Greetings fellow PNS sufferers!
You visit this board for the same reasons that I do – you love Negril, you miss Negril, and you want more – so you come to Negril.com - to experience ‘the virtual vacation that never ends’
(Thanks Rob – I don’t know how I’d survive the time between trips to Negril without your board.).
Well, there is another thread on the board about taking a trip up to Nine Mile, and it got me thinking about the trip that I took to Nine Mile. I wrote about that trip in my travelogue 'Walk Good - Travels to Negril, Jamaica'. I thought I would post that chapter so that you could make the virtual trip up to Bob’s mausoleum with me.
If you would like to take a further look at the full book it is available at the URLs below.
I've arranged for discounts - good until June 30th - on both the eBook and Trade Paperback versions of Walk Good - (just for you my Negril.com compatriots
I'll soon be posting updates and excerpts from my upcoming novel 'Sunset Negril', which I am really excited about.
Here are the 'Walk Good' URLs and discount codes:
Walk Good - Paperback:
https://www.createspace.com/3621913
FVLHZ5CC – Discount code for $5.00 off
Walk Good - eBook:
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/64184
YN69V - Discount code for 30% off
Because of the board’s 10K character limit, I’ve broken the Nine Mile chapter into three successive posts.
- Part One -
A Pilgrimage to Nine Mile
Facts an' facts, an' t'ings an t'ings.
Dem's all a lotta fockin' bull****. Hear me!
Dere is no trut’ but de one trut’,
an' dat is de trut’ of JAH RASTAFARI!
Bob Marley, 1978
Amy doesn’t understand how I can listen to the same Bob Marley CD’s over and over and over . . . and over. She’s never said it out loud, but I believe that she thinks I’m compulsive about Bob’s music. She’s good about it though, because she likes the music - - - kind of. Okay, she puts up with it. But for me it’s much, much more than ‘liking’ the music. It’s difficult to explain to someone who doesn’t ‘have it’, Bob’s music is a part of me, an important part, right down deep in my very core somewhere. I know there are others who feel the same way, others who ‘have it’, and there are a lot of us too. The amazing thing is, some of Bob’s devotees weren’t even born until after he left us. One of my daughter’s guy friends, who is seventeen years old, has turned his bedroom into a Bob Marley shrine.
Bob once said, “My music will live on forever.” He was right. In my mind and in the minds of thousands and thousands of his devotees around the world, his music is very much alive. Bob lives.
I saw him live in concert once. It was at the Montreal Forum on June 9, 1978, during the ‘Kaya’ tour. Leading off was ‘The Tower of Power’, a tight brass ensemble that did a good job of warming up the Forum, but everybody was there for the Wailers. By the time Tower of Power had wrapped up, the crowd had spilled over onto the open floor area in front of the stage. It seemed that the whole Caribbean population of Montreal had turned out and had staked out their rightful place smack in front of the stage. And no one was going to move them out of there either.
Then it was time. The lights went out. The rhythm guitar’s sudden ‘chuka… chuka… chuka…chuka’ leapt off the stage and homed straight into my gut.
"And now ladies and gentlemen. . . . ,"
the announcer said in a deep, booming voice,
". . . . coming to you all the way from Trenchtown, Jamaica . . .
. . . . . please welcome . . . .
. . . . BOB MARLEY AND THE WAILERS!”
The stage lights came on, the rest of the instruments joined in and there they were, the Wailers, and two of the 'I Three', Bob's female backup vocal group. Later Bob introduced them as the ‘I Two’, explaining that one of the girls was sick that night, (Marcia Griffiths, if I remember correctly).
The Wailers were up there onstage, playing their instruments, the girls were bopping side by side, but Bob was nowhere to be seen.
”Until… the philosophy… which hold one race superior and another, …inferior…..”
His voice filled the Forum . . . people started to whistle . .
“Is finally…., and permanently…discredited…and abondened…”
Everybody was standing, I stood up looking for him, the cheering got louder, everybody’s eyes were locked on the stage searching . . . waiting . . . anticipating . . . .
“H’everywhere is war……”
And there was Bob! Up on the front of the stage, bouncing his dreads, arms stretched out to the crowd. Pandemonium broke out! People around me were screaming. I was screaming. The crowd on the floor in front of the stage started dancing, heads bobbing in the sweeping spotlights.
For the next hour and a half, a natural mystic flowed through the air. We were in the presence of greatness. The messiah had come to town and we, his disciples, were receiving his benediction. Until my dying day, and then some, I shall never forget that concert, and whenever I hear the opening strains of ‘War’, goose bumps rush over my skin.
Erin and Hannah love Bob’s music too. They know many of the lyrics by heart, and well they should; they’ve been listening to Bob since before they were born. When their mother was pregnant with them I would put headphones to her belly to wake them up and get them kicking when it was playtime. Erin was a little late in coming so I played “Exodus” to get her moving. It worked too, she came into this world a-wailin’. When I can't find my 'Confrontation' CD, I know that it will likely be in Erin's mini-system.
So here we are in Runaway Bay, and I am keenly aware that Bob Marley lies in his mausoleum a tantalizingly short drive away. I intend to go, but I haven’t broached the subject with Amy yet.
We’re sitting in the Scotch Bonnet, watching the ocean rolling in, and Amy asks me, “Do you want to do any excursions hon?”
“Well, I was thinking of touring in the mountains a bit . . . . going up to Nine Mile maybe,” I reply, keeping my eyes on the breakers, trying not to sound too excited.
“Oh, that sounds interesting! Nine Mile, that’s where Bob Marley is buried isn’t it?” She's a sharpy my bride, it’s hard to get one by her.
“Yeah, well actually he’s lying in a mausoleum.”
Yes, we’re going!
Cliff, our driver, picks us up at the front entrance early in the morning. Amy jumps into the back seat. We are planning on a route that will take us east along the coast to Ocho Rios, south through Fern Gully and up into the mountains, back east through the mountains to Nine Mile, where we'll pay our respects to Bob, then back down through Browns Town, Discovery Bay and back to the hotel. The route, when drawn on a map of Jamaica, describes a rough oval with one edge running along the north shore.
The drive to Ocho Rios is uneventful. Once there, we turn inland and drive up through Fern Gully, an old riverbed that was long ago converted into a road. It twists its way up through a gorge cut into the mountainside. Ferns smother the embankments and trees hug the road, towering above us. Even though the day is cloudless, Fern Gully is cool and steeped in dark shade. Cliff informs us that there are 350 different types of ferns here. He tells us that back in his childhood, cars driving this road had to use their headlights during the day. Now, due to the heavy traffic and overuse, a lot of the foliage has died off. Trucks are banned from driving through Fern Gully and efforts are being made to return it to its previous state. Craft stalls displaying colorful batiks flowing in the breeze punctuate the sides of the road as we climb the twisting, turning mountainside road. Suddenly the road straightens out and levels off and we break into brilliant sunshine along the ridge top. We all reach for our sunglasses. There’s a large craft market located in a clearing and several tour buses are parked in the lot even though it’s still early.
- End of Part One -