Keen Blog : Jamaica Jan 2025

Welcome to another Keen Blog. Just a short one this time. If this is your first time, welcome.

The world is changing.  New governments, a new US President and new procedures at Gatwick. At security, I am shouted at "Did you not listen to the instructions? Keep everything in your bag!!!"  No 'please' or 'sir'.  And no one had told me either.  I give him a pass because he has probably been up since very early that morning and he isn't on his way to Kingston like us.  For some reason my mind wanders back to the days of shopping trips to Kingston-on-Thames on a Saturday morning in the 90’s with 4 kids in tow.  I was probably a bit grumpy too on those mornings.  But this time we are off to Kingston, Jamaica and no kids - a very different prospect.  

We leave behind 2 sick girls in Farnborough, one of them in hospital with flu, so as always it never seems like a good time to be away.  But I am feeling that we are due a break, whatever anyone else thinks!  I have not been very well for about a month, but I am assured that a week of sunshine in the Caribbean will do the trick. We also leave just after we had to say goodbye to our dear Archie.  He had a good innings, just over 13, but reached the end of the road.  Losing a dog is awful and almost wipes out the joy of all those years before.  Maybe someone will say something like that about me too one day!

It's an 18-hour door to door journey.  The flight was almost 10 hours, but our luggage did it in 15 hours.  Kingston airport is a shambles.  But the memory of that quickly fades as we sit on the veranda for breakfast, looking out at the reef at Ochi Rios.  There was a heavy shower earlier, but the sun has forced its way through.  After plane food the entire all-inclusive menu looks interesting, but Mrs K says I need to pace myself.  She is amazed when I choose the Tofu Scramble.  I amazed myself too.  It won't last.

Gladstone is our man at the hotel.  When he meets us, he tells us he has booked us into the seafood restaurant for that evening.  He is now on Mrs K's speed dial, especially after he ran a hot bath for her and sprinkled flower petals between the bed and the bathroom.  I am feeling slightly violated I have to say.  

We venture over to the main resort which we are told is vast and has lots of facilities.  We catch the 5-minute bus ride down the road, passing in and out of security gates.  We manage to find a spot near the pool, though being latecomers, we have to contend with the fact that most of the sunbeds are occupied......with fresh towels.  The morning starts well with a dip in the pool and take advantage of the swim-up bar where a couple of cocktails go down swiftly before midday.  Shortly after, a bunch of rednecks move into the area next to us and the volume goes up a few notches.  Soon they are tossing a football around the pool and mostly overthrowing into people trying to enjoy the sun.  The volume goes up a notch again when the 'Pool Olympics' start.  We high tail it out of there as quick as we can in search of the tranquillity of our hotel, although the journey is extended when we get on the wrong shuttle bus. As you know, Mrs K is not one for buses, but we are the only passengers on the shuttle bus that is sent out to rescue us - like a very large limo.   I know, I am getting very old now, but this is the tranquillity we like.

Our first excursion from the hotel is the Bob Marley trip. It's a drive into the hills to where he was born, spent his childhood and is laid to rest.  We are asked if we are happy that some people will be smoking the "Bob Marley stuff" on the tour.  They don't tell us about the 3-hour drive to get there on a ramshackle bus.  We are with 10 other tourists, most of whom are from Washington state.  We are the only Brits and we have more connection to Bob than them because Bob's father was a white man from Liverpool. He also composed some of his major music when living in London after the assassination attempt.   Mrs K and I both watched the 'One Love' movie on the flight over so we are better informed than we were. There is one guy on the tour who claims to be from Ethiopia and seems to be on a kind of pilgrimage. His wife is in a boot and a wheelchair and I wonder if they told her about the layout of the Marley estate.  Lots of steps, uneven surfaces and steep slopes. 

We pull up at the estate and are invited to the 'shop' just outside the entrance where are shown various oils, balms, teas and plants.  We are not sure whether this is legal but that doesn't seem to put off our fellow tourists.  The guy from Ethiopia is loading up with goodies.  There are versions 'with' and 'without' but Mrs K wonders why anyone would buy tea for $25, served in a used water bottle, sold by a guy in a wooden hut. The guy has run out of supplies but promises to brew some more and deliver it when we leave.

Every slice of brownie is a big slice

We are shown around the gift shop and I am singled out to model the rasta hat and dreadlocks. Not sure I pulled it off. We are left waiting at the bar where we are pressured to buy a cocktail.  I am not sure what the main man would have thought about all this commercial activity.

Our guide at the estate is Curtis but he likes to go by 'Crazy'.  He claims that his father was a close friend of Bob Marley.  He is not shy about commenting on the lifestyle in the US (laziness and obesity) and also has a pop at meat eaters.

Ladies are warned not to touch Bob Marley’s bed because they are sure to get pregnant. He was prolific.

We get to see the places of rest of Bob Marley and his mother. It’s a unique experience.

Mrs K and I come away still a bit confused about the Rasta beliefs.  Heili Salassi (emperor of Ethiopia up to his assassination in 1975) was either Jesus Christ (2nd coming) or a reincarnation of the Old Testament God, whom they call Jah? Marley did not drink because he was a devout Rasta, but he liked to self-medicate with the weed and had 12 kids, 7 of whom were not with his long-suffering wife, Rita. Such a tragedy to have died of cancer at the age of 36.  Curtis suggests that story is untrue and seems to imply that he was killed by the 'system'.  Mrs K thinks he has been smoking a bit too much.

