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Fabienne - The Nervous Traveler -in Jamaica 9

...At the site, we get briefed for safety, just like the General did at Caliché’s Montego Bay site. In fact, it was pretty much the same speech. But it was delivered with the same authority and knowledge. These guides commanded attention, and once they started talking, you had no other choice but to listen. We were told how to sit, how to respond, how to row, and all the other details I never thought were important when rafting. Soon, I was outfitted with my life-jacket (life-jackets became my best friend on this Jamaican trip) and my helmet was adjusted on my head.

We went in two by raft. So Stephen and Kenita paired up on the yellow raft, guided by Guy, and Deuce and I went in the red one, led by Dee. He once again reassured me that I didn’t need to be nervous, because he was right here with me and would keep an eye on me.

So off we went, gliding on blue water. I was absorbing the glorious surroundings, but couldn’t help shaking the images in my mind of a twenty-foot drop waiting ahead. We were leading, and our friends followed. Soon enough, we were applying our newly acquired knowledge in rowing. Left back meant I had to back paddle because I was sitting on the left side of the raft. Right forward meant Deuce had to paddle forward. So our directions were usually as follows: “left back, right forward” to turn the raft around, “all forward” to keep moving, and so on. Often times, Dee had to get out of the raft and move it around, since there were so many boulders in the way and we continuously got stuck.

Then, the water calmed down. Dee had us row near a boulder, and we came to somewhat of a stop. Then, he looked at us.

“Okay, listen up. There’s a drop straight ahead. We call it Demon Hole.”

When he said those words, I didn’t have time to cry. But my blood turned ice cold really fast, as if my body was registering what he was saying before my mind did. I was dead…

“It’s the place where most of our accidents happen. Cuts, bruises, all of those things. We don’t have to go through it. You can cut through this little path over there and meet us at the other end.”

Everyone looked at me. I wanted to wet myself. The path laid before me, calling my name. I was drawn to it like a magnet, but the funniest thing happened. I sat in the raft.

“This is your way out. You want to get out?”

Deuce was looking at me, expecting me to bail. And that’s probably why I didn’t. I wanted to prove to him, and everyone else, especially myself, that I was not a coward. I wanted them to know that I could have as much fun as they did, even when I was terrified. I didn’t want to miss this and regret it for days to come.

“No. Let’s do it.”

I didn’t recognize my own voice when I spoke up. We took off quietly, and soon, I head the sound of the waterfall. My muscles were tense, my throat clogged up, and I was clutching the rope alongside the raft for dear life. The boulders were even more pronounced in that area, and right before the drop itself, we got stuck. Dee got out of the raft and gave it a little push to move it forward. We were now at the drop, a torrent of water rushing between a boulder and a cliff. I was holding my breath. Right then and there, I knew, clear as day, that we were going to fall. I couldn’t fathom how we would glide down that waterfall easily. I couldn’t see it. All I saw was me drowning.

We got stuck again, and the icy water splashed against my body, awakening all my senses. At this point, I was already gasping for air. Deuce and Dee pushed, moved, wiggled, trying to get the raft out of the tight spot. We started tipping, and I felt tears in my eyes. We were going to fall in. I was going to fall in, hurt myself, and drown. I remembered Dee’s initial instructions: do not let go of the rope! I didn’t. I held on, I sucked for air, and finally, Dee was successful at moving the boat. I knew because I heard him yell. Or was it Deuce? I heard a scream. “OOOOOHHHHH!”. I fell in the water.

That sucker was COLD! I was under water and didn’t even have time to catch my breath. So I had nothing in my lungs to hold on to. I was under water, and the boat fell right on top of me. To make matters worse, I was still holding on to the rope, so the rounded edge of the raft fell on my head, pushing me down. I couldn’t come up for air right beneath the shallow sitting pit of the raft.

I had to get myself out or I would swallow water and get it in my lungs. I remembered what I had learned from my ephemeral swimming lessons, and I kept hearing my coach’s voice, Cecilia, yelling at me from the edge of the local college campus pool: “Blow bubbles. Blow bubbles.” I blew hard, making the biggest bubbles I’d ever felt against my skin. Bubbles literally came crashing on my face as I kicked up and waved my arms to push the boat away.

