The Best Tours & Excursions

Fabienne - The Nervous Traveler -in Jamaica 7

July 5, 2007

Resorts can be dangerous, for the main reason that they offer all the temptations you can dream of. We had already eaten breakfast at the St. Ann’s, and I was already looking forward to lunch. We wanted to take it easy and not overdo things, especially since we had a big day coming: the next day, we were going rafting.

I was nervous the whole day, and the only way I could relax was to go to the beach and roast in the sun with a rum cream by my side. It had become my favorite drink on the island, especially the Sangster’s Brand. On the other hand, Deuce, who is already in love with coffee liqueurs (his favorite drink is the Black Russian) was besotted with the Blue Mountain Coffee Liqueur.

The ocean in Jamaica, I noticed, was never cold. Rivers were probably icy, but once you got in, the discomfort subsided quickly. Salt water, however, was always lukewarm. Even when we reached the area delimited by RIU, the water was still shoulder-high. There were very few pebbles in the water. All the area was smooth, white sand, and some occasional sea-weeds. My day consisted of tanning, dipping, tanning, dipping, and more tanning. Along side the beach, local men and women offered to braid or bead my hair, or sell me shells, coconuts, mixed CDs, and other items.

In preparation for my big rafting day, I had the great idea to go out jet skiing. A group of guides were already waiting at the end of the beach with their life jackets and jet skiis, and they showed Deuce how to manipulate the wave runner. I don’t know why I volunteered for this activity, but when it came time to hop on board, I had to practice my Lamaze breathing techniques.

We took off immediately, and already, I had a hard time keeping my butt glued to the seat. I was screaming sporadically, hysterical each time the Jet Ski bounced off the waves and sent me flying up. I tried desperately to keep my feet and my derriere grounded, and the best way to do this was to hold on to Deuce with one arm, and grip the seat with my other hand.

Things got a bit better, but I was still screaming because I couldn’t believe I was actually out on a Jet Ski. The last time (and first time) I had done this, it was in Puerto Rico near Gilligan’s Island with my friend Mayra while I was under the influence of three pain-killing rum and cokes on an empty stomach. Thankfully, I was drunk enough to not care when the jet ski died in the middle of the ocean, and I couldn’t yell out for help loud enough when a few boats passed us on their way to shore (they actually interpreted my screams for salutations and waved back cheerily). Then, Mayra decided we had to push the Jet Ski because it was actually stuck in a big, thick patch of sea weed. I protested, of course, because I was already seeing my feet tangling in slimy sea weed, chomped off by sharks, and drowning in the middle of nothingness. But since I was completely inebriated, and since she convinced me it was the only way out, I got out and pushed. I actually stood in the middle of gross algae and pushed the darn thing until it started again. That’s when I decided that all my water-related activities, if I had to do any, would take place once I had quaffed a dozen rum and cokes.

I started screaming for mercy at some point. Deuce was somehow excited by my banshee shrieks and was going faster, jumping over waves, and engaging in those dreadful, dizzying turns which made me sick to my stomach. Finally, I had to beg him to slow down on those turns unless he wanted me nauseated and unconscious.

Overall, I enjoyed the Jet Ski ride. I’m glad I went for it, even when I yelled and screamed. I found the ride thrilling and it did the trick in building up excitement for the next day’s feat.

When we were done, I was back on the lounge chair, soaking up the sun and sipping on some booze. Then, it was time to be back in the room, shower, and dress up. We had a dinner date with our friends at KnowJamaica, for their wonderful and unrivaled service. Marva Shaw and her son wanted to take us out to dinner at one of Ocho Rios’ most famous spots, The Ruins, which turned out to be our upcoming destination for Sunday afternoon. We were looking forward to discovering the site, since our friends Denese and Scott were to get married in that very location.

Marva and Javia picked us up and drove us to The Ruins, which is famous for its Chinese and Jamaican cuisine. Jamaica’s population also includes a good number of Chinese and Indians, who first made their debut as indentured laborers on the island in the mid 1800s. Their influence is notable in much of Jamaica’s culture, and once we arrived at The Ruins, we could detect the Chinese flair a mile away.

What makes The Ruins’ reputation isn’t the food, I found out, but the setting. This restaurant has the great fortune of boasting an impressive, seductive waterfall, and a lush tropical jungle trail. Tables are set outside by the rushing waters and ponds of Koi fish, and one literally has to speak up to be heard. As night falls, thousands of lights are turned on in the tree branches and illuminate the courtyard, turning this raw, untouched setting into one of romance.

For appetizers, we ordered samosas, while Marva and Javia ordered a soup. Then, we had curry goat, Escoveitched fish, and two different lobster dishes. We were thankful for their help in discovering Jamaica, and dinner was a token of our appreciation. Still, while we ate, Marva gave us a crash course on Jamaican history.

