Clarity, Markus and Jamar in Negril – Nov 2011 Trip Report: Day 1-3

[Hubby-man]

Jamaica Nov 2011 – Day 1

The Ride

The moment Chickens 4-door-Sedan pulled up Jamar called shot-gun. It was easy to see that there was some nervousness and apprehension in him, but his urge to finally make contact with a Jamaican brethren won out. He usually charges quickly and forcefully, when he is nervous and so Jamar struck up a conversation with Chicken before the poor man could even close the driver-side door.

Our new Jamaican guardian navigated through the crowds of students and honking vehicles into a lush green landscape dotted with colorful shacks, upper class-villas and free roaming livestock. Jamar poured forward question after question and barely waited to hear the answers. It seemed, as if he had carried the questions around inside of him for such a long time, that once he let loose, there was no holding back. Once the first question broke through, the whole dam came down. He had asked us many of the questions before. But he rightly felt that they were better gotten straight from the horse's mouth, than heard through the grapevine.

Question after question, he received answers that were contradictory to his instinct and one could soon observe the change in him, that is so typical in visitors to the island. There was a noticeable relaxation occuring and the inhibiting social anxiety, that has become second nature to most of us, slowly fell by the way side.

We soon pulled over at a small bar by the road to answer our craving for a sip of delicious mid-day beer. A round for everyone was quickly obtained, We soon felt our relaxation deepen. Deep in silent appreciation of the landscape, I think we all forgot that we had still a ways of driving to do and sort of settled into the place we were at.

Suddenly we noticed Jamar was missing, but immediately found him a few yards down the road, where another Jamaican was showing him some merchandise. Jamar returned with a bracelet around the wrist, obtained in record time barely an hour after touching down.

When we settled back into the vehicle, we were all jubilant, realizing our trip had barely begun and already almost nothing of who we had been just hours ago seemed to have any relevance. The only thing that really counted was this exact moment.

We delved back into our topic of acceptance and “respect” with much enthusiasm. We explored the nicknames Jamaicans have for each other and laughed about the directness of observations contained in them. So if your skin is white, why not call you “Whitey”. If you are tall, one ought to call you “tall-man” and if you’re big, your name should certainly be “Bigga”. The novelty being that “Bigga” is no more offensive than “tall-man”. In fact it's meant as a simple observation, and as such, it incurs no wrath.

We explored deeper into the feeling of all connectedness and absence of judgment and the whole conversation turned into a sort of clapping and dancing. Like a celebration of harmony and intercultural exchange. I was profoundly reminded of the book I had read a few pages of at the gate in Atlanta. It suddenly occurred to me that it all related.

Jamaica, might just be a craving for a long lost collective sanity, that for one moment lets us all be who we are and stops the damned continuous stream of criticism, comparison and competition, driving the motor behind our insatiable need for always more than what we have.

Then I pointed into the sky past the rear view mirror at a large bird. High up above the trees-tips the thing seemed to be aiming right for us, in a sort of meandering pattern, with about the same elegance Leonardo Da Vinci must have had during his first aviation attempts.

Me:” Look a Turkey Vulture!”

Chicken attempted to look straight up over the steering wheel... Then his face frowned: “Ya Mon! That's a Drunken Crow!”

Me:”a.. what?”

Chicken turned around to face me: “Drunken Crow, Mon!” The flight pattern did fit the description. “Bad Bird. That is also a very bad insult, Mon. When you call someone that in school?, o-ho!, Mon, you get beat up, Mon!”

“I see”, I thought to myself, 'so after all, all is not well in paradise. This is a tough spot for a Turkey Vulture.'

But then Chicken's face turned back to a broad smile and his low trademark laugh rolled down his tummy like an gently bouncing oversized bolder. “Ho ho ho ho ho!” And we all started laughing and roaring again, while the landscape rolled past us.

We finally reached Bigga's. Daisy had her camera ready and pointed as we rolled to a stop.

A large figure of a man was looking at us, over his shoulder. He had been in the middle of a game of Domino's, his face giving away no hint as to whether or not we were welcome visitors

When we made no sign of departing, and now rudely pointed two cameras in his direction, the man - amply called “Bigga” - slowly got of his stool and took position behind the counter.

Daisy (enthusiastically):”You must be Bigga!”

Bigga: “Ya Mon!”

...end of conversation.

Very Stoic, Bigga is. Not big into small talk and very focused on preparing an excellent meal.

We all ordered a quarter chicken each,

Except for Chicken himself. Chicken ordered the soup and declared that he had indeed been a vegetarian for the last 27 years. Go figure!

I don't think I need to report on the extraordinary spiciness of Bigga's sauce. Jamar made that point very clearly.

Our stomachs filled and utterly exhausted the last leg of the trip past wordlessly, but in the highest of spirits. Once we reached Negril, Chicken was a willing well of information and freely answered even the silliest questions we might have about such fanciful places like Hedonism II, The Roof Top, Triple X and Srub-a-dub and his own experiences there.

We finally pulled up at the familiar entrance to the Grand Pineapple, where we said our temporary good-byes to Chicken, making arrangement for some later adventures together. The transportation and its amenities had been so splendid, that we were all radiantly glowing with happiness even before our reach had begun in earnest.

As soon as we entered we were greeted like family. The amazing Tayshaun was there to greet us and we received warm hugs and welcome drinks. Check in was as quick and painless as the customs had been. We soon trotted behind our suitcases to our new abode: room 50, on the second floor of a beautiful little beach-side cottage.

Daisy was ecstatic and did her usual happy-to-be-in-a-hotel-dance. A pretty flower/towel heart adorned the bed and the light was shining brightly into the cool room. The warm ocean breeze was beckoning from the cracked open door.

We changed into swimming gear and sat happily on the balcony with Daisy
That was when Jamar appeared with his first Dirty Banana in hand…Time for the vacation to begin.

I’m sorry I have to end it here. It’s late here in Germany, I have to be up in six hours.
I will pick up where Daisy left off in my next update.