Jamaica - Oracabessa/Ocho Rios (4/4)

Our final location was at Papa Curvin's in Oracabessa. The address was simply on the A3, the major road running on the coast, and the directions simply advised to stop to ask for Papa Curvin as everyone knew where he lived. At the time of reading the directions, this was a little odd but by this stage of the vacation, we came to realise that stopping and talking to people was how things worked. 

But we didn't need to- photos of the gates were all we needed to find his place. He was in the front of his house talking to someone who was apparently off to Kingston the next day and Papa wanted a part to fix his hot water system. It really felt to Amy and me that there were huge logistics issues to living in Jamaica. The roads were pretty empty of traffic, especially on the east end past Port Antonio, and it seemed like a lot of Jamaicans didn't have their own vehicles. Route taxis seemed to be the way the locals got around. The taxi drivers would be the most aggressive drivers who would often come right up behind your rear bumper and if they were nice, they would toot their horn before overtaking you as a warning. Amy and I got very used to identifying them and moving over to get them past safely. But then they would stop to load or offload a passenger forcing you to then pass them. Anyway, with no Amazon Prime vans and few travel options, it wasn't clear how people got things. The shacks at the sides of the road would do fruit and veg and the odd minimart could cover tinned staples but anything else seemed impossible to buy throughout most of the island. It appeared that waiting for a buddy to be making the journey to Kingston and providing a shopping list was the method Papa Curvin at least adopted as a solution and he must have been one of the richer people in the country.

I had read his bio on airbnb before coming so knew that he had been a musician for Boney M (now you'd have thought that Boney M was a Caribbean disco troop but actually he's a German producer called Frank Farian who died last month). According to Papa, Frank was an arsehole and the musicians/dancers in the group were exploited and their songs (which were based on traditional songs anyway) were stolen by him and they saw very little of the money from the hits.

His land was a narrow but deep stretch from the A3 to the coast and we were in the cabin right at the end, closest to the sea. It was simple but good for us and being behind his gate and with an actual lock on the door and with all four walls intact, it felt very safe and private. There were some other cabins on the property and we met Steven who was a regular visitor and stayed for long periods helping with the grounds and also a kindergarten teacher who was working with the local kids but she was from Denmark originally. Also we met Chris who worked on the property and he brought us fresh coconuts and spring water. It felt like there was a family here should we need it but our stay here was short.

The end of Papa Curvin's property was a cliff looking north. The sunsets weren't terrible. The waves crashed quite high and Papa Curvin and Steven told us that in some recent storms, the waves were getting to be 6-7 m tall and actually making it onto the property and damaged trees with the salt water.

Oracabessa was a small town not too far from Ocho Rios which hosted the cruise ships. The cruise ships tended to come in around 8 in the morning and leave around 4 in the afternoon. On our first day there, a cruise boat was in the harbour so we decided to try one of the B-tier tourist traps in the hope it would be less swamped. 

So we went to Konoko Falls which were small falls but also had a botanical garden, a zoo and a museum. I think we managed to see a lot more spiders than people- not that there were all that few people, there were just a lot of golden silk orb weaver spiders. The zoo was a little sad especially the aviaries that were too small for the birds to fly in (plus they had goats there... goats were everywhere on the island, sometimes resting on the bit of road you wanted to drive on even) but I saw a beautiful iguana. The museum was the best bit in the end for me as I hadn't seen much about the history of Jamaica and found the small amount of badly spelled information here fascinating. It mentioned the Taino, the native people, killed through contact with the Spanish who enslaved them and passed on disease (sigh). Then the Spanish brought across slaves from Africa and some Jamaican people can claim some Taino ancestry from the marriage of the Taino and African slaves (most Jamaicans are descended from the African slaves of course).

I liked the falls here for being pretty tame- there wasn't much water and I felt pretty comfortable climbing a portion of them. But I spent more time photographing the spiders than doing anything else here. They were magnificent and their webs were everywhere. 

We stopped off in Ocho Rios town on our way back from Konoko Falls and weren't too enamoured with the place except for the presence of an up-scale supermarket. Main Street was full of tourist shops with cheap tat and there seemed to be no way to get to the seafront to see the cruise ship. The beach was behind a tall fence obscuring the view and there was a charge to go through. We turned away from the crass and soulless tourism of the town.

But on our second day in the area, we again went to a tourist trap destination. This was easily the most developed and eager to fleece tourists of any location we went to but I still liked it. This was Dunn's River Falls. After paying the entrance fee, we were in a place that offered only waterfalls with no other attraction but these were my favourite falls. These falls are 180 m long and shallowly terraced climbing 55 m in total. It was popular for people to climb from the bottom of the falls (a spectacularly golden beach) to the top. We weren't up for the full length but we went out there and paddled where it seemed safe to. 

Despite coming on a non-cruise ship day, it was packed with people. They mainly went up as large tour groups being led by staff who also took photos of the tourists and led them in chants. I don't think I have been as enthusiastic about anything in my life as the tourists shouting "oggie oggie oggie" were. 

I mused over our order of destinations. Ochi was the most touristy by far and had the most amenities (specifically, it had the best supermarket) and the roads were really good in the area. Out in Oracabessa, we still got the roadside fruit vendors and taste of Jamaican life. This could have been a better starting point for our trip than Treasure Beach which was really going in at the deep end. 

