put most of us white folks under the table.

It was at Pee Wee's that we met up with my sister's friend, Peggy, and her husband, Ron. Peggy is from Saskatchewan; Ron is an American from Philadelphia. A few years ago, after wintering in Jamaica for many years, Peggy sold her house and most of her belongings to take up residence here. She makes and sells frozen cheesecake; Ron has a business repairing computers. They live in Jamaica year-round, but leave for about a month during hurricane season (June - November). Before they depart, they pack everything in vacuum bags and hope that the place will be there when they return.

One afternoon, we took a taxi to visit with Peggy at the tiny 362 square foot house at Brim Hole. Interestingly enough, they rent it from the owner of the Xtabi. He and his Jamaican "baby-wife" live in the same compound. It is an idyllic setting overlooking the ocean where you can watch the passing boats and admire the sunset. The beach is accessible via stairs through some caves. The house is surrounded by poinsettias, cashew, almond, orange and lime trees - and blowholes. When the weather gets nasty, the blowholes erupt with water and spew it all over the place. According to Peggy, it can be a pretty scary place during a storm as there's not much between them and the water. They had to vacate during Hurricanes Ivan and Dean.

The inside of their house reminds me of a ship. The walls and doors are beautiful polished wood. Everything is very close quarters and they have had to be very selective about what they keep. There are three rooms located indoors: a living area, a bedroom and a small bathroom. Both the kitchen and the shower are located out of doors at the rear of the house; Peggy's locked freezer guards her precious cargo of cheesecakes. She makes four kinds of cakes, key lime, mocha, peanut butter and Oreo, that she sells to the pricier hotel restaurants in the area and for special events such as weddings. She has purchased metal containers for the cakes to ensure that they are delivered safely, though she says that, more than once, the containers have been returned with lots of dents from being used as musical instruments at wakes. It has taken time for cheesecake to catch on here; when she first started her business she would get back a tin with the contents scooped out like ice cream. Now she pre-cuts the cake into individually wrapped slices for ease of serving. She mentioned that it was sometimes a challenge to get butter, sour cream and cream to make her cakes.

Peggy and Ron have several pets: two dogs, Joyce and Ryzla, and two cats, Skiddell (Jamaican slang for a wild, young woman) and Pita (Pain-in-the-ass). We sat and visited with Peggy and their animals in their small front yard, admiring the view and watching the hummingbirds.

I asked her about her life there. She does miss her friends in Saskatoon. And the temporariness of their lives in Jamaica can be unsettling. Every year, they have to make their way to Kingston to renew their visas and be fingerprinted. It's quite an ordeal. There's lots of paperwork - always "one more form" to complete. She is attached to Ron's visa, so if he couldn't work here, she'd have to leave, too. Finding good employees in Jamaica is a challenge and she has been unable to find someone to help with her cheesecake business. As we noted at our hotel, customer service is mostly not a priority.

On our way back to our hotel, we stopped in at the Rick's Café which achieved fame for the young boys who dive off the steep cliffs into the ocean. These days, of course, they only do it for money and tourists flock there in tourist buses from Ocho Rios and Montego Bay to witness the spectacle. It was crowded, noisy and chaotic, so after a glance, we left as quickly as possible.

In Negril, we were introduced to a typical Jamaican breakfast consisting of saltfish (similar to a big baking powder biscuit), callaloo (a vegetable like spinach) and ackee (a yellow fruit resembling and tasting like scrambled eggs - weird). We learned that ackee is poisonous until it is ripe. We particularly enjoyed all the fruit in season: bananas, passionfruit, papaya, oranges and grapefruit. Since Rastafarians do not eat meat, there are a number of restaurants that are vegetarian. One evening we and a woman named Rosemary from Michigan checked out one of the vegan places. The food consisted of red beans, tofu and "chunks", vegetable pieces resembling meat. It was interesting.

It is also noteworthy that you can drink water directly out of the tap all over Jamaica. Not having to worry about drinking the water served in restaurants or whether or not the ice cubes in your drink were safe was nice.

We didn't venture far our of Negril when we were there. We took a walk one day down to Long Bay Beach, bought a hat for Martin in the market from "Sister Love" and ventured into town to go to the bank. A couple of times we also rented fins and went snorkeling on the reef beside the hotel. Although the reef was not very colourful (some blue fan coral and yellow sponges), we did see lots of fish: yellow, blue, black and white striped ones, pointy-nosed fish, sea urchins and squid.

