“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)
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