My eyes were closed, but I could feel light on my face. I was close to the surface, and soon enough, with one last kick, I made my way up just in time, too, since I had no more air left in my lungs to blow bubbles. It took me a few minutes to realize that my life jacket was allowing me to float. I held on to the raft and tried to catch my breath. I could hear Deuce and Dee talking to each other and looking for me.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I finally saw Deuce come around the raft.

“Yeah, she’s okay,” he said.

I felt tears sting my eyes, and I tried not to cry. But I wasn’t sure why I wanted to cry. I was afraid, I was upset that I had fallen, but then I think part of me was just glad and proud that I had pulled myself out of the water without help.

Dee made his way around the raft and took me by the hand, pulling me to the side. He asked me to hold on to a rock while he flipped the boat. I was left alone, and I tried to regulate my breath. When they got back, I was still in the same spot. Dee got me close to the raft and had me hold on to the edge. Then, he leaned in, grabbed me by the life vest and pulled me into the boat. He pulled Deuce in, too, and I clutched my paddle while he stirred the boat in the right direction.

I turned around to see where Stephen and Kenita were. They were about to hit the drop themselves, but right up in that spot where we first got stuck, Kenita fell in the water. She fell hard, too. I heard it from a distance, and I got worried for a minute, as she didn’t come up. Stephen worried. She was stuck between the raft and a rock. But she was laughing, and soon, she was sitting back in, paddle in hand. Their guide maneuvered the raft with agility, and they went down smoothly, without a hitch. No flips, no turns, nothing… They were ecstatic.

Dee was smiling at me.

“Look at me,” he said.

I obeyed.

“Are you hurt?”

I shook my head. At least I didn’t think I was hurt, aside from the fact that my lungs, throat and ego were shaken up.

“What happened to you? Did anything bad happen to you?”

I guess not. I was alive. Had I died, then he wouldn’t be smiling.

“No, nothing bad happened. I told you it wouldn’t be too bad. I told you I would be here. You fell in, you got out. Everything irie?”

I smiled. Everything was irie! The worse case scenario had happened, just as I had rehearsed it in my head over and over again. Now that I had fallen in, gulped down some water, and gotten myself out of it, I felt I was ready for pretty much anything. Especially when he informed us that the Demon’s Hole was the worst of all the rapids. Now I could truly enjoy this ride…

Dee showed us how to high-five with our paddles: touch the paddles together, then slam them forcefully on the surface of the water. The sound was invigorating, and soon, we were all slamming our paddles. We even used the paddles to splash other.

The rainforest was breathtaking, rich with greenery and colorful splashes of flowers. We drifted towards a couple more drops, but we went down smoothly. Dee took the time to point out some of the local treasures to us as we glided on the water, and I was pleasantly surprised to see that he was truly knowledgeable about rafting and other things. He knew the surroundings by heart, just like he knew the river like the back of his hand. We learned about the Jamaican cotton tree (not really a cotton tree), the wicker tree (he broke a creeper and showed us how it was used for arts and crafts), the little bridge we paddled under that separates St. Ann’s parish from St. Mary’s, and even the local water management company that taps into the river’s water.

(Image from Caliche's Montego Bay Rafting)

We then made it to the famous rope, where Dee said I would be able to swim. I have to admit, it frightened me. The rope was hanging over a waterfall, and while I was looking for a way around this obstacle, the guides were demonstrating how to swing and dive. Soon, Deuce was swinging and hollering before he took his big dive. That looked like so much fun, I could not pass that opportunity either, especially when everyone was about to do it.

Dee was happy. He asked Guy for the rope, and Deuce was swimming in the pool below with a big smile, waiting for me to jump. I was nervous, and I wasn’t sure I could do this. But Dee kept on pushing.

“Come on. You have your life vest on. It’ll bring you right back up!”