Of course, the locals tried to sell us (or rather, sell Martin) dope just about everywhere we went: "ganja", "sensi", "joints", "hash", "honey oil","high test" and "something for your nose". Though the drug salesmen were persistent, they weren't particularly pushy. Drugs are not legal in Jamaica, just tolerated. A young hustler named Tommy who hung out not far from our hotel tried to hit Martin up for something most times we passed, whether it a cigarette, a drink or whatever Martin could spare. (He was also the one that hit on me one time when I was alone. Just trying to take advantage of opportunity, I guess!)

Our last evening in Negril was spent at a Superbowl party. It was at this little hot and steamy out-of-the-way bar back from the beach called Ragabones. The host put on quite the spread of free food for the party-goers: fish soup, beef and lamb kebabs, fish and clams, barbecue shrimp, rice and peas(Jamaicans call them peas, but they're actually beans) and marinated tomatoes. The Red Stripe beer was flowing freely; tourist-guests and locals were milling about. Because I don't drink beer, I purchased a mickey of "Q" of rum (most of which went home with me). The cheering in the bar was deafening when the underdog NY Giants defeated the New England Patriots. It was a loud and rather tipsy group that made their way back to their accommodations for the night.

]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kimandmartin/4/1202755500/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kimandmartin/4/1202755500/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kimandmartin/4/1202755500/tpod.html Sun, 30 Nov 2008 18:44:27 -0500 Yeah, Mon! Join us in Jamaica!

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Kingston, Jamaica

We said a reluctant goodbye to Mar Blue and Treasure Beach. Andrea gave us a ride to the BREDS plaza to get a ride to Kingston. It didn't take but a few minutes for us to get a ride in a private car with Winston Senior or "Son" as he is known to his friends. Son is one of the more talkative drivers we've encountered. We learn that he is 53, has a son, Tacky, who is also a driver, and that his wife runs a women's centre, a government run facility for young pregnant girls.

He told us that he recently got a loan from the bank to buy his wife a car. Interest rates on car loans are 15-17 %! While in the bank, Martin noticed a sign advertising bank loans - "no questions asked" - at 25.5%!

The speed limit on better paved roads in Jamaica is 80 km/hour; on the secondary roads it's 50 km/hr. Roads tend to be winding and busy, so it takes time and patience to travel long distances. We quickly learned how to stop a taxi Jamaican-style: hold out your arm and flutter your hand.

Despite Son's persistence to find us a hotel in the downtown area, Martin and I insisted that he take us to a place we'd selected in our guide called the Mikuzi, located in New Kingston. We selected New Kingston because it is a safe part of the city, a residential area where many expats live and where many of the embassies are located. It is also close to the Bob Marley Museum which was the main reason we had come to Kingston, along with the opportunity to travel into the Blue Mountains.

Many tourists to Jamaica do not venture far from the beach. Even very few of the regulars who return year after the year have ever been to Kingston - or come here only if they have to. Kingston (population 600,000), the capital of Jamaica and a major port city, has a bad reputation as a dirty and dangerous place rife with unemployment, poverty and crime.

The owner of our guesthouse is Valerie, a Jamaican woman who used to be a fashion designer. In 1984, she semi-retired, bought the Mikuzi (Jamaican patois for "me cozy") and never looked back. The guesthouse rooms are helter skelter in beautiful gardens; the buildings are a riot of colour and each guest room is uniquely decorated - obviously with a designer's eye. A Rotweiller named Ginger guards the premises; Valerie jokes that the dog is prejudice because she'll attack black people and not white. We discovered that most of the residences in the area have dogs for protection. It was a nerve-wracking walk to a restaurant each evening with dogs barking non-stop and lunging at us behind six foot walls. We counted as many as five dogs in every yard.

Every morning we joined Valerie for tea in her garden. She is working on adding a spa to property. Each time we see her she is busy with a project of some sort. We learned that she has four children, or "3 1/2 boys" as she describes them. (Her daughter was very much a tomboy. Valerie wanted her to be a model, but she chose to work in the computer industry instead. She now lives in the US.) Her youngest boy, 16, works for her, one works for a car rental company and the other is a paints houses.

The first point of interest for us is the Bob Marley Museum located just blocks from the Mikuzi at 56 Hope Road, Bob's residence from 1975 until his death. Before traveling to Jamaica I read his biography called Catch a Fire from which I learned about Marley's life and life in Jamaica.