We bought a pineapple and some watermelon from the roadside in Oracabessa and suspect that we were grossly overcharged but we never wanted to haggle (well, I haggled once in Ocho Rios for a t-shirt but the vendor was at Dunn's River and so saw a lot of tourists come through each day unlike all the other locations we bought things at which rarely saw tourists). As compensation, the vendor gave us some things we assumed were potatoes until he named them "Jamaican kiwi". Google tells me they were naseberries which sounds like something out of the BFG and tasted of brown sugar.

But then again, maybe the shock of Treasure Beach was best and having a softer transition back to civilisation was good to ready us to go home. Hard to say. Our stay in Treasure Beach was a tad too brief for us to feel much towards it. I don't think I really got into Jamaica until the mountains which is where I learnt to relax and talk to everyone I met. Generosity of time seemed to be something they truly valued. And I don't think I will move on from the views and the solitude we had in the mountains. The terrifying road gave me literal nightmares but I think I was happiest here with the simple food, foraged fruits and easily made friends.

Our rental car at the end of the trip. Those potholes were really bad.

Jamaica - Boston Bay/Port Antonio (3/4)

The drive on the north coast was blissfully easy compared to all the roads to the south with the exception of a stretch just outside of Port Antonio where they decided that they could build the road at the same time as have traffic on it. Besides that interruption, we made it to our third accommodation in good time: Great Huts. This was the place we were most excited about and it was special indeed.

We parked and entered through a gate into a tropical theme park. There were tropical flowers, wooden huts with a lot of bamboo in the construction and many pieces of African art. We were greeted with "welcome juice" which was on that day a wonderful mix of ginger and tropical fruit juices and taken to our treehouse.

This is one of the buildings at "Great Huts" though not the one we stayed in. I thought this the most impressive though. 

Our room was called the Almond Treehouse and it was a bamboo structure incorporating an almond tree in the middle. The ground was just natural rock and tree roots. On this ground floor was a bed, shower (with hot water) and toilet with some small degree of privacy afforded to the toilet with garish curtains but none around the shower making this the second place with some awkwardness in sending one person out of the room so the other could use the facilities. But this time there was a second room up some way-too-steep stairs (more like a ladder) with a bed and some more space which we used as a shared area (for the evening game of cards).

Elsewhere on the site, which I guess could be termed an eco resort or maybe a mad man's vision of an African jungle village, there were more huts, a boardwalk along the cliff and a private beach down some steps. There was also a central building for the kitchen, reception, lounge area, dining room and bar. 

In the dining room, there was a lot of African art and indeed a large giraffe with its long neck and head disappearing into a raised bit of the ceiling.

We ended up eating here every night and of course for breakfast (which was included in the room price). On our first morning, we had the Jamaican breakfast which was fine but more akin to an evening meal for us so we moved onto the "American" breakfast for subsequent days which was toast and tropical fruit and also eggs (for me). There was also always juice which we loved so much with every meal (though I switched to cocktails for two nights). With the evening food, we asked for their off-menu garlic bread too, freshly made and divine. All the meals were very tasty and full of fresh ingredients. We loved it there and were super-spoilt.

One thing that helped spoil us also was that we ate with the designer-owner each night. Dr Paul was eager to introduce himself to all the guests but somehow he latched in particular onto us and it was great to have a third party to share the conversation or indeed carry the brunt of it as we got quite tired in the evenings. This mad visionary that put together this bizarre holiday place is a doctor specialising in geriatric medicine hailing from Brooklyn originally but now in Baltimore. I may look him up in a few weeks when he is back in Maryland. He brought us up to speed with the history of Jamaica and the Ethiopian background to Rastafarianism.

Our first night there was poor due to it being a Friday night again- party night. It seemed like a rave was going on at the public beach so I didn't sleep until 3am. I still got up for the sunrise though which I did each morning we were there as this was the only east-facing place we stayed at. All the other nights was blissful as I was lulled to sleep with a combination of frog-song and the sound of the waves.

The boardwalk at Great Huts as the sun was rising around 6am.

Our first day was a chill day, spent just at the Great Huts private beach. We didn't go far for lunch, just popping outside the resort to the "jerk center" where Tyrone fed us with divine fruit juices and someone else specifically cooked a vegan dish that was not on their menu whilst I had jerk chicken. 

The private beach had plenty of shade which was appreciated by us... and Paula who arrived from the UK at 11pm one night with her partner and a toddler called Leo who then couldn't sleep and she was left trying to entertain him in a dark jungle she had never seen in the daylight. I ran into her when I was out at dawn- she was pleading for water. We saw her then at breakfast down a pina colada and then go for this nap on the beach.

The second day, we travelled to Reach Falls where we were compelled to have a guide though I am not sure one was needed. Hustling happened a fair amount in Jamaica and we never really knew how to deal with it. Mostly it was people on the road outside of official places that tried to detour us to their local spots or back entrances but in this case he wore an official lifeguard t-shirt and we assumed his guidance was required. He took us wading across the plunge pool and up a dirt track by the side of the falls there and then across the top to a staircase. I am somewhat grateful as I am not sure I would have been happy with the depths we waded through without him incentivising me on.

