|
DAY ONE: BABYLON BY BUS
By Bill
Evans
Though I had been to Jamaica
several times, I had always taken the tourist route and rented a
car or hired a taxi to visit some favorite spots. This trip would
be different. I met a world traveler from my hometown who had visited
the Andes in South America and backpacked all over Europe and he
convinced me that it would be a fun trip...."You only have to ask
me once, I said!"....and the trip was on! We decided to see as much
Jamaica as we could in 10 days using only public transportation
and staying where we felt welcome. I am a 6' 3" large man (nicknamed
"Bigga" by the locals) and my traveling companion, Sergio, a Mexican-American
who danced some folklorio ballet and stood a mere 5' 3" (on his
toes!) looked like "Mutt and Jeff" as we left Sangster Airport going
to the Montego Bay bus yard. The taxi driver tried to convince us
that no buses were going where we were going and that he should
drive us to wherever we wanted to go but we laughed and told him
to drop us off just the same. Have you ever felt like your zipper
was open and everyone noticed it? Well, that was how we felt when
it seemed everyone stared at us in total disbelief that a tourist
would "want" to travel the way they "had" to travel. In Jamaica,
there are people at transportation stops whose job it is to fill
every bus and taxi for the driver and they get paid for doing it.
We never felt more wanted in our lives as several of these men began
tugging us in every direction trying to get us on their bus. I said
to Sergio, "Let's try to get on a newer bus that may be air-conditioned
but, we stared in horror at the only bus going to Port Antonio.
It was an old school bus that Bob Marley could have ridden to grade
school on! I have since learned that breaking up a long trip into
shorter trips allows the option of taking better transportation
but, what did I know then on my first trip taking buses? We were
naive in believing that the length of the bus ride would be about
5 hours to Port Antonio judging by the map we picked up at the Jamaica
Tourist Board booth in the airport. Little did we realize that,
even though the distance we had to travel was slightly more that
115 miles, the trip could last 8 to 10 hours! (depending on number
of stops, weather and condition of the road) and it was 3:00pm when
we got underway. My best friend for the next 10 days would not be
Sergio but an old, outdated Travel Guide which I never let get far
from my sweaty hand.
The first thing I noticed
through the plexi-glass replacement window was that the azure blue
water was in sharp contrast to the dry, arid landscape of the Trelawny
coastline. I had driven to Ocho Rios before but at a much faster
pace and had never taken the time to enjoy the scenery. I have since
learned that the getting there is half the experience of being there.
The bus was crowded and Sergio had taken a seat with a Rastaman
having dreadlocks to his beltline. I smiled overhearing Sergio in
his Spanish-accent English trying to converse with the Rasta speaking
mostly Patois. I was sitting in the middle of a bench seat that
went across the entire back of the bus. The buses springs were shot
and everytime we hit a pothole I would fly up out of my seat to
come crashing down with a thud against the plywood sheet under the
cushion. People would turn and smile to see if the tourist was okay
and I would reassure them that I was comfortable with the added
excitement. Rain clouds were hanging over the green Cockpit mountains
to our right and a small amount of rain began to fall on the windshield
as I watched the road ahead. The driver turned on the wipers. That
was a big mistake as the bus had only one and it made the windshield
useless. The driver, undaunted, hung his head out the side window
and never lost a bit of speed. Finally the rain became sufficient
to wash the caked dirt from the windshield as the wiper struggled
to keep up with the increasing downpour.
I checked my $10 Timex
that I purchased for the trip and noted that it was about 3:30pm
and remembered that it rained everyday about this time during the
rainy season and felt assured that it would soon be over. By the
time we reached Drax Hall the streets were covered curb to curb
with rushing water tinted red by the rich bauxite soil but, except
for the occasional stops to pick up or drop off riders, we plowed
our way forward. I noticed the lights of Ocho Rios in the distance
as the sun had disappeared into the sea about an hour previous.
The manicured grounds of the All Inclusive Clubs signaled that we
would soon arrive. Holding my small flashlight in my mouth in the
darkened bus, I scanned my Travel Book looking for somewhere to
spend the night as it was now almost 8:00pm and getting to Port
Antonio tonight was now not a reasonable option. I decided, at this
point that during the next 10 days of travel, "Flexibility" would
be the vehicle and "patience" would be the driver. I noticed on
page 101 a mention of a little guesthouse in Port Maria about 20
miles up the road so on impulse I decided to signal Sergio with
the flashlight that we would be getting off the bus soon. The expression
on his face turned from a somber look to excitement as the prospect
of leaving Ole Betsy (as we would come to call her) loomed ahead.
The bus had dropped off most of her passengers in Ochi so I moved
up to a seat across from the driver's helper. I told him I wanted
to get off at Sea Lawn Coral Beach and he said he knew of the place
and that a Rastaman, Mike Higgins, owned the place and that he was
his cousin. Another fact about Jamaica...everyone seems to be related
to everyone in some way or another. After about an hour, the helper
tapped my shoulder and pointed up ahead as he shouted "Driver, one
stop!". That was a phrase I had been hearing all day so I knew we
had arrived. Mike, a 6' 6" tall Jamaican was the Soccer Star of
the St. Mary parrish and his well-conditioned body showed hours
of training. He was used to people who read about him in many travel
books just dropping in so within about 30 minutes Sergio and I were
settled in. Mike's girlfriend fixed us a seafood dish of Lobster,
Snapper and rice and peas which we ate with gratitude as Mike produced
a couple of cold Red Stripe to wash it down. I offered to buy Mike
a Red Stripe but he told me he was Rasta and that a Rasta ate no
meat, drank no alcohol, used no tobacco and generally lived the
"Ital" life. We spent the remainder of the evening on his private
little beach discussing Rastafarianism and why Sergio and I should
become Rasta when he reached over and lightly patted my portly stomach.
"You know, I replied, I think there may be something to that!" We
laughed well into the night...........Tomorrow
is Day 2 and more adventures lie ahead!
Respect Bill Evans
Need help in planning your
adventure travel while in Jamaica. Feel free to email me at the
following addresses : accompong98@yahoo.com
OR accompong2000@aol.com
See
the other Articles written by Bill
Related links
• Get advice or read more Trip Reports in our Travel forums
"Come to Jamaica
and Feel Alright"
|