Bob Marley was born at Nine Miles in St. Ann Parish on the north coast of Jamaica in 1945. He was the son of a British sea captain and a Jamaican woman. Bob was a fitness fanatic (played football, i.e., soccer) and a vegan who only ate Ital (ee-tal) food (no salt, or meat - only fruit, vegetables, bread and some types of fish). Although raised as a black Jamaican, he saw himself as half black and half white.

Bob Marley grew up in the gritty Trench Town in Kingston, an area renowned for its poverty and apathy. After achieving success, he purchased the property on Hope Road from his British manager, Chris Blackwell. His wife, Rita Marley, was one of the backup singers for his band, the Wailers. Upon his death from cancer in 1981, Rita Marley established the Bob Marley Foundation which she runs with their children and Bob's brothers and sisters.

Bob was also a Rastafarian, a religion that has its roots in the teachings of fellow Jamaican, Marcus Garvey. Rastafarians are followers of Haile Selassie, the emperor of Ethiopia, whose given name is Ras Tafari Makonnen. Rastafarians believe that Selassie is a direct descendant of King Solomon and the Queen of Sheeba. The first tenet of Rastafari is the acceptance of Haile Selassie as the second coming of God, or "Jah". True Rastafarians follow a strict Ital diet, smoke ganja or "herb" as a religious sacrament, wear dreadlocks and a tam (usually in the Rastafarian colours of red, green and yellow - the colours of the Ethiopian flag), believe in having many children (Bob had 12) and oppose surgery or invasion of the body of any kind. It was this aversion to surgery that may have contributed to Bob's untimely death. His cancer is believe to have started in his big toe, the result of a soccer injury. The doctor wanted to amputate his toe to stave off the infection, but Bob would have none of it.

The Bob Marley Museum is decorated with memorabilia from Bob's life. Walls are plastered with his gold, platinum and diamond records, album covers, newspaper articles and magazine covers, such as Rolling Stone and Soul. He has received numerous awards, including being inducted in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, winning a Grammy Lifetime Award and receiving a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. We were very impressed with the young female guides, all of who were very knowledgeable about Bob Marley and could sing his songs like no one's business! (We were all coaxed into singing "One Love" - voted song of the millennium - at one point in the tour). A 20 minute theatre presentation providing more insights into Bob Marley's philosophy on life concludes the tour.

The museum is inspiration which portrays Bob Marley as a messenger of peace, hope and love. His views were not help by all Jamaicans, however, and his life was threatened more than once. During the tour, the guide points out bullet holes in the back of house where he was attacked on one occasion. After that particular attempt on his life, Bob went into hiding for two years, until 1978's One Love concert where he had the leaders of the opposing Jamaican political parties come on stage and shake hands. This is considered a monumental event in Jamaican history.

(Despite the popularity of Rastafarianism, most Jamaicans are Anglicans. Like so many places populated by former African slaves, churches often combine African and European religious traditions and many Jamaicans believe in withcraft, evil spirits or "obeah" and ghosts or "duppies".)

We also took in the grounds of nearby Devon House, built in 1881 by Jamaica's first black millionaire, and the National Art Gallery in seedy downtown Kingston. The gallery houses an excellent collection of Jamaican artwork from the 1920s to present day. While downtown, we took a short walk along the harbour front to the craft market which was teeming with people selling cheap souvenirs. Needless to say, it wasn't long before we headed back to New Kingston. We were drawn to Devon House a couple of times because the shops on the grounds sold delicious patties and ice cream.

Our second day in the Kingston area was spent touring the Blue Mountains with Dalwin (aka Skidell), Son's brother-in-law, as our driver. Though an easy day trip from Kingston, the Blue Mountains is a world away from the hustle and bustle of the city. The mountains are named for the mist that colour them from a distance and their craggy slopes form an unbroken, undulating spine across Jamaica's easternmost parishes. As we wove our way through the mountains, the serenity of the countryside was instantly calming. The air was fresh and cool; the vegetation was thick, wild and oh, so green. Much of this area is uninhabited and/or inaccessible by road.

Dalwin (we found it hard to call him Skidell, knowing the connotation of the word) was familiar with this area because he had lived on the edge of the mountains in a little place called Irish Town for about 10 years. He drove into Kingston each day, but liked driving home to spend the evenings in the coolness of the mountains. (On our departure from the Blue Mountains, Dalwin stopped to cut a piece bamboo. He raises white doves - has about 16 and was going to used the bamboo to make a feeding tray.)