The Reach Falls were beautiful- of course! Everywhere was beautiful. The water flow in this area wasn't very high but they were flowing a decent amount and being able to photograph them at some different and unique angles due to this wading expedition was fantastic. 

Our third day in this area was the most expensive day of the holiday. We first of all stopped off at a roadside shack that sold pieces of carved wood. I was initially attracted by rather elegant egret statues (which I later found also in the art collection at Great Huts in the reception area) but my eyes were swiftly grabbed by the mahogany wood carvings. Charlie Brown was the proprietor and artist and upon hearing that we were staying at Great Huts effused about the place and said that he had carved some doors there.

Charlie being rather happy to have made two decent sales out of us that day. In general, everything was priced to inflation-ridden US dollars. They knew the value of their goods to American sensibilities whether ticket prices or souvenirs. I am fairly certain that places like the fruit vendors and minimarts adjusted their prices for tourists too. It was a pretty expensive trip. But I really got the sense that they needed this- there wasn't much tourism outside of Ocho Rios and I was happy to support the economy. But saying that, I wasn't too proud not to accept the "friend of Dr Paul' discount when it was offered.

This is the Fig Treehouse at Great Huts and I think this is a door Charlie carved.

We also went rafting up the river. We read that people tended to go to the up-river location and take a raft down to "Rafter's Rest" at the end and they paid someone to drive their car there. But we were uneasy about that and decided to go to Rafter's Rest and get a taxi up to the start instead. But when we arrived at Rafter's Rest, we were waylaid, in that way we often were on approaching tourist spots. The person that flagged us down told us that it was prettiest there at the end and he'd take us up river a bit and then down rather than do the full journey and it would take about an hour and a half. For some reason, we let him change our plans and suddenly he was in the back seat directing us to a place to leave our car. I am not sure why we both were okay with this except that he just seemed incredibly friendly and nice. And part of us did wonder if he was official as he wore a t-shirt that seemed to indicate he was part of an organisation, matching those of other people hustling for business. Added onto this the lack of anything that looked like a ticket kiosk or official building and the lack of any taxis and we just shrugged and thought that this was as good as any other offer and went along with it.

The guy introduced himself as Captain Trevor though we just called him Captain 57 as that was the number on his t-shirt. He didn't ask us for money which worried us a little and he told us to wait on the bridge until he came by with his raft. This was peculiar and we did check in with each other that we were okay with this. We were. (Later I found mention of Captain Trevor in Amy's Lonely Planet guidebook and it is realistically the same Trevor as he did say that he had been doing it for decades. I think we did actually do this in the manner it was meant to be done - it just is a rather casual and unofficial looking operation despite being regulated by the government).

Captain 57 came by with his raft and we got on and he was friendly and chatting but most animated when discussing how much he needed a tip because he only got to take tourists up the river once every 20 days as there were hundreds of raftsmen and they took it in turns. Thing is, we believed him. There were clearly other people hoping for clients and clearly not enough tourists in the area for them all to get business that day. Jamaica is hugely dependent on tourism and it's hard to see how people could survive on it outside of the areas where the cruise ships and resorts existed (Ocho Rios and Montego Bay).

We had a nice time. The rafting was peaceful and of course we didn't have to do anything but sit back. We admired the flowers and Captain 57 went ashore to grab us some exotic kind that we hadn't seen before. It was only half the length it should have been and most was time wasted on struggling upstream only to do this portion again heading back... but after the short amount of time, my back really hurt from the lack of movement and the sun was getting to Amy. So it was fortunate that we took the short option.

He called this a duck flower. Looking online, it's big in the detox-wellness world. 

We went to an ATM to get more money out and tipped him generously. The Captain seemed happy and we were relieved to have navigated that right. 

We capped our outing for the day at a roadside shack called Aya Naturals which advertised itself as serving vegan food. I later learnt from Dr Paul that the owner's name was Eileen. Eileen whipped us up some tasty tofu-curry and cucumber juice. We chatted with her for a while- it really is the done thing to talk to everyone and make friends. She used to do fashion design and put on shows at Great Huts but since the pandemic opened up her kitchen as the tourism in the area dried up. Eileen told us to berate Dr Paul for not coming by to see her (which I later did). Dr Paul confirmed our suspicion that Great Huts had seen better days (Amy noted privately that there was a sense of decay about the place) and had been struggling to recover from the lack of business during the travel restrictions. 

After four nights at Great Huts, we left for the north coast. On the way, we stocked up with food at Port Antonio as our final place would again be self-catering.

There was a good fruit and veg selection at Port Antonio. We bought a lot including some fruits we had never had before such as custard apple, june plums and star apple (my favourite). This was on top of the standard purchase of papaya and pineapple. 

Jamaica - Blue Mountains (2/4)

The road to the Blue Mountains from Kingston was pretty tough but we took it slow on its turns and tiptoed around the obligatory potholes. What was more concerning was that we seemed to be driving up further than we thought that we should be. The accommodation gps coordinates showed it a little off the main road not too far from the town of Redlight but we hadn't seen any of the landmarks indicated in the directions. So we asked some folk for directions but they hadn't heard of our destination, turned around, asked more folk, got the answer that we needed to climb up the mountains more and finally found the turn-off. 

