That appears to be the the snack bar at Time Square!
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That appears to be the the snack bar at Time Square!
That's what I think too pgw......
Yes, the King Gizzadas are located at the Caribbean Cafe at the back of the Times square Mall. The photo hint was the old style international calls telephone which is in the same mall. I picked up the receiver, it doesn't work.
So JT showed up for dinner the other night – no shirt, no shoes, no surprise. Did you ever have a bare chested dinner guest? Chest hair at the dinner table in the soft glow of candle light is so, ahhh, je ne sais quoi.
Wi nyam up de chicken, rice an’ peas an’ jink rum
Den siddung undah di ackee tree in de yawd and an’ eat de chawklit cake.
We have fun an’ run joke all de time, den Johny tell me he cyann dawnce to fawt!
There’s a heavy downpour during dinner, a really good soaking. Speaking of which, here’s an interesting factoid. What does a Jamaican man desire when there’s a heavy downpour? He wants to be in a bar with his/a woman at his side.
After dinner, it’s dark and the rain has stopped so we decide to go down to the Dominoes Bar.
We walk thru the hood, there are several people out and about. The evening is hot and sultry after the rain.
We turn the corner from Hermitage onto Redground Road and from there we can already hear the sound of the dominoes slapping down onto the playing surfaces. Arriving there, we see that the place is busy. Scooters are parked helter-skelter, filling the small crushed marl parking lot. The tables are crowded with people playing either dominoes or cards. I notice small heaps of bills on the tables, so obviously these were money games. De place is full up. The whole tableau is lit by several bare light bulbs strung on electrical wires that run to and fro.
We enter the bar, lean on the worn linoleum bar-top and say hi to Renkie, the proprietor. He’s behind the bar rolling up a cigarette from leaf tobacco. We introduce him to JT. Bea and I order beers, me a Red Stripe, Bea a Light. JT asks for an Appleton and Pepsi. Renkie shakes his head, “Sorry, me no ‘ave no Appleton, jus’ dis.” He pulls over a bottle of J&B OP, white – Jamaican firewater.
“Why don’t you have Appleton? What kind of a bar is this? We’re in Jamaica, aren’t we?” JT says.
“Because evry’body ere drink JB, Appleton is tourist rum,” a guy seated next to us at the bar says.
Renkie nods, ‘Ere John, ave a shot of john crow batty, two fingers of JB an’ pipe wata, no ice.”
JT declines, “No, I’ll just drink my water, thanks.” He reaches into his beach valise (a black plastic bag) and fetches out a bottle of wata.
I ask Renkie how he got his name. He smiles, “Well, when me was a likkle bwoy,” he holds his palm out about three feet off the ground, “me used to pee me pawnts an’ walk around, an’ when yuh do dat people call yuh renk, so dat’s how dey call me, Renkie.”
The other fellow at the bar says, “Yah, mon, when yuh pee your pants, dey call yuh ‘renk’, yuh see?”
The clapped-out old-school TV on the bar is blaring out Christmas music; it sounds like Mariah Carey singing, but I can’t tell from the picture, it’s too fuzzy.
This afternoon, the rest of the Dominoes Bar bit . . . . .
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OK ladies, fire away . . .
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K3, good stuff!! Love the runnings in da rum bar....
Remember a story a few years back, hanging at Duece Blanc's rum bar. Guy remarks about a guy that just walked in "Him 2nd City Man". I had no idea what he was talking about, partially due to the consumption of rum and the dialect, but eventually I realized he was saying the guy was from Mobay (2nd city).
Keep it coming....
Thanks,
VVHT
The secret is out! :D Tanks mi fren!
Absolutely dig your writing!
Where else are we gonna learn words like "renk"?
Beach valise eh? That's hilarious.
Your tales are just what we need to get us to spring (and our next reach)
Thanks again! BS
Love the hardware store bit. Too funny!
We’re still at the Dominoes Bar, here's the second part . . . . . . the games continue.
