10 Years, 12 Nights, 6 Hotels, ONE LOVE - April 2012 Trip Report

[Hubby-man]

Trip report Continued from previous page….

Since morning the heat had risen to an almost unbearable level. Away from the shadow of the shrubbery the sun was beating brutally onto the pavement. The few hundred feet of road between the Catcha gate and the yellow fence of Banana Shout were distorted in the slow convection of the air. Dust clouds, that had been swept up by passing cars, hung in the air without a breeze to move them.

In the midday sun the yellow fence shone brightly. A banana-shaped door handle indicated an opening near the middle. The words “Banana Shout” were painted inside an oval logo, looking just like a stickers on the fruit in your local supermarket. There was no sign of a knocker or doorbell anywhere.



“Do they literally want us to shout Banana?” I suggested.

Daisy wiped the sweat off her forehead, not amused by my brilliant joke.

“Just knock already!”

I did. We waited. I knocked again. Nothing.

Daisy knocked again. Then she screamed loudly: “Hello, anyone there?”

Some dogs down the road responded, but only silence came from the other side of the fence.

“Are they expecting us?” I asked.

“Of course, do you really think I would get the day wrong!?”

“No, of course not! I‘m gonna try it,…… BANANAaaaaaa!”

“Do you hear anything?” Daisy asked.

I pressed my ear against the fence, and then tried to peer through the gaps in the boards.



“I don’t see anyone,…… BANANAaaaa!!!!!”

The yelling had caught the attention of the neighbors now. From the bar further up the Road a Jamaican approached on a scooter.

“Ya Mon, you need a ride, Mon?”

“No thank you, we just want to get into Banana Shout.” Daisy replied. “I need to drop my luggage off and get a shower.”

“Yah mon, no problem, Marianne is tending the goats, let me get her.” With that the helpful man left his scooter, ran into a field directly across the street and disappearing in the tall grass.

“Herding goats?” I asked, “This is too cool.”

We waited a few more minutes, then heard voices approaching. From the cover of the grass an apparition from the sixties appeared. A tall slender figure emerged from the dried out golden meadow with long flowy dark hair loosely tied into a pony tail..

With a big smile, that exposed a row of glowing white teeth, she approached and immediately took Daisy’s hands into hers and emphatically apologized for the delay: “I can’t believe the groundskeeper didn’t hear you.” Then she kissed both of us on the check and beamed: “Let me give you a tour! This is so exciting to have you here!” I seriously had the impression I was in 1968 during the summer of love and had just arrived in a sunny Oregon commune. Everything in view seemed to confirm that reality.

Beyond the yellow fence the impression only became stronger. In the center of a small driveway a naïve rendition of the sun and moon were carved into the trunk of a tree and painted brightly. Everything seemed to have at least a splash of color playfully applied. To the left a small hut housed an office.