Driving in the mountains was, we discovered, a dance between taking it slow, tooting the horn and soliciting help from people on the roadside. Little shacks precariously balanced on whatever small bits of level land could be found and became bars where people hang out. These people were essential to check the way and also to get help in turning as some of the bends did require that we do three-point turns to make them. It's hard to imagine that the bars got too much custom as there were few cars up here which at least helped as finding room for cars to pass on the narrow road was a challenge.

The road we needed to take off the main road (the B1) was the most challenging. It was single lane with almost no passing points and steeply downhill. This was why we thought we didn't need to climb so high from the gps - this small road, a mix of gravel and dirt track, took us down in elevation a long way. We were both nervous about this but had no choice as sunset was fast approaching. At one point, we found a couple of kids on the road who came up to the car and asked us where we were going. We tried to explain and they figured that we were heading to Noel's, a name that didn't mean anything to us. We inched forward at low speed with the kids keeping pace and the crowd of kids grew until we came to a bend that was steep and incredible uneven and we really did not think we could make it. We parked off the road in a rare level bit of grass by another car that was clearly abandoned. The kids mobbed us. Meanwhile, Amy went on foot down the rough lane a little and found a group of young French men who said no way we could drive it. They were staying at the same place but left their vehicle up the road and walked the rest of the way. 

Amy called the destination and Michelle, our host. She said she'd send her husband out to help. We waited nervously with the kids as the sun got low in the sky. It didn't take long for the husband, who was Noel, to meet us, on foot. He spoke with a strange accent that was a mix of Jamaican and London (Brixton area I guess) and explained that he lived in the UK for a long time before returning to Jamaica. He drove our car the rest of the way, me in the back seat wincing every time the undercarriage hit the ground. I did not feel good about getting out again. 

The lane going to the Blue Mountain accommodation. This is actually one of the better bits.

It wasn't too far to the destination which was a coffee farm that clung to the steep hillside with a series of narrow man-made tiers. The buildings owed their presence to incredible concrete foundations. Noel took us to our abode, a little wooden cottage on two floors. I was a little shellshocked from the drive and tension and it took me a moment to adjust to understand what I was seeing which was an absolutely wonderful and quite luxurious home. The downstairs had bunk beds, a small table with two chairs, a kitchen with seating area looking out side the side of the mountain and a bathroom. And a button to turn the hot water heater on. Hot water! And outside, an external room (without a door but facing the jungle rather than a place where people would be) that had a bath in it. A bath! On the second floor was a large double bed and again views down the mountain side and open to the elements on two sides (Jamaica is a place that does not need pane glass in the windows). This cottage was just a piece of art in using local wood and integrating itself into the jungle.

Our cottage from the outside. All the buildings were built by Noel or at least designed/engineered by him and built by local hands including some teenagers learning the trade. Michelle said that when he was out here and she was back in the UK, he'd keep on putting up new buildings and she'd get frustrated and want him to stop. Noel described it though as a necessity to save the land as without the concrete, the land would eventually collapse with the rain storms.

The kitchen and living area. In the evenings, we sat on these seats and played cards. In the mornings, we ate breakfast and read. It was a really nice spot to be.

Noel wasn't done building on this slope. 

We ate well that evening on the provisions we bought in Black River and rapidly revised our expectations of this part of the holiday. Perhaps we wouldn't be driving back down to Kingston and visiting the city after all. Perhaps we'd stay put and never leave and so never have to face the road again?

After a glorious night of sleep, enjoying the slightly cooler mountain temperature, we breakfasted on wonderfully ripe papaya and head out on foot to discover more about the area. We found some local falls where we watched for a while a hummingbird making a nest. But in general we didn't go too far. 

Amy at the falls. She said that she preferred these to YS Falls as we were the only ones there besides the industrious hummingbird making it feel more like a private and magical moment.

We stayed in the cottage and the communal area (where there was wifi) all afternoon. It was a good chill day followed by another meal. 

The communal area under the main house where Michelle and Noel lived. There were other buildings for guests that didn't have kitchens and this communal area had a kitchen they could use. This area also had books and wifi. The French crowd left after the first night we were there and another couple left the night after so we had a couple of days with the place to ourselves.

On the second day, Noel gave us a tour of some of the land and then set us to making coffee. We pounded the beans with a stick to loosen them from the chaff, picked out the bad beans and then roasted them for over an hour. During this time we chatted to Noel and watched hummingbirds. After we were done, we sat and drank some of their coffee though not the beans we roasted (which we were later given in little bags to take away as mementos). Amy thought that the roast was too uneven but was too polite to say. I just thought that it tasted of coffee and wasn't too enamoured until I added a lot of sugar to it. But it was still a very special activity that neither of us expected and Noel's generosity of time and beans was noteworthy.

Noel roasting. We tried to do what we could but neither of us could keep the stirring of the beans up for very long without taking a rest and those beans were at risk of being burnt... so Noel ended up doing most of the work alas.

I took time that afternoon to hike to two more local waterfalls without Amy. It was really very hot and I pushed myself quite hard on this hike. En route I saw how the locals lived. Not everyone lived on a road and there were plenty of homes only accessible on foot on these hiking trails. There were plenty of people gathered at the lowest of the two falls I saw. People would check in on me if they passed me to ensure I was not lost and we'd always end up having a lengthy exchange on where I was from, how I found Jamaica etc. I am not sure if they were suspicious of me or not but it came across as welcoming and friendly. I started to ease more into Jamaica here and breathed a little easier starting to understand the importance of hospitality to their culture.

