Wicked Weekends: Montego Bay, Jamaica

             
“Any interesting plans this weekend?” a co-worker asked as we headed for our cars, laptop bags flung over our shoulders and jackets buttoned tight against the cool Canadian spring.

                

“I’m going to Jamaica,” I said, after an appropriate pause that suggested my reluctance to share.

                

She glanced sharply at me, laughing.  “For the weekend?  How far is that?”

                

“Four hours each way.  I’ll be on the beach by one o’clock tomorrow, back in Toronto by eight Sunday night.  The perfect weekend.”

               

“You’re going for two days?”  Again the laugh, then an observation that I was crazy, that I should spend more time there.

                

“It’s not that far,” I shrugged, “and I’m not much for resorts.  I just need a little sunshine.”

               

“Take pictures,” she ordered as we parted ways.  They always say that.  Take pictures, like they need proof that I’d gone.  Funny thing was, if no one asked I wouldn’t have said a word.  Travel isn’t about other people, it’s about enriching yourself. 

                

A few years ago I was considering driving from Ottawa to Boston for a three day weekend.  I was researching the best route to take, and was surprised at how opinionated people were about a simple road trip.  One post stuck in my head, the author held the opinion that unless you could spend at least double the time in a place it had taken you to get there, it wasn’t worth the effort.  At the time I thought that was reasonable.  Travel can be tiring and is a lot of work to organize and engage in.  Today, I only smile when I think about it.  If everyone took that simple piece of advice, weekend trips to the Caribbean would be common.  It’s really not that far.

                

So why did my co-worker say I was crazy?  It wasn’t the first time I had received that observation.  I flew to Myanmar last winter via Dubai, Karachi and Bangkok, leaving on a Thursday evening and walking back into the office the following Wednesday morning.  I was gone five days total; five fantastic, frivolous, fascinating days.  That was a crazy trip.  Jamaica was just a bit of sunshine to wash away the blues of a spring too slow in arriving.

                

I arrived at the airport shortly before the flight, changed my seat to a window near the front, sauntered through security, grabbed a latte from Starbucks, and boarded my WestJet 737 bound for Montego Bay.

Shortly before takeoff a man stopped at my row and took the aisle seat.  We were three to a row and the flight was full, however we were lucky to have the middle seat vacant.  Sitting down, the man immediately introduced himself.  I noticed he had no book or headphones with him, and from the way he started chatting with the flight attendant I just knew I was in for some interesting stories in the hours to come.

                

Life and travel have taught me again and again, pounded the point into my head perhaps, that everyone is the main character in their own story and each story is interesting in its own way.  I’ve sat next to CEOs and VPs, students dreaming of changing the world, HR managers with stories about the crazies they interviewed, and recruiters who asked for my business card.  Because of this, while some people might avoid plane chat, I smiled and jumped right in. 

                

This time I was meeting Joe, who had the honor of having helped Stompin’ Tom Connors write his famous song “Big Joe Mufferaw”.  It was when he was sixteen, and the success of an evening spent writing had obviously shaped the subsequent years of his life.  Today he lived in Toronto, renting apartments in the west end while enjoying the occasional vacation in Jamaica. 

                

The descent into Montego Bay was spectacular, the plane seeming to float over crystal clear waters and white sand beaches.  As I stepped out into the sunshine, the warmth surrounded me like a blanket, welcoming me from Toronto and promising that the bad weather hadn’t been quick enough to follow me down.  I immediately wanted to strip off my long sleeved shirt, run for the waves and throw myself into the surf.  Security suggested this would be inadvisable before customs. 

                

I spent twenty five hours in Jamaica that weekend.  My total transit time was about seven hours each way (14 hours total).  If I followed the advice of that post I had read so long ago, I wouldn’t have gone.  But life changes us, and this weekend was worth it for me in those first moments of sunshine. 

                

Why?

Because when I think about it, it’s the things I didn’t do that I most often regret.  And because I really enjoyed walking into work on Monday morning with a smug expression and just a bit of a sunburn.

