K is for Kingston


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Yes, K has to be for Kingston.

I have no clear memory of what I expected of the city before I moved here.  Arriving in a new place, knowing its going to be home from now on, I look around with fresh eyes and wonder when I will ever start thinking of all the sights as normal? The people, the streets, the noise, the traffic….figuring out where you are.  Processing it all takes a while and there is no defining moment when the new becomes normal, it just sort of sneaks up on you.

As our time here comes to an end, and by way of reflection, I asked myself some questions.  Mainly I was looking for something new to say that I haven’t already covered earlier.

What were my first impressions?  This one’s easy.  I did a post on it earlier.  I remember thinking how calm and clean Kingston was after Kathmandu. I also didn’t expect it to be so green. Looking down on the city from high up, buildings are nestled between trees and it all looks quite charming.  The northern suburbs especially, where the birds and flowers make the city look pretty attractive. I enjoy looking out to the mountains also, which are mostly visible with dramatic clouds. Compared to the chaos of Manila and Kathmandu, the roads seem relatively orderly, there are traffic lights and drains that work.

What did I like most about living here?  From my first few months to my last few, my favourite things haven’t really changed.  I love the greenery and the mountains, walking around Mona, and sitting in my screen porch writing and listening to the wind blow through the palm leaves.  I can add that I have made friends with Jamaican colleagues, who have been some of the kindest people with a great sense of humour.  Jamaicans know how to laugh!  I’ve also read and learnt about the Caribbean and its history, and –wow– does it have some history, although there is little left to see these days.

What did I dislike most about living here? I have felt trapped and dependent on others my whole stay.  The dangers of crime, vulnerability of being a foreigner, health issues, lack of realistic transportation options and not being able to go out at night have made exploring the city close to impossible for me.  And there just isn’t that much to do for the unconnected in Kingston.  Colleagues with small children have loved it here, as its a great outdoor city and there are nice beaches less than an hour away.  But I’m so ready for a safer city with a public transportation system and urban events that will make it easier to meet people.  I’m looking at you Belgrade!

What do you think you’ll take away from your time here? In each new place we have lived, each comes with its own challenges and benefits.  And I’ve always believed its up to me to figure how to make the best of it.  We chose this life to experience the change and learn from each new place and, perhaps, leave it a little better (however small) than when we arrived.  This time,  its got me.  I don’t truly know what my takeaway from Kingston will be.  Right now it just feels like its an acceptance of “you can’t win them all.”   Hopefully time will teach me there’s something more.

So, I’ll just end with a few random photos of Kingston not covered elsewhere:

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Curlers!  Many Jamaican ladies have no problem going out while they are still fixin’ their hair.  Always makes me smile!

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Street scene near Papine.

 

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A post-apocalptic scene from the downtown.

 

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View from the Northern suburbs of Kingston way out to the Port.

 

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And finally…From the dock of a cruise ship out to the “giraffes” of the dock that I see from pretty much anywhere in Kingston.   Kingston port is still an important harbour in the Carribean and the heart and soul of this island’s economy.

WPC: Home Sweet (Secure) Home


Here in Kingston, home security is a big deal. For some it comes from bars on windows, alarms, and security guards, for others that’s not an option.  Corrugated tin sheets are the de facto security source for those that can’t afford them, but they’re sometimes a work of art in themselves:

This week’s entry for the WordPress Weekly Photo Challenge: https://dailypost.wordpress.com/photo-challenges/security/

90 Days – Heading into Summer


inner peace So, it took a while to settle here in Kingston.  I haven’t been very patient with the resettlement process or the daily realities,  or optimistic about building a more interesting life here for quite a while. And as complaining posts don’t make very good reading, my blog and the impetus to write went silent.  But after the first disastrous year things have gotten better. We settled into a limited daily routine with occasional trips out to Negril, looked forward to friends and family visits, and the weeks have ticked by.  Now here we are at the beginning of April and the countdown to departure begins.

Its become a familiar routine now of checklist items: how to sell the car and buy a new one, when to schedule the pack out and airline tickets, and a million other details. There’s also a separate list of things that you want to do one last time before you go. In Manila we scheduled repeat trips to favourite places or tried to squeeze in a last chance visit to somewhere we’ve never been. In Kathmandu, I planned a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to go to Bhutan, a short trip to Delhi, one more visit down to Pokhara, and another to my beloved Sapana Lodge in Chitwan. Unfortunately, these never happened because of the earthquake and our departure routines were almost bulldozed by the realities of the disaster.