The Blue Mountains, John Crow Mountains and other rugged areas of Jamaica were home to the freed/escaped slaves known as the Maroons, a term derived from the Spanish word cimarrones meaning "wild" or "untamed". The Maroons became a deterrent to colonists wanting to settle in more remote areas. The British brought in troups to gain control, but with the difficult and extremely confusing terrian, were easily outmanoeuvred by the skilled guerilla tactics of the Maroons. Eventually, a treaty was signed between the two parties. It is possible to visit Maroon settlements, but there are particular protocols in doing so.

Our first stop was Strawberry Hill, once a coffee plantation, now owned by Chris Blackwell and run as an upscale hotel for the rich and famous. Located on a mountaintop overlooking Kingston, it is strikingly unpretentious and has a traditional Jamaican feel about it. The surrounding gardens are beautifully landscaped and the buildings seem somehow to blend right into the landscape. Strawberry Hill is renowned for its food; our guide recommended that the $53 per person Sunday brunch is worth every penny.

Further up the road, we stopped at Holywell Recreational Park where we walked the short Oatley Mountain Trail, a 2 mile, 40-minute circuitous trek through the jungle dotted with air ferns and orchids. This is the off-season and the park was remarkably quiet. We saw very few other tourists, only a group of young people who had been camping in the area over the weekend.

We also visited a coffee farm, The Tavern Coffee Estate, perched on the side of a mountain. We were greeted by the raucous barking of a couple of large, forbidding dogs, who calmed down once the owner appeared. The owner reluctantly allowed us in (they prefer if you call ahead and we hadn't). Her family purchased the plantation as a summer home in 1968, but now that her husband, an accountant, has retired, they live there year round. From their house we could see the coffee bushes that cover the vast hillsides.

We were shown the grinding equipment and how the coffee is graded. Harvest takes place from May through July. Once the beans are picked, the fruit is separated from the bean, the hulls are removed and the beans are roasted. They had several types of coffee available for sale, their specialty being "peabody". We were served samples of the coffee (which I, not being a coffee drinker, foisted on Martin who didn't mind in the least) took a look at a few photos, ate a few cookies and were off. As we felt we had intruded, we didn't stay long. Hopefully, the fact we bought a few pounds of coffee placated her somewhat. Another couple who had arrived at the coffee plantation just before we did and had called ahead to arrange for a visit certainly appeared to receive a warmer welcome than we had.

Our last evening was spent visiting with Valerie, relaxing in the calm atmosphere of the Mikuzi.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kimandmartin/4/1203014880/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kimandmartin/4/1203014880/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kimandmartin/4/1203014880/tpod.html Sun, 30 Nov 2008 18:35:00 -0500 Yeah, Mon! Join us in Jamaica!

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Port Antonio, Jamaica

Dalwin picked us up just after 9 am at the Mikuzi en route to Port Antonio, located north of Kingston on the coast. Because the road north was in poor condition, Valerie recommended Dalwin travel the ocean route (south and east and around). Those roads were bad enough - rough and lots of holes. It took us almost four hours to get there and it's only 100 km from Kingston as the crow flies (i.e., by the north route). I don't think Dalwin was impressed. He might have risked the shorter drive if he knew how long the detour was going to be.

We noted a lot of sugar cane farming en route. Cane is being harvested this time of year. A couple of times were got behind trucks loaded to the gills with sugar cane; we saw a boy on the side of the road jumped up and grabbed a piece of the cane to chew on, a big grin on his face.The villages along the coast are mostly sleepy fishing villages. Because it was Monday, we saw lots of school kids in their uniforms heading off to school or in the school playgrounds.

The trip to Port Antonio also took us by a limestone quarry. Bauxite, for making aluminum, is mined in Jamaica. The backbone of the Jamaican economy is tourism, bauxite and agriculture. Unfortunately, the country carries a massive burden of debt to foreign lenders - much of the foreign courrency earned goes towards paying the interest on their debtload.

Valerie had talked us into checking out her other property, also called Mikuzi, just out side Port Antonio at Winnifred Beach. (At one time, she also owned a place in Negril that was destroyed during hurricane season.) Valerie's grandfather was a sea captain from the Bahamas and he used to own the property. This Winnifred Beach Mikuzi was very similarly decorated and had a nice garden, but was a little more rustic. Although it was within walking distance from one of the prettiest beaches in Jamaica, it was also right beside the main road. Everyone should travel equipped with earplugs!