Then, he pointed out that Deuce was down there, waiting for me, and that I should make him proud. When he said that, I definitely had to do it. Again, my competitive spirit was taking over, and I had to do this to prove something. He counted for me: one, two, three… I wasn’t ready. I had to breathe in and out first, convince myself that I wasn’t going to die, that I would be fine, and I held on to the rope like he showed me and I counted to myself. One, two…

I took off yelling, swung back and forth, hesitated a bit, yelled some more, and I let go. The water didn’t seem so cold anymore, and I fell right in, coming right back afloat. Even when I was in the water, I was still screaming. I couldn’t believe I had done that. I was proud, and Deuce as proud. Even Stephen and Kenita were proud. And I was happy.

We swam for a few minutes in the pool with Guy. Under the waterfall was another cave, smaller in size but with forming stalactites. I had never seen dripstone like this up close. We swam in the cave with Guy and took pictures before continuing our journey down the river.

(Image from Caliche's Montego Bay Rafting)

We finally made it to destination, where our driver was waiting for us with a smile. His car was ready to take us back, and he allowed us to take one final picture on our rafts before disembarking. Getting out was tough for me. My shoes were hurting and I had no balance on the numerous rocks that paved the river. But Dee and Guy were able to help us out, proving once again that they were always here to assist in every way possible.

After drying up and changing, we tipped our guides generously. I truly appreciated their help and their professional attitude. I wouldn’t have made the end of that journey without Dee’s calming words, and I was really impressed with his knowledge and experience. I realized, as we boarded the car, that I had had the most fun I’d ever had. WHAT A BLAST!

We were hungry, so Romeo took us to a little road-side bar he claimed was the “best jerk chicken” in town. Although we disagreed with him, we enjoyed sitting in the backyard under the metal tin roof, pouring hot sauce on our jerk chicken and pork. Every now and then, an almond or breadfruit would fall on the roof, startling us and reminding us that we were in the Caribbean, that things like that were bound to happen. I had accomplished a tremendous feat, and if I could do that, then what else could I do? I was ready to find out! I was ready for a canopy tour.

(Continued)

Fabienne - The Nervous Traveler -in Jamaica 8

July 6, 2007

The big day had arrived, and I was already guzzling down rum creams to calm my nerves. What on earth ever possessed me to agree to white water rafting? I hated myself for it, but more than anything, I wanted to go because I didn’t want to be a disappointment to myself. Our friends Kenita and Stephen were going, so why would I sit in the bus and let them have all the fun? I would really hate for them to come back, soaked from head to toe, with a smile on their faces, raving about their amazing experience, while I sat in a car fanning mosquitoes away and drowning my sorrow in more rum cream. I had to go for it! I had to prove to myself that despite my self-appointed title of nervous traveler, I could still have fun… Even if I risked death… Now was the time to risk everything. Not later. There may never be a later…

A driver from Caliché Rainforest River Rafting was picking us up at 9:30, and we had left a message for Stephen and Kenita to meet us in the lobby at 9 a.m. We hadn’t heard back from them, so after we had breakfast, we went looking. No sign of them. I started to worry that they weren’t showing up, so Deuce went checking our emails for any messages. I waited in the lobby, and just as I approached the front desk, I saw them, wandering aimlessly. I flagged them down. Friends! The first sign of hope of the day.

In the room, we worked the mini-bar for Kenita, my ever-lasting drinking partner. She wanted a good rum and coke, and I sipped on coconut rum and pineapple. Then, the time came for us to go to downstairs.

Our driver’s name was Romeo, and thank God Stephen could speak patois. We all let him sit up front and control the conversation, since he was the only one able to communicate with the driver. Deuce and I didn’t understand a word he said, and while Kenita understood, she wasn’t as fluent as her husband. Soon, we were pulling up by a little road-side shop where I exchanged my sneakers for some wa-ta shoes. Deuce bought his shoes, a pair of black, green and gold shoes, as well as a pair of waterproof cameras that we both knew were excessively priced.

Then, it was up the hills through another thick, green forest. The drive was once again frightening, but I was used to it by now, and besides, I was too busy regulating the rhythm for my heart. Every now and then, a sign would announce that the white water rafting site was near, and every time I saw it, I felt as though I was taking a step towards death.