Then there’s things you have to buy: handicrafts or items unique to the place that will shortly stop being home.   Its sort of a bittersweet ritual of remembering and appreciating your time, and how the 90/60/30 day post tradition started on the blog back in 2013.  It would be easy to overlook the tradition this time around because my checklist is short.  But we do have two more Negril visits planned and then there’s the embroidery project, which in itself is a opportunity to explore a positive takeaway from our time here.  ( I’ve done a cushion embroidery project in three previous countries where we have lived.) Its a tricky assignment to pick a design that fulfills a number of requirements: I need to find the design aesthetically pleasing.  It needs to be not too easy or difficult for my skill level, and it has to represent a positive aspect of my stay.  Also it has to be a personal experience from that place, not just something generally representative.  After much hunting for fruit, tropical foliage and rasta designs (that don’t exist), I was drawn to various birds as a subject.  Jamaica has a lot of wonderful, exotic birds, but I finally I settled on this pelican design.

I hesitated at first, as working in multiple shades of grey can be a bit monotonous.  But he has character and enough colour variation to make it interesting, and he makes me think of our regular walks around Mona Reservoir, which has been a real lifesaver for us. I doubt I’ll finish him before we leave, or even before we get to Serbia, but he’s arrived and on his way to being part of my small collection and Mr Pelican will keep me company in airports lounges and economy seats this summer.

J is for Jump!


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Rick’s Cafe and Bar is a pretty famous attraction in Negril. They’ve been around since 1974,  when I suspect that they were once truly a local, kicked-back kind of place.  Now it is a large affair with a big bar/restaurant, a swimming pool, indoor and outdoor tables, and cabanas for rent. There’s a retail store with “Thanks for Making it Rick’s” t-shirts and various paraphernalia for sale. It’s really quite the slick operation.

Its attraction is the beautiful cliff-side location with sweeping big-sky views out to the wide, blue Caribbean. 35 feet below its cliff top locale, the rocks form a deep, protective pool that has become a favourite place for cliff jumpers. Catamarans leave daily from nearby tourist resorts with onboard bars and pulsing music,  arriving at Rick’s before sundown.   Everyone can watch the divers and the brave can try it themselves. Its a big party with live music, drinks and a spectacular sunset.   However, we have never seen it, as we are not fans of crowds and loud music, but when we discovered that they opened at 12pm for lunch, we decided to go take a look. It was very hot and quiet, but its easy to hang out in the large, shaded bar area with a red stripe and watch.  A small group of lunch time guests paced below us, as they worked on steeling their nerves for the jump.

Some got to the edge of the higher jump and make the leap before they’ve had too much time to think about it.  Others stared down at the water for endless minutes before they turned back and decided to take the safer jump from the lower platform. With an audience casually sitting around watching you fight your fears, it takes some nerve either way.  I took plenty of photos and enjoyed watching the show.

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This guy was the staff superstar diver.  With lots of trapeze artist panache, he greeted his audience and announced his dive…

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Everyone watched and waited.

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And off he went on his first jump.

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For a $20 tip, he also jumps for this high rickedy chair on a poll.  It adds about another 12-20 ft.  Yikes!

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…and then a second jump to show everyone who’s boss…

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…and then the jumpers had their go.

The first time we went, I have to admit it was an entertaining visit and and we have since taken friends and family on subsequent trips. I can imagine its lots of fun if you are young and love a party scene.  However, I did wonder about the safety of having alcohol and cliff jumping going on in the same place.   I know there have been quite a few serious incidents in recent years. Yes, there are signs warning that cliff jumping is dangerous, warning that divers do so at their own risk, and absolving Rick’s of any responsibility. However, I can’t imagine that signs like that would hold water in US courts.   Although they say there are trained life guards and security people watching, there aren’t many safety rails and I can’t imagine that every drunk who is suddenly emboldened to do something crazy will be spotted in time.   As the mother of a young adult of similar age, its all a bit scary really.

