i can see the smiles now when you first set foot at xtabi and saw the sea and surroundings...i remember my first time there too...many years ago-but with same awe as you all experienced- nice trip report....
i can see the smiles now when you first set foot at xtabi and saw the sea and surroundings...i remember my first time there too...many years ago-but with same awe as you all experienced- nice trip report....
" Ones destination is never a place, but rather a new way of looking at things." (Henry Miller)
Great start, and thanks for taking the time to share your experiences!
I'm wondering if this trip report will include a little shock and awe vs the "awe and splendor" that we all experienced as newbies. It seems like no matter how much you plan, how much you think you know or how many times you have been, there is always that moment where you realize you're no yardie and you still have a lot to learn. I always love hearing what caught first-time visitors off guard, as well as all the things they loved about Jamaica.
Hope hubby is feeling better and you don't get the flu!
Doing good now the hard part to keep the report rolling.... Love your pictures and We all know that wonderful feeling... I cant wait to be back
great first installment. looking forward to more.
Loving this report,please keep it coming nicole!!
We need more! We need more! We need more!
...please ?....
Morning one began with me waking after a solid 7 hours of sleep. No waking up with the sweats in the middle of the night, as is common occurrence at home. No 3 year old breathing in your face whispering with urgency, “mama, I gotta go potty!” at 4am. No middle of the night wake-ups for my own potty break. I slept a precious 7 hours – straight. Unheard of since before I was pregnant with my son. And seemingly, only possible on the rock hard but somehow magical mattress in #16.
As I tend to do when on trips, I jumped out of bed, sprung by the urgency of our already fleeting time in Negril. I usually feel as if I can swoop onto my usual travel companion, my husband, and shake him awake when we’re in a foreign country, eager to begin my day, but this morning I softly padded on the cool tile floor to the bathroom, closing the door gently behind me. I didn’t want to interrupt the rest of my friend’s sleep.
When I was finished in the bathroom, I slipped back into bed but I just couldn’t lay still. I grabbed my camera and silently slid through the door to the porch. Much like at home in the depths of July and August, as I stepped outside, I was hit square on with that humidity, lovely and refreshing. It’s not as stifling of a humidity as it is at home – it’s the kind of humidity that makes you feel as if you are sweating out all of that s&^# in your life, all that stuff that makes you feel low, awful, lacking, self-loathing. A few minutes in that heat, coupled with a smooth breeze, and I feel more alive and well than I have in ages – like I have a right to feel good. This, coupled with food and culture, is another of the top reasons I love to travel.
I amble around the grounds between the road and the guesthouse and snap some photos, again really missing my SLR and lenses back at home. The tiny camera I’m using is frustrating, so I switch to my phone, which is much more satisfying to use and fun to play with, changing lenses and film on my Hipstamatic.
When I return to the shocking cool of the room (we are so glad we ponied up for a room with air!) Krista is up and at ‘em. We have already mostly packed for the beach, and we check the time, about 8:15 when we figured in the time change from our phones, so we finish getting ready and head across the road for breakfast. We’re greeted with a stunning view of the water, as was always the case on our visit, with rich and bold sunrise colors in the clouds. As we step into the bar/restaurant, the staff seem a bit surprised to see someone so early, but they seated us nonetheless. We ordered a fruit plate and a bread plate; tea for me, coffee for Krista. I pretty much have an aneurism when they bring the sugar – raw cane sugar. I pay a mint for this type of sugar for my teas at home – I don’t drink coffee. This sugar was pure, unadulterated sweet joy – I experienced that ever-elusive perfect cup of tea that morning. The perfect cup is that rare cup that’s the right blend of strength (I drink black tea of varying types), sweetness, and creaminess. This, of course, only added greatly to the already strong sense of rightness of the moment. Our meal was absolutely lovely – sweet, earthy, raw. The breads were lightly toasted and were delightful. I cannot find a better word – I was absolutely delighted with the sweet breads. The fruits were chilled and had a slightly muted sweetness from what we have at home – more real. MmmmMmmMMm. After breakfast and settling our tab, a few other folks came to be seated for breakfast – we once again applauded ourselves on our wonderful timing.