Steve, aka Tooloo, was a manager of Winnifred Beach Mikuzi. His mother, "Sixteen", also worked for the Mikuzi cleaning rooms. Steve had spent a year in Toronto with his Dad who has been there since 1988 and drove a bus. He is a modern Jamaican and does not belief in Rastafarianism. He does not understand how it is possible to worship a person as Rastas do.

It's quite isolated at Winnifred Beach. There's no restaurants close by (except a couple of places selling rice and peas and the restaurant on the beach which is open only for lunch), so it meant grabbing a cab every time we needed to go into Port Antonio to eat, go to the bank, do some sightseeing, etc. We had some very interesting rides between our accommodations and town, some in official taxis, others crammed with the locals into private cars.

There were several other people staying at the Winnifred Beach Mikuzi, mostly Europeans. We met a young Swedish woman who had spent three months volunteering in Guatemala and had travelled to Jamaica to meet up with a friend. Holed up in one cabin was a German Rasta woman who, besides being white, looked and played the part of a Rastafarian. She even had the patois down. We got mighty tired of the loud reggae music she played over and over and requested that Steve to ask her to turn it down. He assured us that it wasn't the first time he'd had to remind her.

There's been very little live music here which has been disappointing. All we've heard is what's been on the radio or what's being played in the background in bars or restaurants. (One exception was the singing we could hear from the Winnifred Beach Mikuzi at a nearby church, if you want to call that music. It was bad.) Our guide indicates that concerts in Jamaica often don't start until after midnight (and then maybe not at all) and they play until early morning. We never stayed up late enough to find out if that was true or not!

Because we were out of town, obtaining food (especially breakfast) was a bit of a problem. The Mikuzi did have a kitchen, but we had not brought along any food with us. The first morning we were there Martin walked to the closest shop and bought a dry spice bun for us to eat. There was no coffee in sight. Even when we did try to buy some yogurt at a store in Port Antonio, it was difficult finding a shop with a refrigerator, let along one that carried yogurt. We had to settle for a pineapple we purchased in the market.

Winnifred Beach is right beside the Blue Lagoon of Brooke Shields fame. Unfortunately, we discovered that it is only accessible by boat for which, of course, you have to pay. We could catch a glimpse of it from the road so we didn't bother. Closer to Port Antonio is Trident Castle, a huge, white Disney-like structure with towers and a pointed roof. It was built as a private residence in the 1970s and is sometimes rented out for private functions, but it not open to the public.

Port Antonio (population 10,000) was a popular spot in the 1950s and 60s, a place well-known Americans such as Errol Flynn used to frequent. These days it is a sleepy little fishing village, though a new, beautifully landscaped marina, the Errol Flynn Marina, gives tourists who do venture to this out-of-the-way spot the impression that tourism is rebounding. From the marina, you can see Navy Island, once owned by Flynn. (Legend has it that Flynn lost the island is a poker game.) A major harbour for exporting bananas, it was Port Antonio that inspired the the banana boat song "Day-O" sung by Harry Belfonte.

Though there's not a lot see in the town itself, Musgrave Market was worth checking out. It's mainly a food market, but there is also a section selling tourist trinkets and carvings. Since Martin collects masks, he bargained for one with "Rock Bottom" whose mantra was "love, peace, unity and respect" (always accompanied by a corresponding set of interactive hand motions). He was a pretty cool character and a very talented carver. I did get a tongue-lashing from a woman in the market for taking a photo that she happened to be in (not that I was really taking a picture of her, it was more of the general place itself). As I have noted before, Jamaica is not the friendliest place on earth.

Back at the Mikuzi, a couple we had seen at the Kingston Mikuzi arrived and were in the room next door to us: Suzanne and Arthur. Suzanne was from London and had taught English and ESL in high school and then at King's College. She also taught in Jaipur, India for six years. Arthur was an retired American from New York who has spent most of his career with an international company, mostly out of Singapore. They now lived in France and spent their winters in Jamaica where they rent a house at Falmouth, near Ocho Rios. They were touring around the island by car.