I is for Island Time


As I walk by, sometimes I catch two Jamaicans looking at each other, “Where’s the fire?” I see in their exchange of glances.  They’re wondering why someone might be in such a rush.   From my perspective, as I walk around town, I constantly run into fellow pedestrians doing a slow, slow, shuffle.  I’m a brisk walker and an energetic pace feels natural to me.  And I have a learned, deliberate walk that comes from years of being in places where a single, expat woman is the target of every panhandler and cat caller in my path,  so I walk fast to avoid their advances.  The problem is that when others amble along in front, walk three abreast, stop to check their phone with no warning, light their cigarette, or just stop to smell the friggin’ roses– in the mIDDLe of the sidewalk – it can be a tad frustrating.

But, unfortunately, that’s no excuse.  I know that I can’t be that foreigner who barges past and demands that everyone get out of my way.  It’s rude, tacky, and after all, I’m in their space.  So in addition to the uneven surface, crazy driver, dog poo and pothole radars, I need to add “slow walking person” to my calculations, so I can slow down a little before I approach the ambler, so as to not scare the bejesus out of them.  They are, in turn, supposed to notice that someone is coming up behind them and step out of the way.  But they often remain blithely unaware and I need to pull out technique two:  “Good morning, ladies,” I say cheerily.  “How are you?”  “Good morning,” they say back, coming to a complete halt to search for something at the bottom of their bag.  So, when that fails, there’s technique three: a hop, skip and jump up and down the curb (or between a gap in the fence) where I use my speed advantage to quickly nip around them.  The problem here is that the aforementioned dog poo, pot hole or uneven road surface sits lurking at just the point where I need to do that little jig,  just like a little unexploded bomb.

Is it worth it you ask?  After all, island time is the call of all visitors to Jamaica who long for their famous “no worries” laid back vibe.  It’s hot, take it slow, go with the flow.  Why not stop and smell the Jamaican roses?  Because there are no roses.  Because the traffic light is about to change and that bus is going to blow toxic diesel smoke in my face.  Because the corner panhandler has already spotted me, and I know the guy leaning up against the wall is planning on making me his next taxi fare.  Ugh, no thanks.  Gotta go!

 

 

H is for Hurricane


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In early October last year, Hurricane Matthew was on its way to Jamaica.  At one point it was upgraded to a category 5 storm that was looking very much as though it would make landfall on island.   Colleagues were full of terrible stories from the last major hurricane to hit, Gilbert, who in 1988 caused extensive damage to houses, farms and infrastructure– and Gilbert was only a category 3.

With impending disaster heading our way, the Embassy was put on voluntary departure and most families with small children headed to the States.  Those remaining, like us, were told to leave our homes and shelter at the main Embassy residential compound so we would all be together in a building with hurricane windows, an independent water supply and a generator.  That meant we had to pack up our house (as best we could) to weather the storm.  I stood in my living room surveying my options:  rugs, soft furnishings, book cases, metal items…there were all sorts of things that could be permanently damaged by a flood.  The prospect of moving heavy furniture so that rugs could be rolled up was not appealing, but the thought of returning to soaking, moulding furnishings was not an option.  We had never been through heavy weather in this house before and had no idea if the windows would leak or from what direction the weather would come, so we had no choice but to move it all.  So rugs were rolled and elevated, bookcases were raised on cans of tuna, we dragged big heavy plants inside so they wouldn’t snap in the high winds.  It all took several hours.

Around midday we were done.  The skies looked stormy and the palm trees were whipping, but the storm still hadn’t arrived.  It seemed like a good time to head out for the 30 minute drive before the rains hit.  It took 10-15 minutes to load the car with several days of food and provisions and, in that brief time,  the rain and wind started up.  Suddenly we were in a fierce squall and packed the last few items in high wind and pounding rain that easily found its way under the protective cover of the car port.  By the time we pulled the car door shut and drove towards the exit, the windscreen wipers could hardly keep up.  “Here it comes…” we thought…  but the car started to make a strange rattling noise before we departed the front gate and Robert decided it was better to be cautious and figure out what was wrong with the car, so we headed back to the house.  Thirty minutes passed, the car issue was fixed, the squall was over, and we made our second exit.