A residence on the trail I took down the mountainside. Electricity was often being tapped off the line illegally according to Michelle who said they were a rare legitimate customer but I also saw a lot of what looked like amateurish tapping but connected to a meter mounted on a concrete pillar. Regardless, these homes all seemed to be electrified even if they were remote and hard to get to except on foot.

That evening we took advantage of an offer to have a local person cook for us. Her daughters delivered food in containers and it took us two nights to get through it. Great stuff. We weren't too sure what they would have thought with how we ate the festivals (a deep fried bread I thought a bit like a doughnut) though. We added sugar and lemon juice to them and ate them for dessert but they are meant to be eaten as part of a savory meal. We also supplemented our Black River purchases with foraged fruits (mangoes and a grapefruit) and some plantains and lemons from Noel and so managed not to need to shop during our stay in the mountains.

Our final day in the mountains was spent in Holywell park. This was our main draw to the area. The Blue Mountains are an UNESCO World Heritage Site and this park had a couple of short hikes. However it wasn't really worth the drive up there (which Amy did as I was still not happy with the steep and rough lane up back to the main road) as the place we were staying at was actually more beautiful. Still, we got some nice views of Kingston and got in some exercise. The information available at the park was laughable for example we found boards showing us photos of mushrooms labelled "mushrooms" and in fact one board had empty squares on it inviting the visitor to fill the squares in themselves with what they discover. 

There was space here for camping and views south to Kingston.

We picked up some stranded travelers in Holywell- a French couple who were using taxis to get around. The taxi didn't seem to want to pick them up citing breakdown (which apparently is code for can't be bothered) so they got into our car. Amy and I were baffled at their level of trust. We took them down our dirt lane to the middle of nowhere and abandoned them on a hiking trail they weren't familiar with. I recognised their destination (RafJam) as being one I passed through on my hike to falls the previous day and knew it would get them there but their faces when they realised they didn't have a clue where they were did make me worry a bit that they would panic and get lost. I hope they made it.

On the upper, better-paved portion of the road to the coffee farm, we came across some work on the electrical system replacing a transformer. We needed to wait a few minutes for them to clear during which time I got out and chatted to one of the locals that was just hanging out on the corner, as they did. By this point of the holiday I realised that this was what you did in Jamaica. Every moment was an opportunity to make a friend. Meanwhile, the French couple in the backseat were gently starting to panic.

The time we spent in the mountains was a sweet highlight for me. The lower temperatures and beautiful cottage with a good kitchen, hot water, bath plus the food we bought, foraged and were gifted and the generous people we met like Noel and indeed all those random souls helping us with hairpin turns and in passing other vehicles.

Leaving was a sad affair. I made Amy do the tough driving on the B1 through the rest of the mountains to the north coast. The roads were dreadfully potholed for a segment and the dappled light coming through the trees didn't help to spot them. But the mountains really were beautiful. When we hit the north coast at Buff Bay, I took over the easy drive on the coastal roads to our next destination: Boston Bay near Port Antonio.

B1 road through the mountains as driven by Amy adroitly avoiding the potholes. - video not showing up? Try the link.

Jamaica - Treasure Beach (1/4)

I so loved Jamaica. I also so loved Norway and Rome. I seem to have a case of "anywhere but here". Jamaica was pretty broken in some ways due to its small and unfortunately overseas tourist-based economy (unfortunate in that the pandemic really hurt it) but it was beautiful in its land and people. It put me more in mind of Morocco than any other place I have been but without the misogyny and fear of food poisoning. 

We stayed in four places over two weeks and still didn't see all of the island. Some of the central areas were missed and the entirety of the west. It's a large island. Google maps tells me it would take over 6 hours to drive the length of it but google maps always underestimated driving times which were optimistically unaware of the poor road conditions. 

The first port of call was Treasure Beach which is the furthest west we went but considered part of south Jamaica. I was driving there late at night from the airport in Kingston and it was a brutal education in driving in Jamaica. Kingston traffic was terrible and pot holes were everywhere. For a brief time, there was relief as we took the toll road for while and this was pristine and fast. But then we hit local roads and a dreadfully bad google maps navigation detoured us into a single lane track through a jungle. It took many miles for this track to become truly unpassable and for us to turn around and decide to navigate ourselves, selecting obviously major roads that went through towns. However even these roads were riddled with pot holes. The car and its passengers got quite the shaking as many were simply unavoidable. The route took us through towns that despite the late hour were celebrating the Friday night with music with loud base that shifted our internal organs. The locals seemed to gather at roadsides and create for themselves impromptu clubs out in the open.

We eventually got to our place for the next three nights. It was gone midnight when we arrived. The rough road there seemed close to impassable but we did it (other residents seemed impressed that I drove it in the dark). The place was dark but we found our room easily as the owner left the door propped open. We found our simple room and gratefully went to bed. But found very little sleep. 