The guy sitting at the bar offers us a hit. He starts to talk about herb. He eyes get wide when he says, “Yuh want to really get crazy yuh take callaloo an’ de green gange an’ bowil it up an' eat it!” He points to his temple. “Yah, mon, it like you in outa space, craaazy, craaazy!” He waves his hands in front of him, making flapping motions.
“I thought callaloo was good for you,” I said.
Renkie chimes in,” Yah, mon, but when yuh eat it wid de green gange, like ‘im say, it make you head go away. Doan do it.” I don’t plan to.
On the TV Mariah Carey has been replaced by the young woman who MC’s the nightly drawing of the numbers for the numerous Jamaican lotteries. The machines tumble and select the winning numbers for several lotteries, but nobody pays much attention until the young lady announces, “And now it’s time for Jamaica’s favorite game, Cashpot.”
There’s a pause at all the tables and a silence falls over the bar. The balls tumble until one drops, then the camera zooms in on it and the young lady announces, “Tonight’s winning number is ‘3’ – DEAD”.
A young Jamaica woman jumps up from her stool and pumps her fist in the air. Everybody looks at her; obviously she has hit the number; apparently the only one in the bar who has. She talks to a guy at another table. They both hurry over to his scooter, she hops on the back and they roar off, presumably to collect her winnings.
Outside on the road people and dogs stroll by (do dogs stroll?). It’s still humid and sultry out.
We decide to go down the road. As we get up to leave Renkie asks me my name, I tell him he can call me 26 – ‘White Man’ on the Cashpot poster (even though I know that 26 is already taken by a long-time Negril resident who works at Ahhbees).
We walk the road a ways down towards town and soon come upon the bar ‘Good Over Evil – Swinging Bar’. It’s open.
An elderly frail Jamaican lady wearing a long dress and a bonnet sits alone at a small table just outside the bar. A Red Stripe with a bent cap resting on its mouth is on the table in front of her. She smiles sweetly at us. After a moment she picks the cap off the bottle, takes a dainty swig, then places the bottle back down on the table and replaces the bent cap back on the mouth of the bottle. I figure she's drinking a 'hot' beer.
I look inside the bar, there’s one white dude in there sucking on a beer. The lady that owns the place, who looks remarkably like the cartoon-ish painting of the woman that adorns the bar’s facade, comes over and talks to us. Soon she is engaged in an intense discussion with JT. JT is a prodigious, recreational conversationalist, so it’s quite normal for him to quickly become deeply embroiled in conversations with people he has just met, or not even met. I usually tune these exchanges out. He’s over there talking with the bar lady, discussing something that requires him to point in different directions. Fascinating. After a minute he motions me over and says, “This lady wants to know where you live.” I start describing where Ottawa (a.k.a. Winter Hell) is, when JT interjects, “No, where in Redground.”
I give the lady the details as to where we are staying. She warns us not to walk back the way we came. “It’s dark down in that little gully and if you go back to your place that way you will get robbed”, she states emphatically. She then tells us to go back via the ‘church corner’ route, it’s safer that way. We thank her for her advice and continue walking toward the town center.
Eventually we get to the big parking lot out behind the Corner Bar. We say goodnight to JT, he’s headed back to the beach. We walk home via the suggested ‘church corner’ route.
We don’t get robbed.
I gotta tell you - Redground ain't the beach and it ain't the cliffs. It's a likkle edgy, but I'm beginning to love it here, warts and all. The people around us are getting to recognize us and they are friendly. I love the kids up here. There are a two sweet youngsters that come up the road a couple of times a week selling cake that their grandmother has just made. BIG pieces of cake for $100. I've bought a couple of pieces from them. When they see us walking up the road they recognize us and call out greetings.
Some impotent people eating at Sweet Spice.
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I'm loving the tales of your adventure. You are giving us a perspective of Negril that we rarely see here and its fun to envision through your words.
And, I really do appreciate learning about the gizzadas! Thanks
Thanks for letting us walk with you. But Kahuna, won't you miss skatin' on the Rideau???
Really enjoying your report - my kind of trip. The pictures are wonderful too - like walking along on your journey. Like the "cat" bar - will have to check that out since I love cats (and dogs) too. And I'm a gizzada fan too.