After dinner, we went out for another drive around town. We got to see how Jamaicans really party: down a narrow alley, someone or some place was blasting loud dancehall music; someone was grilling jerk chicken or pork; and hundreds of people conglomerated in that very spot, selling, buying, hanging out, talking, laughing, dancing. That’s how the locals did it.

Driving back to our hotel, I was feeling anxious about rafting the next day. So I naturally found myself speaking lovingly to Marva as if I were seeing her for the last time, and saying goodbye as if I was not planning on seeing her again. She tried to reassure me that it would be fine, that I would have fun, but somehow, I couldn’t quite believe that to be true.

The only problem we found with RIU, and this must be an island issue in general, was how complicated communication was. Our messages were never delivered on time, and sometimes were written on a piece of paper akwardly slid under our doors while we were out partying. Reaching our friends at their hotel was quasi impossible, forcing us to use RIU’s gift shop where internet use cost up to nine dollars for a half hour.

Our friends had sent an email and were meeting us in the lobby at 9 a.m. Deuce was excited, but didn’t have any problems getting in bed and relaxing for the next day. I was scared out of my wit’s ends, so sleeping was difficult for me. I tried to close my eyes but I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that was overwhelming me.

I tried to express to him what was making me nervous, and I was literally imagining the worse case scenario: I’d fall in the water and drown, the current would take me away, no one would find me, or I’d hit my head against a boulder and be knocked unconscious. I didn’t want to die in Jamaica. It was way too early for my death. I hadn’t seen the world, I hadn’t published my novel which was years in the works... I was imagining my mother wailing in Miami and my family crying because they had lost me on some exotic island. I was already seeing myself on the news as the school teacher who mysteriously disappeared in Jamaica’s white rivers… I don’t know when or how I fell asleep...

(Continued)

Fabienne - The Nervous Traveler - in Jamaica 2

July 3, 2007

It’s there, but you can hardly see it. Not from the street, anyways.

To get to Dolphin Cove, you first need to tell your driver where you’re going. Then, once at destination, they pull over to the side of the road, let you out and escort you past the entrance door down a set of numerous steps, all leading to a corner of paradise. Because that’s what Dolphin Dove is. Paradise on earth.

Once you’ve made your way through the exquisite tropical foliage into the main office, the front desk guides you to your orientation, where you are offered several different tours to choose from. If you’re like me, then the orientation guide’s beautiful smile and sweet voice won’t suffice to soothe your sudden heart palpitations (the minute she said the words swim, deep water, and dolphins, I quietly hyperventilated).

After you sign up for your tours, then you’re in for the experience of a lifetime. We take a lengthy tour of the property, visiting the shark tanks, the stingray tanks; the dolphins’ swim area, as well as the mini-boat and kayak section. Along the pier, you can stop and shop for souvenirs at the gift shops, peak into the jewelry store where a pirates’ treasure chest is appropriately nestled in a cave, fitting with the name Treasure Reef, which Dolphin Cove is being re-branded as. Dolphin Cove is a part of Treasure Reef, and will soon adopt the name Treasure Reef, namely because of its vast array of activities found onsite. If you have a taste for the spirits of Jamaica, the rum shop is an excellent destination.

When you’re ready to start your adventure, you can start with the Jungle Trail, which takes you straight into the tropical rain forest that surrounds this four-acre property. Hiking through the woods, you’re headed for encounters with magnificent iguanas  in their petting center, goats and geese, snakes, macaws and other exotic species. You can even head for a cup of coffee under the Jablum Coffee Hut. Every stop is a learning experience, as the well-trained guides and trainers offer you a wealth of information on the subject.

My first nerve-wrecking experience at Dolphin Cove was with the mini-boats. Those three-seaters are fast and the ride can be a bit bumpy for a fraidy cat like me when cruising on the waves. They’re powerful, and yes, you will get splashed. I was clutching my towel the whole time. A little after we passed the reef area, the guide hands the wheel over to Deuce, who finds it amusing to take steep turns that churn my stomach. The guide looked over and smiled.

“Ya not drivin’ ?” he asked.

“No. Not me.”

There were only so many words that could come out of my mouth. But after a few minutes, I found my muscles relaxing, and all the tension slowly melting away. Our guide made sure we were comfortable the whole time while showing off the exquisite scenery around. Jamaica is truly a gem, as it spread before my eyes like a splendid emerald, flaunting its lush foliages and diamond waterfalls (Rio Chico is right next door, offering luxurious villas; its waterfall cascades down into the ocean and can be seen from Dolphin Cove).

(Continued)