Hotel recommendation: Coyaba Beach Resort & Spa

I was really impressed by this little resort.  Fifty rooms total, and very personalized service.  The staff were phenomenal from the moment I stepped out of the taxi, whisking my bag away while offering a drink and a cool towel, taking me to my room which had obviously been upgraded, and patiently pointing out features of the resort.

The room had two beds and the patio doors opened onto the beachfront.  On a corner table a bottle of water and a loaf of banana bread were arranged in a basket, a bright pink flower tucked between them.  Outside, I was within steps of the crystal clear Jamaican waters.

The resort probably had twenty guests the night I stayed, adding an intimate flair to the experience.  I sat for hours in the sunshine, reading a book as the wind caressed my cheek in a soft welcome to this beautiful island.  I thought of Big Joe and where he might be, I thought of life and if I was really happy with where I was, and I smirked when I thought of the snow that would be falling in Toronto this weekend while I was away.

No regrets.

Website: http://www.coyabaresortjamaica.com/

Rate: $170 CAD per night through Expedia

Special inclusions: Fresh banana bread on arrival and high tea in the afternoons

Location: 10 minutes by car from Montego Bay Airport (MBJ)

Off the beaten track in… the Caribbean?

It was fall, and looking out the window I was sure I could see winter on the horizon.  I’m of the opinion that Canada should be abandoned during the winter, though obviously work makes that somewhat difficult.  I did have a three day weekend coming up though and decided to fly south.

Not wanting to just visit another resort, I instead aimed to see if it was possible to get off the beaten track in the Caribbean.  Essentially, I wanted to find the island tourism had somehow missed, and after some hunting I found Dominica.

Dominica is a small island nation located in the West Indies.  It has a population of approximately 70,000, and the dubious honour of being named by Christopher Columbus after the day of the week on which he first saw it (Sunday, in Latin Dominica).

Touted as an island paradise, it was covered in lush greenery and boasted more than a few dirt roads.  As my Liat flight cruised low over hills unspoilt by civilization, I knew I had found somewhere special.

 There are several barriers which have helped Dominica remain relatively unknown to most Caribbean vacationers.  Amongst them: 

·         It isn’t built up like many Caribbean islands and won’t offer a luxurious escape.

·         The runways are short so larger jets can’t land here.  Liat operates regular flights, however the added trouble and travel time act as a deterrent for many travellers seeking a quick and relaxing escape.

·         The beaches are black sand which tends to be less of a draw than the fine white sands of neighboring islands. 

None of these points are drawbacks from my perspective. 

Renting a car and driver for the day was easy and inexpensive (about $40USD for 5 hours).  We roamed over hills covered with palm tree and banana plantations, through small villages where children played in the streets, and past unoccupied beaches where the only sounds were the wind and the dull roar of white-capped waves crashing into the sand.  Everywhere I looked it was stunning. 

A highlight was a small rum bar we stopped at.  It was perched at the edge of the beach and made up of a single room filled with four rickety wooden stools.  I’m pretty sure it was still morning, and I’m pretty sure I was drinking moonshine, but it was some of the best rum I’d ever tasted.  The options were endless, with jar upon jar filled not just with rum but with spices and herbs.  I had one that was flavored with cinnamon, another with anise, and eyed a third that I was almost certain had marijuana leaves floating in it.  Sitting there drinking, I chatted with a man who was out to take the Guinness World Record for longest beard.  He said he had a few more years to go, but already his beard was wrapped several times around his neck.

My last post was a link to the 25 least visited countries in the world.  Dominica is number 25, receiving only 73,000 tourists a year.  It’s stunning to think just how close it is to North America, and yet how unspoilt it remains by development.  Having been there, it’s easy to feel like you’re one of the few rather than one of the many.  That impression adds to the charm, and while I’d recommend a visit, I hope too that this little corner of the world remains forgotten for a while longer.