As we drove through the mostly empty Kingston streets, we could see scattered branches lying in the road and huge amounts of water carrying dirt and debris down the drains.  It was easy to see how this city’s draining system could clog and flood the streets.  The massive gullies were running hard with water, but not too deep for our vehicle to pass….but things could quickly change.

There are gullies like this all over the city for a reason.

By the time we reached our destination, the rain had stopped altogether.  The sky remained steely gray but the air was still.  Maintenance crews were moving everything that wasn’t tied down and we settled into our loaned space to make it our base for the next few days.

We waited and watched.  The apartment building has excellent views and we periodically scanned the horizon wondering when it was coming.  The national hurricane website gave updates every 4-8 hrs, and the storm seemed to be heading east.  By the next day there was still no rain.  By the third day, it was clear that Matthew was going to miss Jamaica altogether but was heading straight for poor Haiti, which is still recovering from the earthquake after all these  years.  This was tragic for Haiti and excellent news for Jamaica, but by then I was suffering from a very bad case of cabin fever.  All the precautions, packing and waiting was making me feel very tense.  It was impossible to just relax and try to read a book or binge watch Netflix.  I just wanted to go home.  We returned to a dark house that needed reassembling and the boards needed to be removed from the windows.  Amazingly the internet was still working and we set about the unwelcome task of putting everything back where it belonged.  Friends reached out to ask if we were ok, now that Matthew was making international news headlines because of the damage to Haiti and the impending implications for the US coastline.  However, for us it was over.

After Typhoon Pedring in the Philippines and the 2015 earthquake in Nepal, we knew that the odds were real that we could add a hurricane to our list of disasters experienced three posts in a row.  This time Jamaica dodged the bullet.

 

 

 

 

F is for Frenchman’s Cove


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The beach at Frenchman’s Cove

We haven’t been on a lot of day trips in Jamaica.  I’ve missed getting out for a few hours to find new places and get to know the island better.  But we did take a trip a couple of weeks ago to Frenchman’s Cove, one of Jamaica’s better known local beaches.

Frenchman’s Cove is located on the North-east coast near Port Antonio, away from the North-west’s string of international, all-inclusive resort hotels.  Back in the day, the North-east was once an exclusive Winter getaway for the rich and famous, and Port Antonio was the hub.  Errol Flynn, Ian Fleming and Noel Coward all had homes there.  It was as charming, as it was undeveloped.  Nowadays it has still has some of the charm left, but of the very faded variety.  Unlike Montego Bay and Ocho Rios, there has been little development of new resorts and no attempt at preserving the character of its older houses or churches.   I enjoyed driving through the town, but there was nothing really there to make you stay a while.  Its a shame, as I think it deserved better.

Frenchman’s Creek is a pay beach, not a public one.  At about $7/head it’s not cheap for many Jamaican families for a day trip, but it does mean that there a no vendors to bug you.  There’s also a small hotel right on the beach, but it badly neglected and Trip Advisor photographs tell a terrible story of bad mildew and disastrous plumbing experiences, which is too bad as the beach is lovely and it would have been great to stay there the night and make a weekend of it.

We arrived on Ash Wednesday, a big Jamaican holiday, and the beach was pretty busy.  There were lots of Jamaican families and singles and , to my knowledge, we were the only foreigners.

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The sea was a pretty rough — unusually so, I’m told — and a bit too much for me to want to tackle.  But the kids loved it and threw themselves into the breaking white horses, trying to body surf.

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Way too rough for me!

More kids swung from the rope swings and Tarzan ladders that hung from trees by the river that terminated right on the beach, pouring clean, cold fresh water into the sea. With a calmer tide, it might have been fun to swim through the mixing currents.

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The water was remarkably clear and cold.   On a quieter day I might have just hung out here.

It is a really nice spot. Although is was a bit too busy for me and the restaurant service was really slow, it didn’t really matter too much. There was no loud music, which made me happy, and it was just fun and peaceful to watch others enjoy the beach.

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Doesn’t this look like a tourism poster?  The whole beach reminded me of the scene from Dr. No where Ursula Andress emerges from the sea singing “Underneath the Mango Tree.”  That day we had a Jamaican Ursula!

