jamaica time

portland, maine to montego bay, jamaica

caribbean from the air

i had been planning to fly to cancun, but circumstances forced me in a different direction - jamaica. had i done a bit more research, i probably would have flown to the cayman islands, but i wouldn't have wanted to miss this lush place!
when the plane landed, i suddenly realized i hadn't checked to see what this island's requirements were for travelers - good gravy, talk about rookie mistakes! fortunately i got a very kind immigration agent. he understood my predicament (re: island that shall remain nameless), and he waived the entry requirement of a departure ticket in hand. phew!

when i stepped out into the wonderful sunshine, i saw a handsome young man holding a little sign with my name on it. the hostel had indeed sent someone to pick me up! never had i gotten such grand treatment from a hostel.
gregory and his mother, arlene, run the cedar ridge hostel, a lovely villa high up on bogue hill, with help from eddy, the philosophical rasta driver and miss madge, the housekeeper/cook.

a corner of the veranda

the place was mostly a dream come true - the rooms were nice and airy, the beds comfortable, the veranda was vintage luxury, there was free wi-fi, they offered fluffy towels and delicious home cooked meals for a modest fee, and of course the airport pickup. the flip side - no hot water, remote location, limited light at night and no toilet paper.
i brought my own toilet paper, so okay.
i can live with one small lamp at night, especially if i am spending half my time on my computer.
remote location can actually feel like a blessing when you've been stressed to the max for weeks.
but no hot water? zoikes!

i tried to take a shower the first morning anyway. but i am no katharine hepburn, cold showers just don't work for my pansy ass. i'd rather be dirty.
however, the folks who run the hostel were so swell i found i didn't care. i can't stress enough what fine people they are. welcoming, kind and helpful are just the tip of the iceberg.

i went into town with miss madge, to the market and watched her pick out the good veggies and haggle for the best price. i helped carry her bags. she 'saved' me from buying packets of tang, little did she know i'd go back and buy them later!

miss madge showed me where to go to get back up the hill and we parted ways.
taxis are shared, and you flag them down, tell them where you want to go and they say yes or no. i caught a cab from downtown to the local cemetery.
there were some sketchy fellows looking at me from inside and i decided to go get myself some jerk pork for lunch, hoping they would be gone by the time i got back.

'strictly staff only' furniture store

but alas, they were still there and more determined than ever to befriend me. rupert, the parks crew supervisor (sketchy guys were just a work crew, miss paranoid!), took it upon himself to walk me around. he brought me to shelley haydyn, a lovely 50's headstone relief that was a dead ringer for barbie. i was grateful. we walked through to the oldest corner, but it was treacherous, and i decided against wandering off the main path.
rupert told me he wanted to take me out that night, to where the tourists gather. aside from my rabid dislike of tourist haunts, i thought it best to just say no. he seemed friendly enough, but my first impression, sketchy, was still nibbling at my insides.
i headed off for the hill, flagging the taxis left and right.

crumbled bus stop maintained by the optimist club

none of the taxis that came along were willing to take me up the hill to cedar ridge, so i began walking, occasionally trying to flag the red license plate vehicles.
i eventually walked up the hill - i felt like super woman, and could not wait to take that cold, cold shower!