Day 5: Ocho Rios, Jamaica

Before I take you along with me on my Jamaican adventure I must make a confession.  First I should explain how my travels and adventures find their way onto LOTH.  On every trip I’ve taken over the past four years I have taken my trusty army green Jansport backpack that always contains a notebook and a pen.  I will jot down my thoughts, random information, and small rough draft paragraphs that all come together to become posts here.  This cruise concluded in mid February.  It is now mid May and I have yet to finish up documenting this trip.  For those of you who make a point to follow me through my journeys mea culpa.  At this point I cannot find my notes so I will do my best to conclude the trip from memory.  For those of you who know me, you know just how comical even the prospect of my memory being a source for factual information is going to be. 

Note: If, in the following post, you do not see the words “I think”, “From what I recall”, or “I can’t be sure, but it seems to me”, they should be implied.  Enjoy.

Due to the raids on the buffets and the rum consumption I felt the obligation to return to my morning run routine.  I don’t know if I have mentioned it before, but I never used to like running.  Anyone who has grown up playing sports knows that running is a punishment.  It was a punitive reaction to anything I had done to piss off the coach.  As an adult I had to learn to enjoy cardiovascular fitness.  Now, in my mid thirties, I find myself able to enjoy running only if my two requirements are met.  First and foremost, it must be warm.  Cold weather running (or anything for that matter) is just silly.  Secondly, there has to be some form of scenery to keep my brain from going idle.  Running on a cruise ship satisfies both of those.  On this cool and overcast morning I would be running circles on a boat that had just docked in Ocho Rios, Jamaica. 

To be honest, from what I have been told by nearly everyone I know who has been to Jamaica, I was not really looking forward to this stop.  I wanted to experience Jamaica, check it off my list, and get out.  As I walked off the boat and onto the island I was already wearing my attitude on my sleeve.  I did not make eye contact with anyone and could see beyond the fence, the locals who were doing anything they could to get us to look at them.  I was just trying to get past the fence and crowd.  One of the “annoying locals” that I was ignoring just happened to be a customs agent who was trying to tell me that I had to walk through the customs building before I could enter the island.  I thought she was trying to get me into a shop.  Apparently foreign countries are kind of particular about how people enter and exit their land.  Oops.  I quickly regained composure, checked in, and then entered Jamaica.  

Already extremely skeptical, I was met by a cab driver who offered us a look at his government ID and said he would take Amy and I to Dunn’s River Falls and bring us back for thirty dollars.  We would not pay a penny until we were safely back at port.  I quickly thought how I could possibly be taken on this deal and then decided that it sounded like a fair deal.  He turned out to be very friendly and warned us that Jamaica is a very poor country but, like anywhere, has good and bad parts.  He advised that as long as we avoided Kingston, we should be okay.  He stopped at a roadside stand (where he undoubtedly had a deal worked out with the shop owner) for us to rent the strongly recommended water shoes to wear when climbing the falls.  Amy and I both had a funny feeling about leaving our hundred dollar Nike shoes as we left wearing seven dollar rented water shoes.  We decided we would climb the falls without water shoes.

As expected, our arrival at Dunn’s River Falls gave the feeling of arriving at an amusement park (paved parking lot littered with signage, a ticket booth run by people who must have taken some kind of test to ensure that they would, under no circumstances smile or appear friendly in any way, and a steady stream of taxi cabs and tour buses dropping off hordes of white tourists who are guaranteed to be carrying the almighty American dollar).  Fortunately we arrived before the majority of the crowds and were able to pay our fifteen dollar admission fee and get started on our climb.  As we walked toward the water there were a half dozen shops all trying to rent water shoes to those climbing the falls.  Again, we walked past with cautious arrogance.  Most reviews I had read prior to the trip recommended renting these shoes.  I was nervous about attempting this climb without them, but I am typically not one to back away from a challenge.  So I turned up my nose and strutted right past the shops.  (I have no idea why everyone else in the world perceives Americans as arrogant)

We walked down the concrete streps that had been constructed to accomodate tourists by the dozen.  At the bottom of the steps was a small beach that was very pretty but looked like nearly every other beach in the Caribbean.  It is amazing to me how spoiled I have become.  I am fortunate enough to have been on enough beautiful beaches that now clear water and white sand are merely a good start.  I walked the sixty or so feet to my left and stood at the base of the waterfalls where Dunn’s River terminates as the water rolls off the last of the falls and into a small pool where it is cushioned by the sand and then gently rolls into the sea. 

