How I got to Jamaica...too.

[Accompong]

With a nod to Captain Dave and a little time on my hands, I thought I might copy his lead.

It was 1983 and felt like I was living in a dream. I couldn’t stop looking at the Eastern Airlines advertisement for “Fly anywhere you want for $399 for up to 21 days” (and for an extra $100 they would add Caribbean destinations), I knew right away a vacation was in our future. I called my wife into the room and showed her the ad trying to read her expressions as she read.

A smile crept over her lips, so I jumped right in on “Where do you want to go?” taking advantage of the situation. She said she wanted to go to the Yucatan to see the Mayan pyramids and asked me where I wanted to go. I had been in Puerto Rico for two years in the Military, so I suggested we go there instead.

Thinking out loud I said, “We have 21 days so perhaps we can do both.” She liked that idea and added that perhaps we could even make it a three destination-one week in each vacation. But where? I had an idea…..

[TuffGong]

Do they still have those kind of deals? That would be awesome, like a Euro rail pass but for flying.

[Accompong]

Do they still have those kind of deals? That would be awesome, like a Euro rail pass but for flying.

Eastern Airlines was in financial trouble at the time and finally went bankrupt in 1991. They even had a $999 Fly anywhere for a Year for Senior Citizens but I was too young at the time and it didn't include the Caribbean (except Puerto Rico).
https://www.bing.com/videos/search?v...%252BxGt5TCOEA

[Accompong]

Pause….
This would probably be a good time to put a little context into the backdrop of this time in my life up to the present. I was then living in Santa Barbara California with my wife who had only been my wife for a couple of years after living together for nearly a decade. We were married (in the nude) in a river in the mountains behind Santa Barbara at a place called Pendola Hot Springs where we were living/camping with a group of people and both collecting unemployment. I had extensively traveled outside the country but mostly during my years in the service. I liked (and still like) to be in control of all situations as much as possible. I was also a career student at Santa Barbara City College where I was working on my third 2-year degree living mainly off my GI Bill money and working some part time jobs like the Security at Santa Barbara County Bowl. During much of those ten years previous, I was working as a Cost Accountant and Auditor for a major corporation before having my position “downsized” and going on unemployment. Shortly after this trip, my wife died in an auto accident and I continued by beginning a long and sometimes turbulent courtship with a new lover; Jamaica, that has lasted for nearly 37 years. I have never stayed a night in an All Inclusive. I usually now live in remote, isolated villages around the island where I have no or little contact with tourists. I mostly prefer it like that.
Continue…

As we drew closer, the chest-thumping bass from the twin stack 12” speakers took over the surrounding mountainside. Somehow, it seemed that the laughter and shouting from inside Foxy’s walls provided the lyrics that made that bass line into an alluring melody. I have been in many similar places before this and many, many after but right now this one seemed more important and somehow dangerous in an intoxicating way.

My wife, Gus, inga and the two farmers made their way inside to the end of the bar against the wall while Peter and I stood at the doorway surveying the situation. Up to this time, I had never seen something exactly like what I was seeing now. A couple of dozen men, a couple of women and even a small child were packed into this one room shack that was big enough for a little bar, a few barstools and couple of small tables with domino games in progress. The shouting and taunting coming from those tables was occasionally interrupted by sudden spurts of dominoes being slammed one by one on the table in public displays of dominance. I understood intuitively that this could and sometimes did get out of hand resulting in violent behavior. Maybe that is why I was so intrigued by what I was witnessing.

My wife bought Peter and I a cold Red Stripe each and brought them over to the door frame where we were standing. She seemed perfectly happy with being there so that lowered my anxiety level and I started to just enjoy my surroundings a little bit more. What I really noticed was how invisible Peter and I seemed to be standing there. Especially knowing that he was something of a regular there, yet no one seemed to look our way. Again, this was somewhat comforting and showed acceptance on some level.

The music had been playing from a selection of 45’s behind the bar so after one finished, it took a few seconds for another to be played. It was during one of these lulls in the music that Peter suddenly shouted out something that changed the whole atmosphere and greatly affected my life on Jack’s Hill.

“Do you see this guy, here?” (pointing at me) “He is the best domino player in all of California and we are going to whip someone’s baxside!”

What???

[Accompong]

The view was spectacular, and the path went down the hill right into the ocean. Cabarita Island seemed like you could reach out and touch it. On our left was a house and nothing else all the way to the sea. We walk up and yelled, “Hello! Anybody there?”. A lady came out to the verandah drying her hands as she walked. She said she was Jah Mike’s girlfriend and that we could put our things inside and wait for him as he was soon to be back. He was out in the “bush”. It seemed there were mostly only three places anyone could be. The house. The yard. The bush. Anywhere else was just “gone somewhere”.

