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JitterBug and everybody else :
Thank you for your kind words! Please consider yourself invited any time, Lidia [290 1573] or my "adopted" brother Desmond-Obama [561 6985] will offer you a tour and Luna will charm you. Who knows, maybe you will stay at our place, one day ?
Regards,
walter, as soon as i stop working . . . and i can stay a couple of months . . .
Sunday Morning
Sunday morning - walking to the gym. Early. It is blessedly quiet along the road. I know. I frequently complain about the noise. By now you probably think I’m a crotchety old man who mutters and carps incessantly to himself about noise while shuffling along the road. If you do, you’re not far off. Negril is generally a noisy place peppered with cacophonous bursts loud enough to wake the dead from their eternal slumber.
But when Negril is quiet, like it is early on a Sunday morning, well . . . it’s enchanting.
I pass the Shell station. A car is pulled up to the air pump. All of the passengers are out and milling about as the driver fills the tire. They’re all dressed to the nines – decked out in their Sunday best and finery. Two little boys are standing beside the man filling the tire, watching him intently. They’re dressed in natty matching pale green suits with fashionably narrow lapels. Their jackets drape their slim torsos down to mid-thigh. They’re wearing crisp white shirts, broad colourful ties and highly polished shoes. I expect their suits are home-made by a loving mother.
The ladies are in prim dresses and hats. An older man, maybe late seventies, is dressed in a dignified dark suit. He’s wearing a fedora.
I trudge by in my sandals, shorts and tank top.
Further on I pass a small communal grouping of houses; to be specific they’re actually a ramshackle collection of clapboard shacks, but homes to several Jamaican families nonetheless. (I’m not dissing them.)
I’ve noted that on every Sunday morning that I’ve passed these houses one of them has a stack of speakers out on the porch playing Jamaican gospel music. And they play it loud. Today is no exception. It sounds wonderful.
As I pass I look into the sprawling common front yard. Clothes-lines are strung in a haphazard web above the bare grounds. There’s a stand of banana plants off to one corner. A rooster posing near one of the houses crows several times.
The grounds are shaded by a couple of tall almond trees. Several chickens are scratching and pecking in the dirt and a few goats munch on the greenery near the trees. A black dog is lying on its back in a patch of bright morning sunlight; all four legs pointing straight up. A half-dozen pickneys are playing some kind of pursuit game, maybe tag. Overall, it’s a pastoral, bucolic scene.
The gospel music is loud but over it I hear a strong clear woman’s voice that carries out to the street. Someone inside one of the houses is singing along, harmonizing beautifully. It brings a smile to my face and a frisson of goose bumps to my fore arms.
The moment is magical.
I love Negril.
Here's another instance where I wish I'd had a good camera. This beautiful spider hangs out in a mango tree in the yard. Apparently, I'm told, it is poisonous. Look at the tufts of bristles at the joints in its legs. It's body is about 2 inches long.
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A beach shot. Lovely tree, eh?
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Thank you so much for sharing your trip with us. You are so descriptive, it's like I'm there, which is such a nice reprieve from snowy, cold Cincinnati.
What a nice visual K3. Thank you
PS I scrolled really fast past the spider. Ewwwwww
"K3 what's wrong with you?" There is no such thing as a beautiful spider...Sheesh!!!
Thanks for the report and the pics!
I second that.....I was bit by a brown recluse a couple yrs back and still have the nasty scar.Quote:
Originally Posted by Jamadian
Enjoying your report, you are a heck of a writer.
OK - no more insect photos - unless I see a really nice one.Quote:
Originally Posted by jamaicamary/jamaicalance
Where did you run into a brown recluse?
Is a brown recluse also know as a wolf spider?
only nice spider is a dead spider.....
i often get wolf spiders in my room and im terrified... so much so that the only way ill kill it is with an airsoft gun
I saw a poster advertising that Beanie Man will be in concert at Tamboo on Feb 1st.