Finally, we made it. The site was there, spreading before our eyes, an open field of green glistening under the blazing sun, still untouched. Caliché was just launching its Ocho Rios’ rafting, so the buildings, tents and toilets were not yet installed. Instead, I saw two rafts, one red and the other yellow, sitting on the grass. Two guides were leaning against the rafts, smiling at us, clutching their waiver forms, prepared for the journey ahead. My eyes darted in all directions: where were the life jackets? The helmets?

Suddenly, I had to pee.

I heard them speak of waterfall that we first had to visit before we headed to the river itself. So we followed our guides, Dee and Guy, through the thick bird of paradise and red ginger plants, tall bamboo trees and thick grassy bushes in the rainforest. My water shoes were too tight, and I could feel them pinch my toes as we stepped on rocks, wood chips, dirt, grass and leaves. During our ascent, I could hear the water rush furiously in the distance, but I couldn’t see it until we made a stop on the way. We stood on a cliff, and a few feet underneath, a glorious lagoon fed by a waterfall.

“Almost there,” our guide informed us.

We followed quietly, hiking up little steps carved into the ground, then going down steep ones further into the forest. And the, again, we descended steps delimited by wooden branches and covered in green moss. We were there. I could tell because the mighty roar of the water was closer than before. I looked up, and what I saw took my breath away. The waterfall was right before us, fifteen feet tall, cascading into a pool of glittering lapis-colored water. This had to be paradise! Had to be… If paradise was more beautiful, than I had to die right now just to go check it out. 

This was where we were starting. We had to see the waterfall, experience it, bathe in it, and then walk back to our original starting point for rafting. The fun, for explorers of the waterfall, was to dive into the water from the top. I knew right away that wasn’t happening for me. NO WAY!

Deuce and Kenita decided to go for it. They make their way down to the border, however, because jumping from the fall itself seemed too risky. The rocks glistened under the sheet of water and seemed slippery to them. The last thing they wanted was to lose balance and fall in. One could seriously get hurt going down.

Stephen and I were less adventurous. Him, because he didn’t like the idea of diving in deep waters unless he knew the exact depth. Me, because I didn’t swim well and I was way too nervous. We stayed on the steps and watched Deuce plunge, followed by Kenita. She went in feet first, and Stephen complained that she dove way too close to the cliff. The guides were somewhat disappointed that we weren’t diving, and saddened that the other two didn’t dive from the fall itself.

Dee, the main guide, asked me if I swam.

“I don’t,” I admitted.

“Ok, don’t worry. I’ll get you a life jacket. You’ll have your chance to swim when we get to the pool. You can swing from the rope and everything. I’ll take care of you.”

I try to smile. I’ll get my chance to swim? Who said I wanted to swim. He must have noticed the fear on my face, because soon after, he asked me:

“Would you be okay swimming on my back?”

I nod: “Yes, maybe…”

He promises once again to take care of me. I don’t know what that means but I’m too nervous to speak up. Dee and Guy go up to the very top of the fall, and make sure we have our cameras ready. Without even prepping, catching their breath, or counting, they take off one after the other and dive into the blue lagoon.

The guides showed us a cave that was nestled right behind the waterfall. Everyone went in crawling, and once they were inside, they could actually stand tall. I waited out on the steps while they had fun crawling in and out, forward and backwards, and took pictures with their waterproof cameras. Then, we went back to the rafting site. Walking back, my toes hurt tremendously inside the water shoes. If there’s something I really hate, it’s a pair of shoes that is too tight. My toes were begging for relief...

(Continued)

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 5

Montego Bay

KnowJamaica, our selected driver for our stay in Jamaica, took us to MoBay for our meetings. On the way, he drove through little towns where the Jamaican life suddenly burst before our eyes. We passed Martha Brae, famous for its breathtaking bamboo-river rafting, and we entered the towns of Lucea and Falmouth. There, Javia, our driver, stopped for gas. It was a hassle pulling in front of the right pump, since the taxis had taken over and stalled us plenty. At the station, drivers pay an attendant to pump their gas, old-school style.

Deuce falls asleep for a minute while we drove to Mo Bay. But a lengthy slumber proved difficult. The roads were quite impractical, and we couldn’t quite lean back with our eyes closed. There was so much to see on both sides of the road, anyway, including my favorite: a little wooden and metal sheet shack, brightly painted, as big as a matchbox, called “Future Walmart.” Hilarious!