While we were sitting on the verandah wall, a nicely dressed youth approached and introduced himself. He said his name was Tony and a good friend of Jah Mike. We talked for a bit when he asked if we wanted to take a walk up to Firefly which was the former home of Ian Flemming for an even more spectacular view of the ocean. Why not?

So, off we went on our first adventure.

The driveway up was steep. That along with the heat caused us to labor our way to the top, but Tony just climbed effortlessly taking time to teach us about Firefly on the way up. To say the view from Firefly is spectacular does not do it any justice. I have seen many pictures of it since and it still fills me with awe. There was an old gentleman caretaker of the property who gave us a tour of the house and grounds. He was some relation of Tony, so he took us where tourists are not allowed. There was a tunnel in the basement that he said was dug in Captain Morgan’s time as an escape route and some said to hide treasures looted from passing ships. Firefly was later built over it but an opening still exists.

Just before leaving, we were relaxing at Firefly when Tony asked to see my wife’s sunglasses. She took them off and handed them to him and he put them on. “They look great on you”, she said. “They are yours”.

A gift to a new friend but who knew it would cause so much trouble?

[Accompong]

The drinks were strong, and the smoke was even stronger. I was really in no rush to go out somewhere and every time I glanced in the direction of the tent; I was being drawn in that direction. I was sitting there quietly on the stoop while my wife, Peter, Gus, Inga and two farmers who stopped by while coming back from the fields were socializing. Somewhere in their conversations, the subject of dominoes came up. Well, my wife was one to brag on me, especially in my presence. She said, “Bill is the best dominoes player around where we live.” While it is true, I play good dominoes I do not know if the best around where we live would be exactly accurate even in a smaller than average neighborhood.

“Well, this is a Monday night and we usually wait and do a walkabout down to Foxy’s on the weekend but let’s go down a see if we can get a match”, Peter said smiling. Suddenly, everyone was moving at speeds that were leaving trails in front of my eyes without asking me what I thought about the idea.

I guess the fact that everyone was standing there looking at me was a sign that the time had come for me to scrape myself off the stoop so I stuck out my hand for assistance on getting to my feet. The potent cocktail of rum, smoke and a little night blindness was swirling in my head as we headed down the dark road riddled with bomb crater size holes. One such hole nearly gobbled me up when I was caught off guard but I somehow managed to catch my balance again using my wife’s shoulder.

Maybe it was the near catastrophic stumble that suddenly brought me back to the present or maybe it was a little paranoia from the smoke that sent a shudder through my body. “Stranger in a strange land” came immediately to mind. What the hell am I doing here in a strange country, on a dark strange road in the company of people I had only just met less than a couple of hours ago?

My eyes darted around in the near total darkness trying to make out shapes to put with the voices that seemed to come from every side. Rounding a corner and sidestepping another axel-breaking pothole, I heard and saw something a little familiar coming up on our right. It was both a little scary and at the same time curiously a little reassuring.

Foxy’s.

[Accompong]

It was Thursday, July 14 just before sunrise and I was wide awake in the tent thinking over our plans and our first real day of travel out on the island alone. I was rethinking the plans. How easy would it be to just stay here where we know the runnings instead of braving the unknown? Stop it! Don’t let it get inside your head! Everything is gonna be alright. Isn’t that what Bob said? The sun was just peeking through the trees when I slipped out of the tent quietly and headed towards the kitchen.

I caught up with Peter putting a pot of water on the stove for coffee. We went into his office/living room where he handed me an envelope for Jah Mike at Sealawn Coral Beach and a receipt for $20 to give to Valerie (I think her name) at Secrets Cabin, Firefly in Negril. He said that everything was set and not to worry. Just give them these things, okay? He asked when we would be ready to go, and I told him about two hours. Just let him know when we were ready, and he would take us down to Half Way Tree and see we got on the proper bus as it can be a little confusing for a tourist. “Thanks”. “Thanks for everything”, I said as I was heading out the front door.

Two hours later and after some sad goodbyes and hugs, we loaded up the Land Cruiser and headed down the hill to the bus park. Peter was right. It was a mad house of activity as Peter pointed to the bus that said Annotto Bay on the signboard across the top. When it gets to the ocean it will turn and go through Port Maria and Sealawn Coral Beach was just on the other side of the town. Peter said to ask the conductor on the Bluebird Country Bus if you need help. We grabbed our backpacks and headed for the bus.

It was not too hard to identify the conductor as he rushed over and grabbed us both by the arms and pulled us towards the bus. It was his job and Peter had warned me about that. On the way, I told him we were going to Sealawn Coral Beach to see a guy named Mike Higgins. “Ah, Jah Mike. Mi breddren.” “No, problem”. “Here, take the front seat and I will tell you when”, as he stretched out his hand for money. I knew the fare from Peter, but I gave him some extra for the guidance. About a half hour later, the bus was full and all the cargo on the roof.