We stepped out to the road and grabbed our first taxi. After negotiating the price for him to bring us to three stops, we hopped in with two adorable little school girls. The older sister was probably in 2nd grade and the little girl was probably four. The older girl was clutching the fare for both girls in her hand – a slight swell of responsibility in her chest. They were just so cute, and we of course told them we were teachers and asked what they liked to do in school. The older girl shyly told me she loves to read and the little just smiled and looked at her lap. I fished out a handful of Smarties that were in the bag to bring to St. Anthony’s and handed them each two rolls of the tart candies, some of my favorites to give to my students on special days or as rewards for quiz games or the like – it’s fun to say, “here are some Smarties for my little Smarties!” which, of course, I mumbled some version of as I placed the candies in the girls’ hands. The older girl immediately said, “thank you!!!” and the little just stared at her palm, the candy lying parallel to her fingers, as if she could not believe her luck. We dropped the girls off at their respective schools and the driver told us that they’d probably love it if we were able to find time to visit – we put it on our list for our next, longer trip.
Our driver quickly guided his well-kempt car to St. Anthony’s and walked us up to the door where we spoke briefly with the woman running the kitchen, Pearl, I believe (my friend has the notes). She thanked us with her warm smile and told us to come back again to visit if we could. We jumped back in the cab and the driver brought us to the Cambio across from Burger King (which cracks me up…I’m always so amused by US chain restaurants in foreign countries). It was pretty busy – we realize they have just opened. It was a bit disconcerting being in there with 4-5 others as it’s pretty tight, but we were all business and we return back to our driver, who then drops us off at the start of the beach right near the craft market. Now, we didn’t really know what was up with the market – we just wanted to get to the beach, and the driver told us to walk down through the parking lot and to the beach from there. We paid him and he was off and so were we, but not before we realized we hadn’t brought our phones and we had no idea what time it was. He tells us it’s somewhere in the area of 8:45, which seems weird seeing as how we just sat down for breakfast a bit after 8am…huh. Weird. Oh well – we were on a mission to get our feet in the sand. We’d just have to keep an eye on the time and try to figure out how we lost an hour somehow - we had to be back and ready for the One Love Bus by 2pm.
The market was basically dead with only a few early bird merchants open and of course they begged for us to see their wares. We looked, saw a number of things we could see ourselves buying, but we figured we had plenty of time to shop later – too bad at that time we didn’t know that pretty much everything is closed on Sundays, one thing that our research had not really brought to light, so we did miss out on a good shopping experience, something we both love to do…even though it’s so cliché and touristy, a good shop can do your soul wonders, I swear.
Once we emerged onto the beach it was as if time stood still for a few moments. We turned in wide circles, wondering why there were basically no people to be seen. We shook off our shoes and stuffed them in our bags and we set off. The water lapped at our feet as they sank into the sand. We took a few photos as some beach boys emerged from the shady trees up the beach a bit, all in varying states of awake. We figured we’d start moving and the rebuffing of the boys thusly officially began. We kept moving and said no to everything you’d expect: ganja, snorkeling tours, glass bottom boat and jet ski rides, rides on the backs of motorcycles to the ganja fields, Jamaican boyfriends (I was actually surprised that these precise words were used – ha!), escorts on our walk…we took it all with a grain of salt and kept moving, saying many, many versus of, “no thank you, no thank you!” and “respect!” – no problem.
We did stop briefly to take a look at our map to see what was coming up, as it was apparently only about 9:15, which we confirmed with one of the beach boys – we finally figured out that we’d showed up to breakfast 45 minutes before they actually opened, but they served us nonetheless. So, even though we hadn’t planned it that way, we landed on the beach at the perfect time of the morning, avoiding an intense experience in the market and perhaps a more busy beach. But as it stood, the sky was vivid and clear, the water looking luscious and translucent as it licked our toes, and we had the beach virtually all to ourselves. And so we walked…
Last edited by nicole.edith; 09-13-2013 at 06:39 AM.
Since you begged...Originally Posted by Lorax2
We need more! We need more! We need more!
...please ?....
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