As a result of poor sleep, Amy was not up for going out the next morning but I was ravenous having had no dinner the night before. I found the key for the wifi and looked up the surrounding options and settled on Smurf's for breakfast. It was just five or so minutes walk away and had rave reviews on google so off I gamboled. The place was a small wooden building, colourfully painted, with a counter for ordering and presumably a kitchen inside. Seating was outside on a wooden deck which had a roof to it for shade. Lots of wooden benches and very few clientele meant that I could sit on my own. I ordered and chose my seat in the corner so I could people-watch. There was a mix of people keeping to themselves and also one person sitting under a tree playing reggae music on a guitar. There was also a cat that suddenly materialised on my lap without any preamble. I shooed the cat off when my omelette and freshly squeezed orange juice came and had a wonderful breakfast. I killed some time after breakfast by walking about a mile south, buying banana bread at a bakery and then lurking around the beach until the minimart opened at 10:30 where I bought some milk finally making it back to the accommodation before 11 where I went back to bed, joining Amy for daytime slumber. 

As we drove to Treasure Beach the night before, I remember thinking that this was terrible and would be a dreadful two weeks of gritting my teeth and bearing it. I am always like this though, disliking change and thinking myself better off where I am with known comforts. I know deep down though that I never regret travel. But this lazy morning in the heat and sun with impromptu reggae, good and fresh food and a cat to pet made me think that perhaps I was in danger of falling in love with this place.

But it wasn't all great as I knew there was the road to face when we inevitably left the accommodation and the accommodation itself was not great.

Prior to coming here, I looked up the location on google maps and the streetview clearly showed a house in construction. Or so I thought. Actually it was just missing walls and full of junk on purpose. This wasn't unusual for the area. Plenty of houses were essentially barely shelters. In a sense, little more was needed besides a roof to keep the occasional rain storms off as the temperature barely changed sitting in the mid twenties to low thirties (celsius). Our accommodation was two stories plus a roof which you could go up to. The back wall that faced the town of Treasure Beach and the coast was absent. The ground level had a kitchen and a table and a couple of wooden chairs plus more comfortable chairs albeit with work and rotting cushions. There was no hot water or even luke-warm water, just cold. The door to the room did not lock from the outside and the entire house, if you can call something with only three external walls a house, was open to all. And the toilet and shower which was inside the bedroom was enclosed in see-through panels (like a shower would be) that meant that room inhabitants could see you doing your business. Plus, a minor thing but notable, the room was just full of junk in the drawers and under the beds.

The accommodation had its positive qualities and the amazing view was one of them. The town could be easily walked to via stone stairs and we could get to the beach in about ten minutes. The view of the stars was also astounding.

I only napped an hour and was up for lunch. Amy however was really in a bad state. So I left her be and lurked in the communal area with my laptop and banana bread and cup of tea. Here I met our housemates. The only occupied rooms were on the ground floor. Next door was a couple who I didn't talk to though they made a lot of noise using the kitchen and also smoked weed (which in this open to the elements environment was not a bother). Opposite was Brit Olly who recognised my accent on "hello" and suddenly we were finding out more commonalities. Like me, Olly had lived for many years in the Bay Area (he was specifically in San Francisco) and had recently moved away. When he met Amy, they equally fast realised that he had lived in Brighton (and gone to university there up to a post doctoral position in economics). He'd been in investments working for a tech company before deciding to quit and travel the world getting his money to work for him in stocks. He was in Jamaica for a month just hopping from place to place without a plan.

Shot taken walking down to Treasure Beach town from the accommodation during "golden hour". Goats, cows and egrets (specifically cattle egrets, hanging around for the flies) were a common site everywhere in Jamaica but particularly here where it was a little more rustic.

As Amy still wasn't up for going out, especially as the way to town was a steep set of stairs, which were longer and steeper going up than down, Olly and I had dinner together. We went to an Italian place in Treasure Beach which did a bit of Jamaican fusion. We got a bottle and a half of wine between us and had an exceptionally fun evening talking in the way that expats in the US do about US and world politics, technology and the future of humanity and other places we had visited. 

Olly watching the sun set over Treasure Beach. This is also showing the absence of a wall on one side of the building. Behind me as I took this was the kitchen and dining area.

I slept better that night as did Amy, though there was some challenge as Saturday night was another party night and once the music ended, the dogs began and then there were also the crowing roosters and wailing cats... but still, we managed better and felt optimistic that Amy was well enough to visit somewhere. So we braved the road and went to YS Falls via Black River, a town with a proper supermarket where we bought food for lunch. It was about an hour to the falls on the pot-holed roads. The car park wasn't full when we arrived but it was overflowing by the time we left. We paid entrance fees and were taken to the falls via a "jitney" which penetrated deeper into the jungle. Something about needing this extra shuttle made the falls seem secret and exclusive.

Upon arrival, we were instantly struck by the beauty of the falls and the jungle surroundings. This was going to be the theme for the entire two weeks as every place surprised us with their unique beauty. I expected a manufactured and built-up tourist trap but we found an exquisitely maintained but utterly natural jungle with varied trees and flowers embracing stunning tiered waterfalls (seven tiers in total). We walked up steps on the side to the top tier of the falls and watched visitors use the rope swings over the pools as we ate our picnic. We then separated so Amy could swim in one of the less natural pools whilst I took to the trees with a zipline tour. The pièce de résistance of the zipline tour was the third zip that went from the top of the top falls all the way to the bottom. I didn't take a camera up there but I found this online that shows the experience.