The heavy bus lumbered up through the mountains and I put it together that every time someone yelled “Driver, One Stop!”, the bus would pull over and people would pay the conductor. I was thinking that maybe I should not have paid the conductor in advance. People along the road would point to the ground or wave and the bus would pull over so they could get in. It all seemed orderly for Jamaica.

Peter had given my wife one of his older travel guides so she was following the occasional road signs and giving me what information it had about the area we were traveling through while also following the route along on the map page. It was slow going up the mountain but a little frighteningly fast going down the other side to Annoto Bay.

The coastal part of the trip was beautiful as well until we entered Port Maria. Port Maria was very depressing and the first up close look we had of poverty in Jamaica. We felt so sorry for the people because, compared to them, we were rich and entitled. About 15 minutes later, the bus pulled out of Port Maria and the conductor tapped my knee. “Soon Come”, he said. We secured our backpacks and waited.

“One Stop!” the conductor shouted to the driver and he pulled off the road on a sharp turn so we could get off. A crudely painted sign saying “Sealawn Coral Beach” with an arrow pointed down a walkway towards the ocean below.

It was just around noon and we were anxious to see what would come next.

[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.

[Accompong]

I took my wife out to the garage to the dart board on the wall and grabbed a dart while she took a well-worn map and placed it over the board. We decided to just throw a dart and, if Eastern Airlines flew to any country it landed on, we would go there. I stood at the prescribed distance and threw the dart. Wouldn’t you know it? The dart landed in the middle of Cuba and we could not go there! She suggested I throw it again, but I declined and came up with an alternative solution. I tied a piece of thread to the dart and made ever increasing circles until it hit a land mass. Bingo! Galina Point, St. Mary’s Jamaica.

It was Providence. In 1978 I worked as a Stage Security Guard at the Santa Barbara County Bowl for a Bob Marley and the Wailers concert. I was transfixed by Bob and the band as his lyrics seemed like they were talking to me and me alone. And so, began my fascination with most everything Jamaican from the food to the music and from its history to its mystery.

And, I started with my digestion of the Eastern Airlines Route Schedule with a goal of fitting all three destinations into a maximum 21 day time period while also being mindful of the rules such as only being able to stop at any airport once which proved to be more difficult than I anticipated.

Nearly one month later I had an outline of a plan that would do all three stops and take almost all the 21-day limit too. Now I needed to work out a ground plan for when we arrived for things like places to stay and car rental when public transportation was not available. We would be backpacking taking sleeping bags and a tent as an alternative cost saving measure when appropriate.

On July 3rd, 1983, the adventure began.

[Accompong]

I was struck speechless. What the hell? This could be looked at through many different lenses and all of them bad in my mind. Where did this “best domino player in all of California” come from? That was never said. I suspected and soon came to understand that Peter could be quite antagonizing at times though otherwise a great friend too.

The domino table closest to us seemed to just ignore Peter and went on like nothing was ever said but the one towards the rear reacted quite differently. They shot looks back and forth at each other before two players on one side reluctantly got up and walked away from the table. Peter put a hand on my shoulder and seemed to push me forward and we sat down in the two empty seats.
To say I was intimidated would be an understatement. Our two opponents both glared at me as I tried to just relax a little when the barmaid brought four beers to the table. A warm Guinness for Peter (his usual), cold Red Stripe for me and two warm Red Stripes for them. My wife was smiling. She always seemed to know what to do. It loosened the atmosphere considerably.

Peter mixed the bones and pushed them to the center of the table. I noticed right away that they were old, and all seemed to have some distinguishing characteristics to them like discolorations and chips. In other words, those that played with them all the time knew which domino had which number. A definite advantage. The mad scramble for the good numbers left me with mostly double numbers on my draw. A definite disadvantage. Plus, when at home, we would all stand our dominoes up in front of us and play them one at a time. Here, they picked all seven into two hands hidden by their fingers. I tried but I kept dropping them. What have I gotten myself into? The double six is pounded to the table.

It is my turn and I play a six-three. In my opinion, an exceptionally good play and look for approval. Get none. It seems I only get to follow with the only domino in my hand the rest of the game or pass until the other side slams their dominoes and wins. Peter explains the “six-love” concept which I know nothing about and chides me to pay better attention. And so, it goes for a few games before we manage to win one and break but then lose right away again.

By this time, it seems that every resident of this area and some of their friends from up and down the hill are watching the game. It is about this time that I realize that I am playing a different game of dominoes than they are. In California we play “All Fives” where the object is to put fives or combinations that add up to fives on the ends. They are playing “Partner” dominoes where the object is to get rid of your dominoes first or have the lowest total of any dominoes once the game is blocked.

It was a true epiphany. It was now nearing midnight and I had stopped drinking and smoking some time ago and the fog was lifting from my brain just in time to figure out how to play. And it went back and forth for an hour or two more with neither side getting a “six-love” win when it finally happened.

“Six-Love!” “The best domino player in all of California has just…….”