Another interesting (annoying) tidbit about Dunn’s River Falls is that the tour guides adjoin dozens of tourists together by instructing them to hold each others hands to form a human chain as they clumsily negotiate the water, rocks, drop offs, and inclines.  This makes total sense to them (or more likely is a huge practical joke that the locals laugh about from their vantage points in the surrounding trees).  I can only assume that Jamaican hospitals and the Dunn’s River Falls people have an arrangement to where the hospital gives kickbacks as fractured tourists are delivered by the dozen.  Picture white, fleshy dominoes.

I decided that not only was I not going to rent their water shoes, I would not be joining a group, and I would not be holding the hand of people I do not know as we struggle to find our footing without being able to use our arms for balance.  I waited for a window between tour groups, tightened up my backpack, made sure my flip flops were tight against my feet and began the climb.

It did not take long for me to feel very good about not renting the water shoes or joining a tour.  We both climbed the falls with relative ease.  The water was never deeper than waist high and was never fast moving enough to cause much more than mild resistance.  In fact, more times than not, Amy and I were waiting on the tour group in front of us to go.  Even with the occasional suspension, we had reached the top of the falls in twenty minutes. 

Dunn’s River Falls was one of those things that you can say you did and then check it off your list.  Then, at parties, more people than not will have been there and you can have something to talk about when the stand-by topics of the weather and local sports teams has been exhausted.  It was not especially beautiful.  It was not ugly.  It was not a challenging climb that you could brag about.  I left with the feeling that I had just ridden an amusement park ride.  It was prosaic and touristy and I felt cheap for having done it.  But, I did it. 

After reaching the top we stopped for the requisite pictures next to the sign congratulating us for completing the climb and then immediately headed for the exit.  We decided that we wanted to just go to a beach.  We had been told that Dolphin Cove, while man-made, was still a beautiful beach, so we asked the cabbie to drop us off there.  It just so happened to be located about a quarter of a mile down the road. 

We were dropped of in a parking lot of what looked suspiciously like another amusement park.  ….because it kinda was.  We walked in to the entry building where we were told that entrance into the park was going to be well over a hundred dollars.  I gave a nervous laugh and said that we just want to go to the beach.  She laughed along with me and said, “Oh, okay”.  That would only be sixty dollars.  …to go to the beach.  …where there is sand and water.  No thank you.  

To make matters worse, we did not come very well prepared and were now out of cash and the Dolphin cove ATM was not functioning at that time.  Therefore we had to find a cab who would allow us to run to an ATM before paying for a ride back to the pier.  Words cannot describe the frustration felt at this point.  We climbed the generic falls, paid for a cab ride that basically took us across the street, and now had no cash and no way to get back to the boat.  Fortunately this did not phase the cabbie who took us back and waited patiently at his cab while I bitterly punched my pin number into the ATM to retrieve the cash that I would immediately hand over. 

We finished the day with some Appleton Estates Rum and a lunch at the Hard Rock Cafe and then strolled over to the public beach that was right next to the dock.  I tried to soak up the moment knowing that I was on a Jamaican beach in the Caribbean, but honestly, I just wanted to get back on the ship and go.  It was unfortunate that this was the final stop. 

I am not giving up on Jamaica and would not mind returning someday, but would like to experience Negril or one of the other “safe” areas of the island.  But as this day came to a close, I was ready to watch the island fade into the distance.  I do not recall how this night ended, but I would put money on the fact that it involved rum, staring out at the ocean, a sunset, and introspection. 

Tomorrow: Final day at sea