In Montego Bay, we passed the airport and made our way to the Freeport Shopping Center, which is not an actual shopping center but more of an industrial/office space (I should point out here that Jamaica has more KFCs than I’ve seen in one American city alone. You can smell them a mile away and they’re always crowded, and on the way back, the biggest one was lit up and packed at 10 p.m., on both its stories, drive-thru and courtyard!). After stopping to ask directions and being pointed towards different destinations (passersby literally pointed left and right together), Javia got us to our meeting at Chukka’s office on time. There, we met with heads of marketing who gave us a clear understanding of Chukka Caribbean (who they are, what they do, why they do it the way they do).

The fun part really began when Marlon McPherson, responsible for Chukka’s e-marketing, drove us to the heart of Mo Bay city to Doctor’s Cave, a charming little beach front hotel with tourists flock to for a five-dollar admission. Parking proved difficult, so once we passed Jimmy Buffet’s MargaritaVille and the Coral Cliff, we were dropped off at the entrance where we waited for Marlon. We were there to see one of Chukka’s most talked-about excursions: Sea Trek.

There was one of the first evidences for me that Chukka was one of the best excursion companies in the Caribbean. Once we met Nelson, the tour manager at the site, we knew he not only knew his job well, but he also had the ability, whether he knew it or not, to put his clients at ease. He greeted us in his wet suit, soaked from head to toe, and gave us a tour of the compression chamber, where the tanks and machineries were regulated and checked thoroughly on a regular basis before they took anyone on their sea trek tour.

Sea Trek literally is a stroll underwater. That’s my definition of it. After we are shown exactly how the compression chamber work, we follow Nelson who points out how the cables run from the chamber to the diving spot. There, a maximum of eight guests receive a safety training, sign a waiver, and are outfitted in their gear, mainly a helmet that sits on your head with edges that act like suction cups on your shoulders. The helmet does not, however, stick in the front, leaving an empty space where, amazingly enough (truly through the laws of nature), water does not seep. In other words, the air fills in your helmet so that you are breathing natural air while you’re under water. It’s like walking under sea with an air bubble around your head.

The reason why I was thrilled about this tour is that it is perfect for a wuss like me! You do not need to know how to swim, snorkel nor scuba dive to do this, and you can come as close as any diver can to the marine life. You are under 14 feet of water with two professional, knowledgeable, well-trained assistant divers, who make you feel secure and who keep an eye on pressure, comfort and all those little things that you worry about (there’s a ratio of three guests to one safety diver. If there are more than four guests, then two divers and a guide are needed). Whether you’re claustrophobic, hydrophobic, thalassophobic or God knows what, you’ll feel better with Nelson and his fellow guides at Chukka’s Sea Trek tour. Plus, the oxygen tanks and first aid kits are always handy.

As part of your underwater stroll, you will come up close to Jamaica’s marine life and even simulate feeding the fish. I say simulate because as part of Chukka’s motto, nature remains untouched. According to Dominique Peterkin, director of marketing, Chukka’s goal is to “leave nature the way it is and take you into it.” That’s why they do not feed the fish, so they won’t interfere with their eating habits. Also, Chukka grows new coral in the Sea Trek area so that the fish can feed onto natural reefs instead of human food.

By the end of our visit, we were elated. I was excited about coming back to Doc’s Cave to try their Sea Trek adventure. By the way, they call it Doc’s Cave for a reason. There’s an actual cave where locals believe the waters to hold miraculous healing powers. Hence the name…

Back at Chukka, Marlon and Dominique arranged for us to meet with the tour manager of the Zip Line Canopy Tour in Ocho Rios, where we were expected on Saturday for our actual chance at soaring in the jungle. Then, Javia was whisking us away to the town of Redding, in Mo Bay, where we were meeting Gilbert Byles, owner of Caliché Rainforest River Rafting tours.

