In the pre-dawn hour the roosters’ crow signaled the ritual rising of the Caribbean sun. Before long the stifling heat penetrated my corrugated tin shack, rousing me from drowsy stupor. A cursory examination of my skin shows it a couple shades darker and mosquito bites multiplied. A sniff of the air and one knows the village neighbors have fired up their makeshift wood stoves. After lounging in the garden breeze, I managed to trod down the limestone trail to Janice’s kitchen shack for another traditional Jamaican Breakfast. Some how she forgets to account the 100 Jays she owed me from last night. No matter. I do not mention it as such she is such a lovely woman with a warm heart.
Shortly after, I join a band of motley characters with whom I’ve been staying at the guesthouse — comprising of a French-Canadian woman (“We are the best Canadian”) who is a rafting guide, a stocky Czech man from the UK who is a truck driver, a white-collar Midwest man Indiana on holiday, and an old hippy-type from Montreal with countless stories to tell — to go snorkeling off the coral cliffs. This proved to be a small difficulty for me as I’m a bad swimmer and not fond of salt water.
A few hours of blazing sun later, I’ve confirmed that I truly “suck” in the open water. Luckily, once again there were sufficient diversion in the coral caves that abound the region. I happened on a hollow that directly opened to the beach where I sat in quiet meditation for a while, reflecting on the roar of the cave with each pounding surf that came.
The outing continued with break at local bar where we met “Dr. Feel Good” and “Mountain Man”; local Jamaicans who are multi-talented at a few professions, shall we say. They are extremely friendly and readily open to smile. We all get a laugh when the Hippie starts negotiating prices with the men. The remainder of the day we wanderd downed to “famed” Rick’s Cafe at the southern point of the West End to watch the cliff divers. The place is really a tourist trap, replete with bus-loads of pasty tourist with camera at hand ready to pay ridiculous prices.
Returning near sunset I once again saw the local men outside Janice’s shop engaged in dominoes as they do every day. It seems to be a passionate game to them as they are prone to random outbursts of extreme excitement late into the evening such that the entire neighborhood can hear. I pay them a friendly greeting, and after a moment of small chatter with them, make my merry way back to rest before dinner calls. And so the quiet night passes over this isle of paradise.