Coincidentally, I’ll be leaving my quarters in Redground and heading down to the beach on that day. As well, one of my buddies will be arriving then, so I think we’re good for the Beanie Man concert. Now I just have to prepare myself to stay up until 3 am that night :)
February 1st is right around the time that my beach friends, thirteen in all, begin to show up.
Among them are a group of buddies from Shrunken Bullocks (Da Boyz). We’ve been meeting on the beach for seven or eight years now, I’ve lost track.
This year we are down by one alumni (Likkle Jimmy) but up one newbie, so it will be a pretty good crew. Their beach names are;
- Shrek, or Big Daddy or B.D.S for Big Baddy Shrek,
- Doc (I’m not a gynecologist, but I’ll take a look),
- Baby Face, just because,
- Cappy, used to be his rank as a fireman, now an lieutenant,
- JT, of no-shirt fame,
- Bob, a newbie, beach name yet to be determined,
- RollyMon (c’est moi, a.k.a Kahuna, a.k.a SpongeBob)
Collectively we refer to ourselves as The Crazy *******s. The Crazy *******s will be aimlessly roaming the beach from Feb 3 – 10. There should be some good stories that come out of that week and I may even be able to post some of them here, thoroughly sanitized, of course.
This afternoon I’m heading down to Couples to meet with a guy that I bike with back home. Yaa Hoo!! Da beach! (but it looks like rain - again)
Likkle more.
A strip club and a jerk fest. Hmmmmm . . .
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If I was to post a letter from here today, it will get to Canada in about two months.
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It's a jungle out there.
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Do you order a liver transplant after Feb 10th :-)
Gaza vs. Gully
I spent yesterday afternoon on the beach at Couples Swept Away visiting with one of my riding buddies from back home and his GF. The sea was calming and this morning it looks like the water is back to `Negril standard`- flat calm. Nice.
I`ve managed to convince them to leave the compound, so we`re going on the Pub Crawl tomorrow. Looking forward to it. I`ll report, of course.
Now, here`s something for those of you who are interested in Jamaican culture. See the photos below.
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See the ‘GULLY’ and ‘GAZA’ painted on the walls? This is just down the road from the place in Redground. Maybe somebody named Gully painted his name on the wall? That’s what I thought, and I really didn’t think anything of it; until I was talking with Tanya and we landed on the subject of dance hall music. In the course of the discussion the story of the infamous GAZA v. GULLY Dancehall DJ wars came out. Specifically; Gaza (DJ Vybz Kartel) versus Gully (DJ Mavado).
Tanya related the story to me, from her perspective as a young person who was in the midst of the troubles. She was living in Kingston at the time, which was ground zero for the street violence and mob riots that resulted from the dance hall DJ conflict; so she was right in the middle of it all. She related the story to me. I’m fascinated by the rich cultural tapestry that is Jamaica, so I was totally spellbound.
Briefly, this is my understanding of what happened; Back in 2008, Gaza (Kartel) and Gully (Mavado) arrived on the Jamaican DJ scene at roughly the same time. They immediately engaged in a bitter competition to seize primacy, to become the top-dog Jamaican DJ king. The contest was waged largely through the music they released; they took vicious shots at each other and friends and family in their lyrics.
Naturally, Jamaican dancehall fans began to take sides, kind of like it was for Beannie Man vs. Bounty Killer. Except this time it got violent. Tanya said that Kingston and much of the country was divided into Gaza or Gully camps. It was unsafe for a Gaza supporter to go into a Gully neighbourhood at the risk of being severely injured or even killed. It was literally sectarian violence based solely on which of the two DJs you supported. Captivating stuff. At one point, in an attempt to quell the spreading violence, Gaza and Gully met with the Prime Minister in a very public meeting and called a truce.
Kartel got into typical gangsta trouble and was arrested and jailed on two counts of murder. He got off on the first one but is still in a Kingston jail on the second count. The trial is currently ongoing and is the talk of the nation – a true to life soap opera. Even though he`s incarcerated, Kartel still produces music, and apparently he’s the don-dadda in the big house.