We made friends with numerous "beach dogs" who follow tourists to the beach looking for food and attention, then follow us back to our lodgings. One in particular we grew fond of was "Smiley", a bitch who had no front teeth and whose tongue lolled out the side of her mouth. Steve encouraged us to move the mat and chairs from the patio inside of our rooms every night so that the dogs wouldn't have a place to stay, but, I must admit, we didn't always follow orders. Suzanne had flea collars that gave to some of the dogs, including Smiley, who seemed very happy with her gift, her share of any leftovers we cared to give her, and a nice nap on the doormat.

My birthday was spent at Winnifred Beach. We lazed around the beach in the morning and when we got rained out (our only rainy day), ate a delicious lobster lunch at the beach restaurant, then slept the afternoon away. We were both pretty tired has we hadn't gotten much sleep (earplugs or no earplugs) with the traffic noise and because of dogs fighting with other dogs, dogs barking at the chickens which roam freely in these parts, dogs whining and roosters waking us up at 4 am.

For our evening meal (our last day at Winnifred Beach), we had intended to go out for supper to a restaurant down the road, but, instead, were invited to eat with Suzanne and Arthur. We enjoyed the opportunity to spend a bit of time with them and to listen to their stories about living all over the world. The food was delicious, too: chicken and peas, callaloo and green beans. Dining in the backyard of the Mikuzi by candlelight under the stars was a perfect way to spend our last evening in Jamaica.

]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kimandmartin/4/1202496000/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kimandmartin/4/1202496000/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kimandmartin/4/1202496000/tpod.html Sun, 30 Nov 2008 17:14:03 -0500 Yeah, Mon! Join us in Jamaica!

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Treasure Beach, Jamaica

Then it was on to Treasure Beach for some R n'R. We arranged for Sonics to drive us to Treasure Beach for $37 US. En route we stopped at Lover's Leap to see the ocean view. The story goes that "Tunkey", a slave, and "Mizzy", the slave owner's daughter, jumped to their deaths from the top of the hill because their love was forbidden.

Treasure Beach, a string of fishing settlements, is a snoozy little place along the south coast of Jamaica. There are no all-inclusives; many of the local establishments are owned by locals. The Santa Cruz mountains provide a spectacular backdrop, protecting the area from rain clouds coming from the north. As a result, Treasure Beach has one the driest climates in Jamaica. There are plenty of cacti and succulents growing in the area. You also see vegetable crops and, as most places in Jamaica, lots of goats and dogs.

We discovered our travel guide was a bit out of date when it came to prices of hotels at Treasure Beach. We checked out a few, then decided to splurge and stay at Mar Blue Domicil, $139 US/night plus 15% tax, including breakfast. At the time, we weren't so sure about our decision, but we enjoyed our time there immensely. The room was spotless and very tastefully decorated in blue and white (Mediterranean style) and opened on to a private patio/sitting area right by a small swimming pool. There were clean, white, cozy bathrobes to laze about in. The food was fabulous. It was sunny and about 30C every day. We felt spoiled and we loved it.

Mar Blue Domicil is a small beachfront hotel owned and operated by Germans Andrea and Reinhard, and home to their dog, "Taboo". They moved from Florida a few years ago to set up shop at Treasure Beach. Reinhold is a retired engineer and architect (it's obvious that their designer friends helped them decorate) who now spends his days helping Andrea run the hotel and his evenings cooking for guests. Dinner our second evening there consisted of smoked salmon, tomato bisque, mixed green with vinaigrette dressing, coconut curry shrimp/fresh wahoo (fish) and guava ice cream. Yum, yum, yum! Goodies for two foodies!

The day we arrived was Bob Marley Day. We heard Bob Marley everywhere, songs such as "One Love", "No Woman, No Cry" and "Redemption Song". He is heralded as a hero here. Music is considered one of the only ways of beating poverty Jamaica and there are many aspiring Bob Marleys.

The hot spot on the beach in the area is called Jake's, about a ten-minute walk from the Mar Blue. This is where the younger crowd with money gravitate. The rooms are funky and chic, the music plays all day long and the bar is never dry. Beside Jake's is Jack Spratt's, a popular pizza hangout located on a public beach where Jamaican families were enjoying the day.

Treasure Beach is a very safe place, largely due to a non-profit organization called BREDS, short for "bredin", Jamaican slang for friend. The brainchild of American Jason Henzell of Jake's fame, BREDS was established in 1998 to promote awareness of Jamaican culture, the environment, sports development, entrepreneurship and healthcare. BREDS has constructed some thirty homes for local people who couldn't afford housing, provided computers and office equipment for the local school and has been very active in keeping Treasure Beach a clean and safe area. Even though it was a dark walk back to our hotel the evenings we were out and about, it was reassuring not to have to worry about safety. There's a story told here about a local man who stole a wallet; he was caught by people from the neighbourhood and soundly beaten. There hasn't been a theft since.

