The Best Tours & Excursions

Fabienne - The Nervous Traveler -in Jamaica 11

Finally, we made it up to the site. There, three guides were waiting: Vanessa, Scott and Devon. They strapped us in our harnesses and helmets, and that’s when I felt the fear overpower my whole body. Devon helped me get ready and adjusted my helmet for me, and I confessed how nervous I was.

“It’s normal to be nervous,” he said. “But you’ll be fine.”

Devon then proceeded to brief us on safety and demonstrated how we were to move down the zip line. I was registering everything he was saying: put on gloves; hold the rope, never the cable; hold your feet up for a safe landing. The more I listened, the more I tensed up. We were warned that we had to walk a long trail before reaching our first platform, so I was glad I had bought my sneakers. Unfortunately, Kenita wasn’t, and Deuce didn’t take my advice earlier that day, so they both suffered during the walk, him especially because he was wearing his water shoes.

Finally, we made it to the platform. There, my fears are concrete. I feel the sweat trickle down my back and arms. My deodorant has melted in the heat, and I’m not so nervous that I start to ramble and turn around.

“I don’t think I can do this. I don’t think I can do this.”

One of the guides went first, and glided down the line, hands free, leaning back and shouting joyfully. I closed my eyes. Perhaps if I didn’t see it, then it wasn’t real. Stephen went first. He had the excitement of a little boy, but tried not to show it. He went soaring at the speed of light (not really, but it seemed like it to me) and didn’t say a word the whole time. No screaming, no grunting, nothing.

Then, his wife followed. When she took off, she let out a yelp, and my heart sank. I had known this girl since my college years. She was serious, calm, composed, just like me. If she was screaming on her way down, then what would it be of me? I was so scared that I refused to go on.

The guide, a lovely young lady with a soothing voice, kept nudging me.

“Come on, let go. You’ll be fine, I promise you.”

I couldn’t move. I could see my own sweat trickle down my arm, I could feel myself drenched, my heart racing uncontrollably, and every time I looked down, the task before me seemed unachievable. I held on tightly to my rope and said a thousand little prayers, but all I could think about was the ground that seemed so far beneath me. I was all the more nervous knowing that if I did this and didn’t like it, I couldn’t go back. The only way to do this was by zip line, and there were a total of nine traverses to go through, including two surprises. I didn’t know what that meant, but the word surprise filled me with terror.

Finally, I had to calm myself down. I took a deep breath, reasoned with myself that this had to be safe, that everyone knew what they were doing, and that if I didn’t do this, I’d be upset at myself for being a wimp. I could do this. I had to do this…

“Hold your feet up. Up!” I heard the guide speak to me and I found myself obeying.

Next thing I knew, I was one my way down the zip line. I heard the hissing of the cable under my weight, and I literally zipped from one platform to the other, where another guide was waiting to catch me. I must have screamed out to all the saints I ever knew in my 28 years of Catholic upbringing: God, Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and even Buddha, whom I had recently come to call upon in my Buddhist studies.

What a thrill! It was amazing for me to feel such a rush, with the wind against my face and surroundings as beautiful as this. This forest was untouched by man, and Chukka took its time to build its platforms and steps around this corner of heaven. Instead of cutting down trees, Chukka bypassed them with precision, installed plates around trunks, and tied cables securely around the branches instead of nailing material into the wood.

I was almost at the landing when the guide shouted at me:

“Keep your feet up! Feet up!”

If I hadn’t listened, I would have crashed into the platform. Thankfully, I landed perfectly. I was still whole, still alive, and ready for my next traverse, except that my legs (and everyone else’s) were shaking uncontrollably.

Traverse #2 was the surprise. It wasn’t horizontal like the others. No, it was vertical. So we basically had to drop down at 65 miles, with our legs spread apart so not to sustain rope burn. I understand why it was called a surprise. Everyone zipped down screaming. Imagine being in an elevator that suddenly drops down due to cable breakage. You go down fast, like those outrageous roller coasters, and your heart seems to follow after. Even the guide dropped screaming.

“I’ve been doing this for two years, and it still gets me every time,” he said.

The other traverses were just as fun, but you wouldn’t judge so by my picture. The photographer snapped just as I was making my worst fear-face. I know I look as if I’m in the midst of a Sasquatch attack, but I was holding on tightly because that last traverse was the longest of them all. But when we stepped off the platform, the first thought that ran through my mind was: “That was fun. Let’s do it again!”

At the end of our journey, we walked past a scintillating river in the forest, and followed our guides down the trail among the giant bamboo trees. Devon showed us what a baby bamboo tree looked like, and informed us that they can grow to be as tall as _____ feet tall. Again, I was impressed that he knew so much about his surroundings, and not just about zip lining. I thanked him for his calm demeanor. He knew exactly how to put me at ease and never lost patience with me, and that’s very important. If I was a guide and I had to put up with me, I’d slap me in a New-York minute.

