How I got to Jamaica...too.

[Accompong]

Today is Sunday July 17th and we got up early to wash up and change into our newly washed and air-dried clean clothes. We decided to walk down the beach and see what else may be open to get some breakfast or something like it. We saw a few places, but nothing seemed to have people around, so we kept walking until we came across the craft market at the river. There we found some people cooking in big pots and we were plenty hungry by then. After eating, my wife wanted to shop a little for a souvenir but wanted to see what else was available, so we continued walking on the roadside into the West End.

We walked for a time until we came across a row of stalls opposite the ocean side of the road displaying colorful towels and some shirts. She browsed the shops looking for something different but small because of the limited room in our backpacks. She settled on a couple of small, woven baskets that nested inside each other and a woven smallish beach bag to carry things too. As we were standing there, a small airplane flew over with loudspeakers blaring from an open door. They were announcing a revival that was happening somewhere around where we were, but we were geographically challenged. We thought it unusual and a little funny way to reach people but agreed it was quite effective.

We walked back to the river mouth where a boat had just come in with about a half dozen lobsters, so my wife went over and bought one for a couple of dollars. We took it back to our cabin and my wife went to go borrow a pot from Valerie to cook it. Valerie offered to cook it for her along with a pot of rice. We accepted.

While we were sitting and watching the lobster cooking, I asked Valerie about catching the country bus the following day as we had a plane to catch out of Kingston in the later afternoon. She told us the bus did not come by in time for us to make the trip and meet the plane. She went on to suggest we get a taxi to Mandeville and catch the bus out of there. She knew a guy named Roy who had a Ford Cortina that could take us, so we arranged for a pickup.

We had to be ready at about 4:30am. We looked at each other in shock. Well, it was important that we make our plane, so we agreed. After we ate and tipped Valerie for her cooking and hospitality, we headed back to the cabin to pack and get a little sleep. Sleeping was difficult knowing we had to be ready at 4:30am but we finally fell asleep.

“Beep! Beep!”, it was the sound of a little Cortina horn.

[Accompong]

Roy was a unique guy and different than anyone we had encountered on our trip. He was in his latter ‘50s but acted like he was somewhere in his ‘20s. I think he must have come here to pick us up straight from a bar or, more probably, a strip club. It was a little difficult to tell where the rum smell left off and the cologne smell began and the “ladies’ man” in him was always on full display.

We tossed our backpacks in the boot and waved goodbye to Valerie who was standing in her doorway. This was my first experience in an English Ford and found them to be not much more powerful than a motorized skateboard having to constantly shift up or down to maintain forward momentum. Roy was quite talkative, and we learned a lot on our near 4-hour trip to Mandeville. The last hour was spent on Spur Tree Hill. Roy explained that the bus to Kingston on this leg originated in Mandeville so it was important we make it on time, or we would not make our flight.

We pulled in just as the bus was getting ready to leave. We paid Roy and ran to make the bus. It was full except for one seat my wife took and I stood as we pulled out. To say this bus was slow was an understatement as it seemed to stop to leave off or take on passengers every few hundred yards on some stretches. Also, farmers were throwing crocus bags full of produce on the roof to get the goods to the Kingston market without getting on themselves.

Towards the latter morning, we were seeing signs that Kingston was approaching. We were first warned by Peter and by subsequent people we met along the trip that we needed to get off the bus before it got to it’s end at the Downtown Market. Stories of pickpocketing and assaults of all kinds were common and most seemed to be firsthand accounts and not rumors.

We were both sitting on one seat now where I was looking out the window for a “good area” to get off and my wife was trying to follow the route on the poorly drawn map in the travel book. One by one we passed through the poorest and worse communities and garrisons in Kingston and they seemed to only get more dangerous looking. And then, it happened. The bus pulled into the market with possibly thousands of Jamaicans packed closely together and a couple of city busses parked maybe a hundred yards away. “End of the line”. “Everyone off!”