After three luxurious days at Treasure Beach, Martin and I promised to always take a few days like this on future trips.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kimandmartin/4/1202236440/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kimandmartin/4/1202236440/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kimandmartin/4/1202236440/tpod.html Sun, 30 Nov 2008 17:03:15 -0500 Yeah, Mon! Join us in Jamaica!

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Black River, Jamaica

After a breakfast of pancakes at a restaurant down the street, Martin and I headed off with our packs and were quickly rounded up by a taxi driver who agreed to drive us to Black River for $50 US. His name was John, aka "Slowly". Everyone here has a given name and a nickname. You're just as likely to be told one as the other.

John or "Slowly" had worked for six or seven years in the sugar cane fields, but it was hard work and it didn't pay well, so he decided to try driving cab instead. He has been a taxi driver for about 18 years now. Our route to Black River was along the south coast. At Belmont, we stopped long enough to take a picture of the sign at Peter Tosh's birthplace. Peter Tosh was one of the original band members of Bob Marley and the Wailers. He was shot and killed during a robbery/drug deal gone bad in 1987.

The hotel we chose in Black River was Ashton Great House, located just outside town, with a picturesque hillside setting. It was built in the 1600s by an English sea captain. As with most great houses in Jamaica, it was built on a hill to communicate with ships at sea via Morse Code and to keep an eye on the slaves. It is a huge old house decorated with antique furniture. The stairway was imported from England and the creaky wood floors are made from orange wood.

The manager of the establishment was Mrs. Verna Binns. She was manager, host, cleaning supervisor and cook all rolled into one. She also arranged for a local driver, Patrick, aka "Sonics", to tour us around the area. While at Ashton, we were to experience many of Mrs. Binns' homemade specialties: "rung dun" (fish in coconut milk),"food" (yam, potato and plantain), "escovitch fish" cooked in a spicy sauce and "festival" which were similar to corn fritters.

On our first day, we spent the afternoon in Black River. It was our introduction to a chain called "Juicy Patties", which served fast food Jamaican-style. Patties are meat pies stuffed with meat, seafood, chicken or vegetables. They were cheap, delicious soul food - and we indulged at Juicy Patties or other patty places many times during our travels in Jamaica.

Black River's wealth was derived from trade in logwood, used to produce black and dark blue dyes for the textiles industry. With the introduction of synthetic dyes, the market for logwood has since disappeared. The town is renowned for its beautiful, old wooden buildings with gorgeous colonnaded verandahs and gingerbread trim.built during Black River's heyday. We checked out the Invercauld Hotel and the Waterloo Guesthouse, the first electrified dwelling in Jamaica. Along the waterfront is a rusty old ship, half sunk in the water; local farmers sell their fruit and vegetables on the beach. It was nice not to get hassled like Negril, but, on the other hand, people were none too friendly either.

We did have some fun on the way back to the guesthouse with four little girls on their way home from school who rode in the same taxi van as Martin and I. Children wear school uniforms here. The boys' are invariably some shade of brown, but the girls vary from school to school, ranging from white blouses with bright blue or navy jumpers to red and white check blouses with red skirts. We gave them each a balloon and I showed them pictures of snowy Saskatchewan on my camera. Wary of strangers, they were rendered speechless.

The next morning, Sonics arrived early for our tour of the area. Our first stop was the Appleton Rum Factory which was founded in 1645. The factory employs about 560 people and they farm about 6,000 acres of sugar cane. The whole place smells sweet, like sugar and molasses.

On the rum factory tour we met a young fellow from England who had inherited some money and had decided to take a whirlwind trip to Jamaica for a couple of days, then was on to New York for a few more days. He ran a bar in London, so was keenly interested in the rum-making process. He'd taken a taxi straight from Montego Bay airport when he landed. I expect he spent most of his holiday jet-lagged and bleary-eyed.

Rum is made from molasses, sugar cane and water. Sugar is squeezed from the cane; what remains is called "bopus" and is used as fuel for heating the sugar and molasses, or sometimes the residue is used for making chipboard. With today's methods, it is possible to get about 90% of the sugar out of the cane. The sugar and molasses are mixed and heated to produce "wet sugar". The sugar portion is separated out and sold as brown sugar, while the molasses part is fermented, then distilled for anywhere from three to 30 years to produce rum. There is one aging house on site at Appleton; the rest of the rum is transported by truck to aging houses in Kingston.

