the oversized rain splattered plants outside the shower window look like melting green wax in the pre-dawn darkness, 5:30 a.m., really? But I did tell Aleko I would run him to school today and curse the split shifts at Jamaica schools that mean a 7:00 a.m. start time (on that school subject - these are well used buildings - 7-12p shift - 1-6p shift - the continuing education classes for adults at night), which means I need to be in the hills by 6:00. At least I can fill a travel mug with coffee and rum cream on the patio, it's always a defrost a/c wipers dance as I head out at sun up, the condensation on inside and outside of windshield do battle as the sun begins to warm the day, rolling out Norman Manley Blvd the rain is gone as the route taxis compete with the resort employee busses compete with the early morning joggers both local (it seems that a lot of management level folks from the AI's use the cool of morning to get their cardio in) and tourist (I met and saw more vets returning from tours in the middle east than I have ever noticed before - hmmmm what a romantic place to renew relationships after 12 months of war zone stress) and I warm the engine up as I hit the 80 KMH (really means 100 doesn't it) zones out towards Orange Bay hoping for the flash flash warning of headlights to keep me safe from traffic tickets (new to me this trip with Highway Patrol written on the side was a Crown Victoria police cruiser - me and my cuz about fell out laughing about it's intercept capabilities up against 4 cylinder KIA's Honda's and Toyota's).
Driving mornings on hill roads is an arm out the window communication with headlights and horn adventure, watch for oncoming bikes sometimes carrying 3 kids with backpacks (I got an ear full on the unsafeness of that practice one day when I ran a 50 year old shop owner from Logwood down to the hardware store at Green Island - she was free with observations - some of which included the importance of police patrols in the hills - many of which mirrored some of my more conservative thoughts reflected by age) the next carrying a uniformed portly worker riding side saddle in skirt, watch the bikes weave through potholes, read the wet tire tracks left by 4 wheel vehicles to see their route through pot hole strewn roadway, do not be afraid to light flash come forward when you hit a rough stretch - you get to learn their delicate dance through the road - remind yourself this is not a game of speed up here it is a game of car preservation, never ever hit a water filled pot hole and spray a pedestrian, by the end of the week easy trails are known.
Aleko and I share Damien Marley and Superheavy on my i-pod and he facinates me by playing the same tunes we play on our CHR station in the states on his phone, really, "I have no reggae Chet" and conversation of life as we head down into Green Island, hmmmmm was that girl just accidentally waiting on that corner or is this Aleko's current interest, their silence the rest of the trip confirmed a underlying tension. Drop Aleko and get a kick out of the "conductors" on the bus, drivers drive - conductors conduct and it is always a show (there was a joke going around about the Driver/Prime Minister stepping away from the bus and leaving the conductor/Holness who did not know how to drive in charge).
Up and over, really through time. Green Island to Grange Hill has some elevation but I really am running a pass through between Dolphins Head and the hills you see to the east of Negril. Assorted business on the road, everyone on the first half headed the way I am coming from so no chance for company and when I hit the half way point I'm following the morning route taxi's that are cleaning up in front of me, but that said it does not keep me from wondering stories through my mind about those along the route as the morning breeze heats up drifting in through the open car windows. A little hiccup outside Grange as my logical mind says I should be able to cut around town on this road, an elderly gentleman warns me of my ways but I take a couple mile reverse path detour, the road must reach someplace between the Cave Valley Moreland Hill Road and the current Green Island Grange road I am on, I'll need to go back and take a look at that some day, but today my destination is outside Spring Hill so into Grange I go. I'm thirsty and could use a little something for the belly, no good place in the route taxi crush to hit some of the bigger stands and I'll be darn the store downtown is not open yet so I think I'll hit one of the blue tarp igloo ladies in front of the school and I am shocked, the USDA watch dogs that are worried about soda machines in our schools here would have cardiac arrest there, no bun and cheese nothing even remotely healthy just sweeties and plantain chips and frozen juice boxes (remember this is a commerce done in 20's and 50's and 100's - leave those 500's and 1000's in your pocket) all the kids must have had their ackee and salt fish at home (by the way ripe ackee were falling from trees everywhere I went), so with pineapple juice box and RIPE plantain chips I make my second mistake of the day, my god the roads up below Moreland Hill through Delve Bridge are in unbelievable bad shape (wrong political following - just weather - just lack of road funds?, this is after seeing marle on the side of roads ready for repairs in many other areas) I shoulda run out to the highway at Little London and back in at Sheffield. I juke and jive and rotate my way over to Fidel's new farm near Spring Hill.
Now Fidel is a carver but his heart is in agriculture, your U.S. dollars for carving buy seed and labor in the hills. Much of the resulting crop is shared out with workers that live in the area (hence the nickname Fidel) and the rest you may be buying at the fruit/veggie stand or consuming in Negril restaurants. Fidel has a yam/beans/banana/etc farm facing north in the hills above Green Island, he has an orange/lime/cashew/coconut/etc farm above Grange Hill and now his pride and joy a flat farm outside Spring Hill. Stripped to the waist him and 1 worker are busy busy. Rows have been mounded up stretching across the flat bottoms and water sits between the mounds. Watch where you step as you walk the mounds, every plant is by design, Okra everywhere (sold at Valu Master), new pumpkin plants, red and white sorrel, and sorry but I can not remember the name of the tuber everywhere (one crop is about ready they are about five pound long potato looking things and Fidel is dropping hairy with starters 4 inch square chunks into the water on the sides of the mound to start the next crop). The pride is evident, I share his thrill. Hot hot hot already, humidity like a fog but surprising to me was that I didn't have bugs knats or mosquitos surrounding me and needless to say this is a no goat zone.
Fidel has to be at market by 9 so I roll out to Sheffield and on into Negril, The sign tells me I am home, a stop at Shamrock for ice and an appointment with the cooler at the room then a swim in the sea. Coleen is already walking the beach imagine that.
And that is what 4 hours looks like to me in Negril.
