With time-watching now a thing of the
past and no work commitments, time didn't stand still – it was mine
to do as I pleased with. Ironically, I didn't lie-in. The sun rises
early every morning in Jamaica - no clocks going back or forward –
real time sets in and the best and the least hottest time of the day
was early morning.
I'd wake up to the sounds of a cock
crowing and dogs barking mostly as hunger was calling. Days ran into
night and nights kept fulfilling their promise of relieving the day's
heat, just like the ocean's tide coming in and out.
Not being a good swimmer, I wasn't
keen to get into the ocean, although I didn't mind getting my feet
wet on occasions. Maybe it was genetic? But I wasn't all that
interested in plunging/swimming in the sea. My mother never swam;
she 'didn't like the water,' she said. I never asked why.
I became a sun-worshipper but not the
kind that would lay for hours in the sun; I didn't need to go to such
extreme measures. All that was required was for me to sit watching
the ocean, usually on a stocky tree trunk, and the sun's rays would
subtly tinge my skin so that after a period of three months I'd
develop a deep brown-skinned tone, which meant I too was not only at
peace spiritually, I was blending into the colourful landscapes.
Of course this was nothing new;
millions of people all over the world travel to see other countries
and continents, modern cities and the ruins of ancient towns, they
travel to enjoy picturesque places, or just for a change of scene.
But why did I keep returning to Jamaica? What was it about this
small island, which hosted thousands of holidaymakers for a couple of
weeks a year and yet for me, called me back again and again?
I guess I was one of those 'tourists'
during my first visit in 1996 when, seeking a budget holiday with a
lively night-life and shops and craft markets packed with bargains, I
felt right at home. Mo'Bay as the locals call it, is the second
largest city on the island and by far Jamaica's most important
tourist resort. More than 30% of the country's hotel rooms are
there. However, the resort town of Montego Bay is as far from the
'real' Jamaica as you can get, which is why it is essential to hire a
car so you can discover and immerse yourself in country-life. If
you're seeking authentic offbeat Jamaica, move on.
Luckily my first two-week introduction
into Jamaica gave me an opportunity to move on. The first week my
friend Anne and I did the usual tourist activities, including a visit
to one of the city's three 'public' beaches – Doctor's Cave –
which I was taken aback by as there was an entrance fee, something
I'd never heard of or ever experienced on holiday. The beach was
surrounded in an ugly fashion by wire fences and tall concrete walls.
There's no doubt this unattractive beach meant my visit was a
one-off.
The only time I revisited Montego Bay,
apart from landing at its Donald Sangster International Airport, was
in August 2000, specifically for Reggae Sumfest to see world-class
reggae artists. However, I have to say although I wasn't
disappointed, by far the most authentic reggae festival was 'Rebel
Salute,' held in January at St. Elizabeth. I was lucky enough to
meet a Rastafarian called Larry who invited me along; in fact that
was the reason for my second visit to Jamaica that year. I'd become
so hooked after my first reggae concert experience, I wanted more.
Having never been to a reggae concert
in Jamaica, I didn't know what to expect and was almost hypnotised by
the sheer magnificence of it. Even before I arrived, I witnessed a
3-4 mile roadblock like you've never seen. I walked a few of those
miles passing parked cars all the way along the route to the concert.
People were chatting, laughing, selling food and drinks. The venue
itself, a sports arena, was just the right size as there must have
been 3,000 of us. My first priority on arrival was to go to the
toilet, which was a good thing as it became out of bounds later on.
My friend Larry and his four 'colleagues' as he liked to call them,
decided on a space. Our driver slept in readiness for the car drive
home.
By now it was around 10pm and the
all-night-er concert was just getting started since it would go on
until around 8am. Larry had thoughtfully put a chair in the car for
me to sit on as he rightly said, “Standing for long hours will get
you mashed up.” The concert's atmosphere was trouble-free,
friendly and exciting with loud cheers of 'More Fire', flags of red,
green and gold waving majestically throughout the sky. Fire crackers
were set off individually to demonstrate appreciation of an act.
Lighters and fuel cannisters were used to lighten ascended streaks of
yellow throughout the sky sending massive clouds of smoke and smells
of fire burning. Most importantly, I witnessed brilliant music,
professionally presented using top quality sounding speakers. It was
impossible not to enjoy this; I felt as though I'd gone to heaven.
The cool, somewhat strong winds were keeping me from drifting
mentally to another dimension. The whole experience was just
electric; full of wonder and magic.
During all of this, mobile vendors
paraded selling cigarettes, chewing gum, lighters, peanuts, biscuits,
drinks and of course marijuana. I was surprised that this was the
one and only occasion that the police relaxed their powers!
At about 3am, people gradually began
to rise up. “What's happening?” I asked Larry.
“The main artists are coming on
stage,” he said.
For the next two hours, we were
blessed with performances from Luciana, Capelton and Beanie Man; the
best was definitely saved for last.
To be continued...
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