We were suddenly terrified.

“Excuse us”, a voice came from across the aisle of the bus. A young Hindu couple were getting ready to leave the bus and wanted to know if we needed any help. They both were wearing a Bindi and dressed like professional people, so we were appreciative of the offer. We told them we needed to get to the bus for the airport on the other side of the market pointing out the window. “Put on your backpacks and follow us closely and don’t stop for anything”. We did what they asked and exited the bus close behind our new saviors.

While at Peter’s house, we were warned about pickpockets and advised to pack our backpacks with dirty clothes on the outside if someone tried to get inside them. Also, I was told to turn my billfold sideways and push it far down in my pocket and keep aware. I told my wife to hold on to my pack and follow me closely as I plowed my way through the crowd behind our guides. What happened next was a coordinated plan that was executed with perfection. Well, almost.

Three guys, working together, started by one guy throwing some small change on the ground in front of me and then bending over to pick it up which separated us from the Hindu couple. Just then, I felt a brush against my back pocket and a quick check with my hand confirmed the second guy had successfully snatched my billfold. Where they screwed up was the second guy tried to secretly pass my billfold to the third guy who was pushing ahead. I saw him put the billfold under a coconut on a vendor’s cart and kept going. Slick. I kneed the guy who was still picking up the change out of our way and pushed a path to the vendor’s cart and grabbed my billfold. The bus was close enough now that we were able to get inside and sit.

I didn’t carry any money in my billfold but I did have my ID and immigration paper which would have made getting on the plane difficult or impossible and probably would have ended the vacation before we could enjoy our last week in Mexico. I was shaking in anger and looked out at the three guys sitting under a tree smiling. I held up the billfold against the window and gave them a middle finger salute. One guy got up and came over to the window that was slid part way open. He said, “Don’t be angry, man”. “We have to steal sometimes to eat and for our kids to eat.”

My wife was a softy when hungry kids were mentioned, so she took a $10 US bill out of her pocket and handed it through the window to the guy. I made an attempt to stop her but to no avail. I did not know if it was the right thing to do but he did have a small tear forming in his eyes and, after all, this is what I loved about my wife. Her compassion.

We got to the airport, checked in and had about an hour before our flight. We took the time to reminisce about this all-too-short week in Jamaica. About the people we met. The places we saw. Most of all, we promised each other that we would return again soon.

A promise we could not keep.

Respect for reading.

[dave]

wonderful story
thanks for sharing

[Bnewb]

👏👏👏

[Accompong]

👏👏👏

Thanks, Lisa. Please thank Rob for letting me go on and on....

I started writing and posting this long thread on May 12th, the 36 years after the day my wife died and finished it today May 23rd, 36 years to the day of her funeral. I needed to get this all down while I had the time and could remember everything.

Perhaps I will see you and Rob later this year if I get to Negril.
Peace, Guidance and Respect.

[sixcats]

Thank you for sharing. I am sorry for the loss of your wife.

[Kimbobwee]

That was a wonderful tale.....thank you and stay safe in these trying times.

[yooper bill]

I really enjoyed reading your story. You are a good writer. Maybe someday you should start a book.

[Jamakafun]

Thanks so much for sharing your story. You were both really brave to take on such an adventure. You have an amazing memory too. Thanks again.

[Accompong]

sixcats - Thank you. Some losses are so valuable they are priceless and can never be replaced or forgotten.

Kimbobwee - Thanks. I hope we all stay safe so we can be around to enjoy Jamaica again soon.

yooper bill - Thanks. Why write a book when I have a movie to run and re-run in my head? In my head, it is always like it just happened!

Thanks for your support. I remember a time when people used to write trip reports that were very good and highly entertaining on this site. I hope some people decide to write some again. It gets tiring reading daily countdowns, mangled patwa and bartender ratings etc. when there is so much more to write about.

Stay safe everyone and make good use of the time on your hands until Jamaica opens up again for tourism.