Amy at the falls. Despite the overflowing car park proving that it was busy, we didn't feel too crowded. Plenty of people enjoying the water but it still felt peaceful.

The next day was our travel day to the Blue Mountains. We said farewell to Olly (though I really hoped we would cross paths again in the holiday, we did not alas) and braved the roads again. But we also had one last activity in the area back at Black River.- we had a river cruise. There was no one else on the boat and so we had the guide all to ourselves. Almost immediately he took us to a crocodile and trees that were full of egrets. The highlight of the cruise for me though was the peaceful mangrove section. The river is the longest navigable river in Jamaica and called "black" as the river bed has peat in it. The guide said that on occasion the gas from the peat would catch fire making for some interesting light displays at night. The cruise ended with a quick tour of the company's crocodile nursery where they bred the crocodiles before releasing to the river therefore ensuring their ability to sell the cruise on the back of the multiple guaranteed crocodile sightings. We were encouraged to hold a baby croc, which we did and was surprised by the soft and cool skin. 

Amy with the unimpressed baby crocodile.

We stocked up on supplies- in particular fruit- at Black River before leaving for the mountains thinking that surely the holiday had peaked. What could better this cruise? 

Black River's main street. The guy below is tossing up those recently delivered goods to the guy on the balcony. The bundles looked so heavy but they were being thrown up with apparent ease.

Norway 3rd September aka Sunday again

We left Mefjord Brygge and headed for the ferry to take us back to the mainland. On the way here, we went across a bridge so this was a different route for some new scenery. There was already a long queue for the ferry when we arrived at the terminal despite being more than 30 minutes early. The journey was short and sweet (though I took a pill so I wasn't at risk of getting ill anyway) and on the other side, we found some more amazing places to explore including a small island linked to the mainland with a bridge.

We got to Tromso airport really early for the flight but not so early we regretted it. We ate some lunch and passed time by swapping photos via a usb drive. Many of the photos I am posting here come from Joe and Lisa. Which is pretty obvious when you consider how many of the photos have me in them...

On the flight from Tromso to Oslo, I had some interesting travel companions. I was on the aisle seat and the wife was at the window and the husband between us. He told me that they were coming in from Svalbad where he had been working in his capacity as an electrical engineer specialising in high redundancy/reliability systems at the Svalbard Satellite Station. He showed me photos of the place, some that had been taken by a colleague of his including one of a polar bear. It looked like a truly alien place with odd rituals (hanging seals? keeping dogs in rows upon rows of cages?). I was fascinated.

They told me that they had both worked on Oslo airport and in fact it was where they met. Astounding. I think she must have been an architect though she said that she "designed" some features of the airport so it wasn't totally clear to me. But I was impressed! 

It was her that told me to get the local train from the airport to Oslo central.

I said my farewells to the couple and got off the plane. Unexpectedly, I saw Joe. He and Lisa were heading onto Heathrow so I didn't think I would see them as they would be going for a flight transfer rather than going to arrivals. But he had lost his passport. There wasn't a route back to the plane as there was a one-way escalator involved. But I understand that eventually Joe and Lisa found some staff member who searched the plane for them and retrieved his passport.

I headed into Oslo... and regretted getting the local train. Yes, half the price but it was crowded.

At Oslo, I met up with Erik. We met in the lobby of my hotel which was essentially at the station. It was great to see him. It felt like many years but actually was only a year or two. He took me out to watch the sun set from the roof of the opera house.

It was a fun evening. He pointed out to me the proximity to the woods and how public transport could be used not only to go there but also to go out amongst nearby islands. He told me that there were boats in the harbour that had saunas in them and could be rented and taken out too. We ate in a hipster food court place. I had tonkatsu and it was fatty and delicious and much better than any I have had outside of Japan. We ate outside. It was 16 degrees and pleasant (when I returned to the US, it was still 30 degrees even at 10pm). We had a couple of drinks (which somehow he paid for by convincing bar staff to take a personal transfer via "vipps") and then he took me home on a tram. 

It was a lovely way to end the trip. And it was a lovely trip. The company was brilliant throughout and the country just worked. Everything was modern and well designed and simply functional. The food was such high quality even when it was simple. I mentioned the wonderful bread but also the wonderful water. Better than any bottled mineral water and straight from the tap. And of course the landscape. Even on days without views, I found something to enjoy. Mainly the company I was with but also the mosses, the lichens, the berries and the mushrooms.

I missed Norway as soon as I left it. I am Norwegian Blue.

Norway 2nd September aka Saturday

By this time, I had grown rather fond of Mefjord Brygge. The view across the fjord included Segla and Hesten and though it wasn't west facing, sunsets were still enjoyable there. The accommodation was similar to Hamn i Senja though a little more basic in execution. My room at Mefjord was up in the eaves of the building and I would bump my head on the ceiling every time I put my trousers on. Still, there was a kitchen, which we used for dinner on Friday night, and a sofa to crash on.