After a drink of water, we turned in our harnesses and met up with our driver who rode with us back to Chukka Farms. At our arrival, a group of tourists were riding their ATVs, ready for their adventure. I was eager to get home simply because I was hot and sticky from sweating so much. But once we boarded off the bus, I found myself enjoying the setting at Chukka Farms. We were hungry, so we ate from the little bar where finally, we were served some delicious jerk chicken with a side of bread. The bar served up some beers while playing some Bob Marley songs. We were in the shade, a cool breeze was blowing, and I just wanted to sit there forever.

But all good things come to an end. We had to take off, so we all boarded Daniel’s vehicle. Before leaving the property, he took us to his villa, a unique tropical marvel erected on a cliff, overlooking the ocean. The yard was planted with fruit trees and flowers, and his home built to reflect a warm, elegant feel. We even got to meet his nanny, a charming, quiet woman with long braids and a sweet smile. Daniel had to pick up some flowers for his wife, and we waited patiently outside for his return while absorbing the glory around us.

We were all in a state of elation. We were feeling blessed to have been granted such a wonderful experience, through a sublime connection with nature and people like we had never done before. I was thankful for that. Zip lining and rafting were the most fun adventures I’d ever had, and I was regretting that we were now at the end.

Or were we? Deuce was mentioning river tubing…

(Continued)

Fabienne - The Nervous Traveler -in Jamaica 10

July 7, 2007

I found myself getting nervous by the minute on that day.

Although I was proud of myself for overcoming my fear of water for whitewater rafting, I kept thinking of my other fear: heights. The more I thought about it, the more I felt my muscles tighten. We were going on a zip line canopy tour, which literally consists of soaring high in the wooden forest, more than 45 feet above ground, with harnesses clinging from cables.

We woke up early, and I found that a large, ugly, purple bruise had spread on my arm. I couldn’t figure out how it had gotten there, or when during our rafting adventure I had hurt myself. I didn’t remember hitting any rocks or anything of the sort. But that bruise hurt, and it looked like someone had hurt me badly.

We weren’t sure how many people were going zip lining with us. Kenita and Stephen had talked about bringing their parents with them, and we tried to call, but to no avail. Since our driver was picking us up at 10 a.m., we had breakfast and waited in our rooms for our friends to come. Then, they called and said they were downstairs. I left Deuce in the room and went down to the lobby where I found Kenita and Stephen, and her parents. But we found out they wouldn’t be coming along. The ride would probably not be appropriate for her mother.

So we were left to go again, the four of us, and wouldn’t you know it? We missed the driver. Somehow, we got sidetracked (Deuce's Note: They were sidetracked by the food at the breakfast buffet! No matter how much I tried to get them to hurry up, they walked and ate like they couldn't possibly move any faster. They acted like they were on vacation!) and by the time we made it to the pick-up section, we found out that our bus driver had already come and gone.

We scrambled to find a ride, and finally, we called a taxi to take us to Chukka's farms, hoping that we would still meet the bus that was heading up into the mountains. Then, Deuce had an idea to call his contact at Chukka Caribbean, Daniel Melville, to let him know we had missed our ride. Mr. Melville told him he was in route for Chukka Farms and had just passed our hotel, so he turned around to come and pick us up personally.

When the drivers and hotel personnel found out we were being picked up by Daniel Melville, we had the sense that we were receiving the royal treatment. (Deuce's Note: They would just stop and stare, without saying a word, whenever I would mention "Melville"!) Daniel was the young, smiling manager of tour operations at Chukka Farms who everyone seemed to know and recognize. We rode with him to the Farm site, and he took it upon himself to ensure that we would get to the zip line site.

On the road, Daniel points out some horses on the side of the road riding on the sidewalk. Apparently, some individuals like to make their money that way, owning a couple of horses (some looking quite malnourished and weak) that they make available to tourists outside the hotels. According to Daniel, they are running a “yahoo cowboy operation” that does not take in consideration the safety of their clients.

Chukka Farms, on the other hand, was the real deal. This vast property spread on ____ acres, and hosted a multitude of excursions, including ATV and Jeep safaris, and their famous horseback ride and swim tours. We parked by the stables, where the horses were lined up for duty, all looking healthier and more appealing than the ones we saw earlier on the road. A bar was set up by the entrance, and I was able to get a drink of water for my throat that had dried up during the drive. Then, I had to rush to the bathroom, a charming backhouse with ladies and gentlemen doors appropriately labeled “stallions” and “mares.”

Then, we were ready for our drive up the mountain. We had to catch up with the group that had left us behind, and Daniel rode with us in the bus. The driver knew the road by heart, of course. The ride, like all other we’ve taken up to the mountains, was bumpy and visually appealing.

Finally, we made it up to the site. There, three guides were waiting: Vanessa, Scott and Devon. They strapped us in our harnesses and helmets, and that’s when I felt the fear overpower my whole body. Devon helped me get ready and adjusted my helmet for me, and I confessed how nervous I was.

(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...)