WPC: The Jamaican Road Taken


I love taking pictures from the car whenever I can.  I often capture random people and places, which often have no part in another story.  Here are some favourite, surprising glimpses of Jamaican life taken from the road:

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https://dailypost.wordpress.com/photo-challenges/the-road-taken/

E is for Elections


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One of only a handful of election posters during the February 2016 election.

It was interesting to me when we first arrived in Jamaica in 2015 that there would soon be a general election. We arrived to a similar situation in Nepal in 2013, but the circumstances were a lot different. In Nepal, free elections were almost a brand new concept and the country was still struggling to stop tire-burning demonstrations,molotov cocktails being lobbed on street corners and spontaneous rioting.  Efforts were underway to prevent illegal voting and the city was transformed into a ghost town on election day, with all moving vehicles (except for official vehicles) banned from the street.  Voters had to walk to polling stations in an effort to prevent bussing.

Here in Jamaica they have their own  history of election violence, but in recent years it has been much less prelevant. Part of the tactics used to prevent election unrest includes control on the display of party materials, which was explained to me when I asked why there were so few political posters around.  Instead of the usual visual blast spread all over a city during elections, Kingston only displayed a modest few.  Close to the election date, we did see bus loads of orange-clad (PNP) and green-clad (JLP) supporters  – the two main parties — as they headed off to rallys, and we watched their orange and green litter blowing down Hope Road on the days leading up to the vote.  On 26th February 2016, Andrew Holness of the JLP was elected Prime Minister with very little civil unrest, and the Jamaican world moved on.

These experiences bring me to the US election, with primaries starting just as the Jamaican election finished.  I feel that my whole time here has been one long — one very long — election season.  Most Jamaicans that I know have access to cable TV with CNN and BBC coverage of what has been going on in US politics and are remarkably informed on the issues as well as the latest scandalous outburst.  In fact, its kind of shocking how closely they follow — its clear that they are not listening to only one media source — and know the ins and outs of each new shenanigan.   There’s an overwhelming disbelief that US politics could be going so badly and that rules, precedents and established norms are being so openly flouted.  I wonder how they feel about what they see in contrast with Jamaican corruption and I can only feel deeply embarrassed from where I stand, which appears to be somewhere in the first twenty minutes of a disaster movie.

I only feel more disheartened for my dear Filipino friends and what it must be like to live in a country that now openly murders people in the street, just a few short years since I lived there.  Democracy is never to be taken for granted.

 

D is for Devotion


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Before I came to Jamaica, I read there were a lot of churches on this small island and, boy, they weren’t wrong; the Guinness Book of Records states that Jamaica has more churches per square mile than anywhere in the world other than the Vatican. They range from tiny little churches in small communities like the one above, to  pretty Victorian stone chapels that might have been transplanted from England, to large, modern open-air domes full of swaying arms and bodies.  On a Sunday, its a common sight to see older ladies in their Sabbath best: conservative mid-calf dresses, sensible shoes, fancy hats and handbags on their forearms.  Running ahead are their adorable grandchildren, all dressed up in lacey fineness with matching shoes and ribbons.  I want to take their pictures but its not appropriate.  It can feel like I just stepped back into 1950.  The children are adorable but something in me feels uncomfortable….I think it is the religious messaging I see.

Unlike most other Caribbean nations, the vast majority of Jamaican Christians are Protestant, with a relatively high percentage being from the Seventh-day Adventist Church, nearly a fifth of the entire country—18.5 percent—is evangelical and another 11 percent is Pentecostal and growing rapidly.

I am not a religious person, although I do respect the religious beliefs of others.  But these statistics explain a lot of about the “fire and brimstone” religious messages that are so common here.

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I don’t particularly like the warnings of a vengeful God that I see relayed everywhere.  I don’t like the hateful LGBT messages published in the newspapers.  The church and its warning to sinners show up everywhere in daily life.

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Books stores I’ve visited seem to sell mainly religious books.  There are religious pamphlets on every store counter.  Its all a bit much for my secular eye and I like to believe that if there is a God, it is a loving one.   I know there are religious groups here that do so much to help those in need, but I don’t see them, they are in areas deemed too unsafe for me to visit.   So what is visible to me is religious fury and I don’t like it.
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Not an actual sign from Jamaica — but exactly the type of thing I am seeing.