Rum is aged in white oak barrels that breathe. In fact, about 30% of the rum is lost to evaporation in any one barrel in a year, so the barrels must be continually mixed with other barrels to ensure they don't dry up. During this process, "notes" are added to give the run particular flavours. The more aged rum is, the darker it is. A taste-testing following out tour enabled us to discern the difference in the various ages of rum. A number of rum liqueurs were also available to taste and purchase.

Our second stop was YS Falls. From the entrance gates, a "jitney" (covered wagon pulled by a tractor) took us through pastures where cattle grazed (along with egrets who eat the insects the cattle stir up), to the falls. YS Falls is a series of falls that includes several swimming holes, rope swings and a zip line from the top falls to the bottom which you can try for an additional $30. Martin and I walked to the top of the falls and took turns swimming to the waterfall, walking behind and diving in. It was a nice way to cool off. Meanwhile, at the falls entrance, Sonics had made himself comfortable in our absence. We returned to find him fast asleep, with his shoes off and his bare feet hanging out of the window.

Lunch was a meal of peppered shrimp at Middle Quarters which we shared with Sonics. They were spicy and oh so yummy. Not unexpectedly, the small ones are the best. Our travels also took us through Bamboo Avenue where the bamboo has grown on either side of the road to create a pretty archway.

Our last adventure of the day was a trip down the Black River by boat. We learned that the Black River appears black because of the peat moss at the bottom. The river is 44 km long and is home to many crocodiles, all of whom have been named by the local tour boat operators. We saw Terry and Jerry, but George, Charlie and Patricia were no where to be found. The Black River also attracts a lot of birdlife, including snowy egrets, lesser blue herons, great blue herons and great white herons. Our boat tour took us through the mangroves (called Mangrove Avenue) water hyacinth and sawgrass, a plant that removes salt from the water.

On the road, Sonics pointed out a cricket pitch to us. Cricket is a very popular game in Jamaica. We talked about his life and his two sons, one of whom is a cab driver in Montego Bay, the other a fisherman. Sonics' car is his pride and joy; "Sonics" appears in bold lettering across the top of the windshield.

We were the only guests staying at Ashton Great House, save for one other couple the first evening. The second day we were there, we met a couple of Jamaican origin from Toronto who were visiting family and friends in the area (including Mrs. Binns) and looking at property. They seemed impressed that we weren't just doing the all-inclusive thing.

We spent the remainder of the day on the balcony overlooking the farmland, taking photos of herds of roving goats and watching the ocean. A delicious supper of garlic shrimp and beef, cooked by our cum-manager, cum-host, cum-chef, Mrs. Binns, made our stay at Ashton complete.

]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kimandmartin/4/1207502940/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kimandmartin/4/1207502940/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kimandmartin/4/1207502940/tpod.html Sun, 30 Nov 2008 15:24:38 -0500 Yeah, Mon! Join us in Jamaica!

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Montego Bay, Jamaica

I must admit we were pretty blurry when we boarded the plane for Montego Bay! The disorientation continued the entire day, and in Martin's case, for a couple of days afterward! It was like having jet lag. No sleep will do that to you.

There were quite a number of French Canadians on our flight, bound for some of the big Jamaican resorts in Montego Bay ("MoBay") or Ocho Rios ("Ochi"). The fellow who was sitting beside me in the plane was going to Runaway Bay (located between Montego Bay and Ocho Rios) with his girlfriend. It was his first time flying and his first trip out of Canada. He was very excited.

A sure sign that we were hitting warmer weather was when Martin removed his long underwear and put on his shorts and sandals!

We arrived about 11:30 am and were through customs by 12:15 pm. The weather was warm (about 30C), but overcast. Who cares! It was vast improvement on the weather where we came from!

Montego Bay (population 100,000) is Jamaica's second largest city. Sugar was once shipped from Montego Bay harbour in abundance; since the collapse of the sugar trade, efforts have been made to make MoBay the ultimate tourist town. It is rife with all-inclusives, beaches, souvenir shops, shopping malls and restaurants. There's not much of interest to see here, so we decided to head for Negril straight away. We had made arrangements to be met by Kingsley, the driver for the Xtabi Hotel in Negril and, sure enough, he was waiting for us.
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