Given how amazing Friday was, and in fact the days prior to that, I didn't really care about Saturday. Honestly I was a little sore from the daily hikes not in body so much as in, er... non-existent soul. So when it looked like an even cloudier day, I was not so fussed. No peak looked to be in the sun that day and it was not clear what to do with our time. But we opted to push off decision making for a while by going to a little fishing village that was meant to be cute (it was actually pretty uninspiring though I bought an excellent chocolate croissant from there).

Alas it didn't help and the clouds were still low and thick. We headed off on a hike anyway in a location where there were multiple options. I wanted to climb Grytetippen ("tipa topp" as the hiking signs would say) but almost immediately when climbing to Daven, a lower mountain, well, hill-top, we lost the trail markers in the fog. I grew nervous about getting lost and asked that we abandon the attempt. So we switched to climb Barden. But the way was hard across boulders and we eventually came to a point where we honestly couldn't see the way. A couple of people with long legs and an alien attractiveness bounded up the lack-of-trail and I still couldn't tell where they had gone. 

Given that the clouds were so thick, we gave up on that trail too.

On the way down, there was a sudden break in clouds and I saw the Gytetippen/Keipen ridge. It was a hallejujah moment. I asked that we go back up and wait again for another cloud break (this one was brief) but Lisa wanted to return to the car (she had recently had an injury and was taking things more gentle than me and Joe but still did a lot even so). I hesitated a bit but the selfish brat in me took over and I left Lisa and Joe and went back up to Daven. I waited there and waited... no break occurred.

I was texting with Joe and he said he had got Lisa to the car and was heading back up to me. I was feeling on the verge of giving up but kept up hope. Once Joe reached me, though we were still shrouded in fog, it did seem like there was a break on the horizon...

It broke. Not suddenly but in a sneaky way where the landscape beyond unobtrusively sidled into view. "What me? I was here all along," it said. We could see down the fjord to Fjordgard where we started the trail up Hesten the previous day and we could see the "sail of Senja" Segla itself. We realised that the peak of Daven was in fact just a couple of minutes away and bounded there and took a million photos to make up for the day in fog.

Just as we were about to leave, a stoat sprang into our company. It really did spring. It was so cute and loved to pose as long as you were quick to get the shot before it boinged into another cute position. Joe declared it to be a lemming and as I said I wasn't 100% sure it was a stoat (but pretty sure... I speculated that it was a different kind of weasel possible), a lemming it became to Joe. When we eventually rejoined Lisa, he told her he saw a lemming. I showed her a photo. "Er... that's not a lemming," she said. "No, it's a stoat," I said, quite firmly.

It was a good end to the day. We took lots of photos of Segla on the way back as the clouds totally lifted. We perhaps should have pushed our luck up Barden or Grytetippen but it didn't really matter. The hiking had made me happy enough just through the exertion and being in nature. In fact, I had had more fun that day taking photos of mushrooms than of the views even when they did emerge. (I was "away with the mushrooms" that day and all Joe had to do was observe that there was a mushroom and I was off bonding with it). I had overcome the lack of interest in hiking I had had that morning. But still, wasn't all that broken hearted that that was our last day on Segla.

Norway 1st September aka Friday

 This day was simply the best. 

After a very fog-bound Thursday, we were really concerned that Friday would be much of the same. The mountains on the other side of the fjord were hidden in clouds and they were meant to be where we were hiking. But I had some optimism that we might be able to get above the low lying clouds after consulting with the online weather reports of there being sun on the peak of Segla.

So we started off from Fjordgard and walked up and up. Initially under cloud and then in it. A couple that were coming down gave us hope that it was clear at the top. Their beaming faces either indicated that it was a stupendous view or that they were gleeful at the massive trick they were playing on us.

It was fortunately the former.

I went on a bit ahead of Joe and Lisa as I was impatient for success. And so was the first to see Segla. It was a dark looming shape in the mist. I shrieked with joy, apparently giving Lisa some needed enthusiasm to continue up.

When the clouds truly broke it was like being in heaven only with far fewer cherubs playing harps and all in all a lot nicer than I think I have ever seen heaven depicted.

The last segment of the trail up Hesten (which is the mountain we were on, viewing the other mountain of Segla) was a steep scramble. Lisa elected not to take it and within a couple of minutes of attempting it, I was regretting the decision. I decided to turn around as it was just a ridiculous climb up a near vertical slope without an obvious trail. But then a couple (who turned out to be from CA) came down and I realised that I was way off the trail. They pointed out the route I was meant to be taking (which I swear didn't look like a route at all) and once I was on it, it seemed feasible again. 

And so I climbed to the top, with Joe ahead and seemingly gleeful at my struggles or at least that is how I read the fact that he took a series of photos of my efforts.

I was shaky at the top. Joe was scampering out onto ledges without any concern but I was hugging the rocks as if they could stabilise me though I am not sure why I thought that gravity could suddenly tilt and plummet me to my death. Phobias to do with heights are just as crazy as phobias to do with spiders. 

Just as I felt that I was growing accustomed to it, it looked like clouds were coming in thicker so we went back down. In retrospect, the clouds were just coming in and out all the time and if anything the trend was towards them lightening and I wish we had spent longer there. But Lisa was down below waiting for us and so down we went. 

It was sunny by the time we were at the bottom so we decided to head back to the viewpoints we missed on the foggy Thursday. We saw some great views but nothing could compete with Segla in the clouds.