In his office, pictures and posters of the actual rafting tour cause my heart to flutter. That looked frightening to me… We wanted to see the actual site in Mo Bay, and we wanted to meet the guides, and witness the prepping process. So we got directions to Nature’s Village, ways up in the hills of Montego Bay, where we were to rush and beat the bus loads of cruise ship passengers who were headed the same way to go rafting with Caliché. The directions?

“Go up the long hill, all the way till you reach the third crossing on the right where there’s a grocery shop and a car repair shop on the left. You turn right onto Lethi crossing and from there you travel downhill. You’re looking for Nature’s Village. If you pass the bridge, you’ve gone too far. If you pass the little church made of plywood, you’ve gone too far. Nature Village is on the right.”

After that confusing bit of information, we attempted to follow his directions. The drive uphill was both intimidating and breathtaking. The road was narrow enough for one vehicle. So it was a wonder to me how two cars made it, somehow creating an imaginary set of lanes. On the right of us, the mountain. On the left, cliffs. But I could hardly dwell on those precipices when my eyes kept traveling up to those tall, imposing leafy bamboos, the thick fern forests and other foliage that grew everywhere and formed a fragile semi-barrier between the cliff and the road.

Mr. Byles’ direction turned out to be right on the money. We go to the car repair (more of a junkyard, really) and the shop on the right, where two men were sitting, contemplating the wonders of life (namely us gracing them with our presence). We asked them where Lethi road was, and they both pointed (surprise, surprise) to the right. The drive up was even scarier and more amazing. No matter how desolate and impractical the road, the scenery was always glorious and entertaining. A farmer’s land was planted with banana trees and dead coconut trees (apparently, a rare and peculiar disease had ravaged thousands of coconut trees in Jamaica years back), yet was not at all fenced off. Little shacks on our right served as homes to many, and in their front yard, goats chomped nonchalantly on the green grass. Under his colorful hut, a Rasta was hatching coconuts open with a machete and selling coconut water while his little boy played out front.

Javia showed us what locals referred to as a “pipe stand,” which resembles a faucet firmly planted in the ground in front of a house and serves the same functions as a well. According to Javia, that’s where they come out to tap their water from. That’s why we love KnowJamaica. Even when they’re not cruising down their habitual route, they still use their knowledge to guide their clients. They know their island well and they want to share its beauty with us.

At some point, the road forked into two paths: one going up hill, the other going down. Both looked impractical, and the sign with the red arrow that pointed to Nature’s Village was slanted enough to generate confusion. We opted to drive downhill, and soon, we encountered a group of women making their way uphill. Javia stopped for directions in patois, but made the mistake of calling her “princess.” She sucked her teeth and kept walking. Deuce rolled his window down and asked her again, and finally got her attention. We were on the right path.

Soon enough, we arrived at Nature’s Village. The location was simply splendid. The vast yards sprawled in green, dotted with coconut trees and other exotic plants, and little outdoor tables and benches. Steps away, a few cabins and gazebos indicated that many events, other than rafting, could be conducted onsite. In the midst of all this, we heard the powerful roar of rushing water. The river beckoned below, commanding all visitors to gear up for the ride. It was the most beautiful river I’d seen in a long time, cascading over rocks and tree trunks, forming occasional pools of jade green water, then flowing again right between the wooden rainforest.

At our arrival, the guides were sitting on their rafts on the grass, expecting cruise ships passengers any minute. The man we were meeting, Veryl, welcomed us with a smile and was more than happy to introduce the guides to us. The most impressive one was of course the head guide, Mackell, also known as The General. Mackell was a tall, reserved man who greets us quite politely. We dipped our feet in the river. Even its texture felt different. It truly felt like velvet against my ankles, more caressing and tender than it sounded mean and merciless.

As soon as we were introduced, the buses arrived, carrying loads of tourists in their bikinis and water shoes (pronounced wa-ta in Jamaica). There, we witnessed first hand The General’s prowess. He had morphed from the quiet individual he seemed to be into a serious, imposing and quite experienced guide. He briefed his group of rafters with all the necessary safety measures (how to sit, how to hold a paddle, how to move, how to respond to commands). Everyone listened quietly. Not a fly flew by. Not a pinned dropped. It was serious business, especially for me who was about to pee in my pants.

 

Seriously? We had to sit on the side of the raft? Not in it?