Movado has decamped and gone to America.
The Gaza – Gully war is over.
Check out further info at:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vybz_Ka...ud_with_Mavado
Here in Ontario we we're camping. I do not go pee in da woods anymore. Peoples thought I was crazy and say this spider is Not here in Ontario. A few days later near where we camp someone took a pic of this nasty spider. Now I watch spiders come out at night dangling from the trees while sitting around the campfire.Quote:
Originally Posted by Kahuna3
No this spider is not like the wolf spider.
Fascinating Kahuna. Thanks.
It may be over between kartel and mavado but elsewhere its not. Some artists still call out gaza or gully in their music.
Once again thanks for the pictures and the history. A little more current than that in The Dead Yard my current read.......
The Funeral Procession
Even though we talk a couple of times a day on the phone and Skype, I was getting a bit bored and lonely without Bea here. But I’m OK now because a young, slim good looking Jamaican female has moved in with me. So, I’m good. Here’s a photo of her.
What do you think I should call her?
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This afternoon I’m off on the One Love pub crawl with my buddy and his GF. It’s a bit cool today and the water has churned up again, so it will be a good day for a crawl.
I was walking the beach road and saw a funeral procession approaching. Rather, I heard it approaching. It was led by a big flatbed truck, headlights on, chock full with musicians on the back, playing music amplified to an ear-splitting volume. Following in an unorganized pack was a large squadron of motorbikes, maybe fifty or so, all of them with the headlights on. I watched it approach. It was not moving along at a stately pace, like funeral processions back home, rather it was barreling along at a good rate; some would say fast.
The procession roared by, like a huge wave travelling down the road. Sound from the flatbed, fury from the horde of bikes. The bike riders were all young men. Some bikes had young female passengers on the rear. In the middle of the pack one of the bikes was rigged with a small flat trailer. Tied on top of the trailer was a wrecked motor-bike, its front wheel jutting heavenward. This, I assume, was the instrument of demise for the departed soul – a young man I assume. Maybe he was to be buried with his wrecked bike. Maybe I have a macabre imagination.
Then it was travelling away from me. There were some cars in trail as well, but it was difficult to say if they were part of the procession of just speeding along behind the procession to take advantage of its momentum.
The whole procession rounded a bend in the road, the music faded in the distance. And it was over.
I caught these birds at the cement pier at the mouth of the South Negril river. They were watching a fisherman clean a bucket full of small reef fish.
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I think you should call the cat Sadie.
Why Sadie?Quote:
Originally Posted by justchuck
I was thinking maybe Lucky?
I hope you're the catch and release typeQuote:
Originally Posted by Kahuna3
I vote to call the cat "slim gyal"
I love this report. When you are done, I am going to go back to the start and re-read the whole thing. It's been like a serialized, pictorial novel. I pay good money for these on amazon, getting it for free here.
Between you and smith, I feel like I am learning more than I ever thought to ask while on the island.
The cat is adorable. I love having animals around on vacation... Kind of makes it a bit more like home.
Well said Hussyband.Quote:
Originally Posted by Hussyband
When I connect to this site, your posts are the first thing I look for.
Didn't know you were into adopting. The cat has set a precedence. Can I be next, I could hang with you for 97 days less 7...
Baybea
That's funny.... This morning I was going to suggest Bea2 :oQuote:
Originally Posted by dash
Simply loving this blog and others...fascinating.. will read them until I leave for Negril on March 19th for the first time...awesome..thanks!!!!
slim ting ...
How about Miss Bea for your new little friend. That pic of the Pelicans and Gulls reminds me of boy girl boy girl :)
I'm looking for a Steve Martin The Jerk name......
Amazing spider photo! Cute kitten; looks like a "Clementine" to me. Really enjoying your trip report and the photos.
I read in Crusher’s TR that he was having some problems with beach hustlers, so I thought I’d relate a minor incident that happened to me the other day in town.