 

As soon as the groups were geared up in life jackets and helmets, and as soon as they took off paddling, “all forward,” I rushed to the bar and requested a bottle of rum cream to calm my nerves. But it didn’t do much: Veryl came in and showed me the video, on his cell phone, of one of their rafting tour. On the tiny screen, the rafts descended down steep, monstrous, hostile drops where the water seemed unforgiving, and the rafters’ screams as they made their way down filled me with dread. I requested a second rum cream for the road.

(Continued...)

Fabienne - The Nervous Traveler -in Jamaica 4

RIU Ocho Rios

Back at RIU, it was back to having drinks and cooling off in the lobby. I give my vote hands down for RIU’s lobby as the best I’ve ever seen. I do have an eye for interior design and décor, and even architectural touches, and this resort flaunted the most handsome receiving space one could ask for, especially in the Caribbean.   It was spacious enough to hold a thousand guests, and opened up so that the island breeze flowed from the entrance to the other end of the lobby, which lead to the ocean. Here and there, agents settled at little tables to set up their tours, and guests engaged each other in chit chats and card games while reclining on wicker sofas.

We had to drink. Every day. It was inevitable because we could not go up to our room without passing a bar. And they had many: the Reggae pool bar and the Rastafari swim up bar (in the pool, literally, and you can sit around different little tables), the Blue Mountain bar salon (my favorite, because it is hosted by the most joyous and friendliest bartenders of all who take advantage of every opportunity to engage you or dance together while they serve up my Jamaica Rum Cream), the Dunn’s River Plaza bar, and the Sports Bar, open 24/7 and located right underneath us.

And of course, we had to eat. How could we not. RIU boasts six different restaurants to suit all eating habits. Most require reservations, but the St. Ann’s Buffet was surprisingly pleasing and was not as high-brow. The Pizzeria Piccola Italia was opened until two a.m., perfect for my midnight-cravings (their pizzas are small but have quite a kick to them, especially the jalapeno and pepperoni ones).

By the time this vacation would be over, I would need to make it to Mo Bay’s airport in a wheelbarrow. Thank God, RIU’s gym was available for us to work out, and the RIU staff had an extensive list of physical activities for its guests to select from, including water aerobics, soccer, tennis and dance. The real question was, did we work out?

 

July 4, 2007

Wednesday. On the agenda: visiting different tour operations and finding out what they’re all about. It’s a drive to Mo Bay to visit Chukka Caribbean, a mogul in tour operators in the Caribbean.

Chukka is known for its professional, thrilling and eco-friendly tours throughout Jamaica, including Negril, Montego Bay and Ocho Rios (that’s a total of 25 tour sites in Jamaica alone), and in other islands such as the Bahamas, Belize, the Cayman Islands and Turks and Caicos. In fact, they are pinned as the Caribbean’s Leading Nature Adventure Excursion Operator and are one of the top five operators nominated for the 2007 World Travel Awards. Plus, they offer an endless variety of tours: ATV Safaris, Jeep Safaris, Zion Bus Line tours, Horseback Ride and Swim, Zip Line Canopy Tours (which are Green Globe certified), Dogsled experience, Sea Trek Tours, River Kayak, Mountain Bike Adventure, Sting Ray Swim experience, Air Boat tours, Jungle Buggy tours, Dune Buggy Tours and River Tubing. I say endless because they actually launch a new exciting adventure every year. This way, you’re guaranteed to find a tour you really want. There’s something for everybody.

Next on our list will be Caliché Rainforest River Rafting, a company whose white-water rafting is so thrilling, it keeps you on the edge of your seat. Literally. You’ll learn why a little later. But if you’re looking to add a kick to your otherwise smooth vacation, then Caliché’s rafting would be perfect for you. Besides, why wouldn’t you opt for rafting in Jamaica? Caliché will take you on the best, most gorgeous rapids on the island, and this adventure is both fun and educational.

Then, if we had time after our meetings, we would dare a drive to Negril. I could not wait! I had heard so much of Negril’s natural beauty that I initially wanted to dedicate a whole day to it. But since we had so much on our agenda, we had to squeeze it in.

(Continued...)