I was walking along the road to Sav, minding my own business. It was early and the whole streetscape was bustling with early-morning activity.
The road was busy. Several buses of varying sizes were coming into town, already loaded with staff heading for the big resorts and stopping along the road to pick up others. One huge bus had a ‘RIU STAFF’ placard propped up in the front window.
Bike taxis buzzed to and fro, vendors were setting up their wares and route taxis beeped their horns every fifteen feet or so. Dogs and goats wandered along the sidewalk and people walked purposefully toward center town.
In other words, it was a normal weekday morning.
As I approached the bus park I spotted a momma and baby goat resting up against a fence. They looked cute so I pulled my camera out, moved in closer, bent over and snapped a photo.
From behind me I heard, “Hey, mister, dats my goats.”
Here we go, I thought. I’ve heard it a thousand times; “Hey those are my banana trees, if you take a picture you have to pay me.”
“That’s my dog. That’s my boat. Dem’s mi chickens. If yuh wan’ take pictcha of mi shop, you ave’ to leave me a likkle someting.” Then the hand goes out.
I usually just laugh, shake my head and walk away. Occasionally I’ll hold the camera up, show them the shot and delete it right there in front of them. That usually elicits an entertaining reaction.
So I stood up and turned around. The guy was standing there with his hand out. He had dreads and was carrying a big load of things on his back. He looked like a vendor of some sort, headed for the bus park.
“Those are your goats?” I asked, knowing full well that they weren’t.
“Yah, mon. You ‘ave to pay me for de picture.”
“I not paying you for the picture, forget it, I said. I started walking away.
The guy was persistent. He stood in front of me and restated, more emphatically, that I owed him money for the picture.
I wasn’t intimidated in the least, but I was beginning to get a little peeved. “Dude, I not paying you anything, and you’re in my way,” I said. And I started walking.
“Mon! You ‘ave to pay me!” he said. He was standing right in front of me, blocking me, with his hand outstretched.
I looked beyond him and noticed that there was a motorcycle cop, dismounted, standing at the entrance to the bus park keeping an eye on things. I’d seen police there often in the mornings.
I pointed to the cop and said to the hustler, “Let’s go ask that cop if these goats belong to you, if they do, I’ll pay you for the photo.”
The guy’s head snapped around and he saw the cop. He looked back at me and kind of smiled. “Come on,” I said, “we’ll ask him.”
The guy smiled at me and stammered and gave his head a little shake. But by then we’d closed the distance to the cop. He was standing with his back to me. The hustler had widened the distance between us and was bookin’ it for the bus park entrance.
“Excuse me officer,” I said. The cop turned around, smiled and said, “Yes?”
I pointed to the hustler, now five paces away. “That gentleman says that those are his goats,” I pointed to the goats, “and he is insisting that I have to pay him for a photo that I took.”
The cop seized on the situation immediately. He turned to the guy, said something in patois and beckoned him over. The hustler, still with the sheepish smile on his face stopped and shrugged his shoulders. The cop yelled at him and waved him over more forcefully.
I kept on walking so I don’t know what transpired behind me, but I think the guy’s day probably got off to a bad start. Maybe next time he’ll think twice before he tries to put a hustle on a tourist.
The momma goat and kid.
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A sign up in Redground
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Miss Bea - chillin.
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i like the name of "miss bea" . . . it suits her . . . kahuna, can you have her fixed? . . . spare her . . .
!juls, you have to read Kahunas book Walk Good while you are in Negril. Its a mustQuote:
Originally Posted by juls
Oh baby goats and a happy cat. Love
I also am learning a lot K3. Thanks for the history lessons
I will definitely read that..cannot wait! thanks!
K3
As always lurking and enjoying your reports as I do both of your books. Met you last year on the one love crawl and enjoyed talking to you. Hope your still there when we get there on February 17th you owe me money for taking pictures of my goats we adopted last year LOL.
Nick
Thanks again! Your observations are so right on. A camera can get you into some strange situations in JA!