The road is narrow and windy, often with steep slopes on one side, but Donovan is an expert driver.  Our tour guide insists on guest participation, and we all have to talk a bit of ‘Jamaican’.  Name, where we are from and what we love about Jamaica.  When it's my turn I say," Me name Jeff, me from London, me love getting off the bus".  

We are relieved to get back after a 2 ½ hour return leg and chill by the pool, listening to Chelsea's win on the radio.  Evening plans have been cancelled as Mrs K refuses to be rushed and our man Gladstone is tasked with finding a good spot for us on the terrace for dinner.

 We enjoy the evening entertainment which is a steel drum band followed by a guy that balances the hotel furniture on his head, including heavy wrought iron tables and sunbeds.  He then switches to fire eating and gets the audience involved.  One guy allows him to put the flame into his mouth.  Only in Jamaica.

There is other excitement at dinner when one of the older guests starts choking on her food.  I turn around and a chap is carrying out the Heimlich manoeuvre on her, except he isn't doing it very well.  He just looks like he is groping her from behind.  Anyway, she recovers quickly and everyone is relieved, especially the hotel manager who has her in a big hug.  They do love to engage with guests. 

Mrs K continues her incredible habit of winning prize draws. She actually says that maybe she shouldn’t enter, to give others s fighting chance. But I put her name in the hat and she ends up winning a ‘diamond’ pendant. Naturally this then leads to a visit to the jewellery stall where she realises that a pendant requires a chain. No free lunch (dinner). By the way, Mrs K doesn’t want you all to think she won all of her jewellery in a raffle.

Overnight, it seems that a guest on our corridor has over indulged because there is shouting and banging a few doors down at 2am.  This is very out of character for this hotel, but the mini bars are very nicely stocked. Or maybe he was on a ‘Bob Marley tour’ too. It sounds like he has been ejected from his room and would quite like to get back in.  "Don't you want to marry me?" he is shouting.  I think I might know the answer to that one.  He is not sounding like he is in a good mood, ranting and swearing, so we just stay quiet and hope it dies down.  I hope she was alright.  The hotel is full of 60+ couples.  This guy had a younger voice so it might be easy to work out who he is at breakfast.  [Ed: Mrs K is not yet 60 by the way]

After our long bus trip, Tuesday is another day of rest but on Wednesday we have a power boat trip planned. Looking forward to that.

P.S. The girls are back to health and back at school

Am I unusually happy in this photo? Yes, but no contraband has passed my lips, just a generous amount of cabernet!

Part 2

Mrs K is upset with me for not mentioning that she was 2-1 up in scrabble, despite reminding me about 3 times.  What can I say? My memory is a sieve.  Anyway, it is now 4 ½ - 4 ½. Incredibly tense now.

We find a backgammon board on the terrace and Mrs K has her first go.  She beats me by a gammon in the first game and then wins the next 2 games too.  Maybe we will go back to scrabble.

Pool Is not Mrs K’s game but I find competition with one of the staff. In boxing parlance, I am the undefeated Waverton pool champion (from a few years ago) and I win at least something this week.

Our choice of Wednesday for excursion no. 2 is perfect.....perfectly wrong.  It is raining when we go for breakfast but instead of brightening up as it has done every other day, the rain intensifies.  Have you ever snorkelled in torrential rain?  It's fine, because you are mostly underwater, and the rain is warm.  But have you sat on a powerboat doing 50 knots in the pouring rain?  Not great.  Everything is wet through, except Mrs K who is wearing my rainjacket.

The snorkelling was fun and I managed to follow about 7 or 8 small stingrays for quite a while.  Lemar guides us along a reef and then across it which we assume is not really allowed, but this is Jamaica.  Yeah mun.

We have a stop at Dunns Falls which is where a river flows into the sea down some rocks.  It looks like a nice photo opp but we are completely unprepared for what is to come.  We should have known when we are advised to leave all valuables, sunglasses and hats behind. 

Our group of 12 is guided by Howard to the start point of our journey.  We then join hands and start our way up the rocky river - a climb of 950ft.  The morning rain has no doubt given the river a bit more volume than usual. Rita from our hotel (and from Toronto) is behind me and is hanging on tight, which is great because each step is treacherous, and my balance is not great.  Howard proclaims himself to be the best guide on the river, which might be true because he has been doing it for 38 years.  He shouts instructions: "right foot here, left foot there", "Do NOT step in that hole".  It is very quickly apparent that this tourist attraction would not pass UK health and safety regulations and I wonder how many people have stepped in a hole and hurt themselves or even lost their footing and ended up at the bottom.  Mrs K does great and takes the lead right behind HowardI have my GoPro but holding hands with Mrs K and Rita makes it difficult to get any decent video of the tricky bits.  It's a tiny bit of danger but not too much for Mrs K, though being 2 weeks after the procedure on her back it was perhaps was not the best idea, but hey we made it. 

By the afternoon, the sky is clear and we enjoy the rest of the time on the boat, speeding past our hotel and visiting a nudist beach.  Mrs K observes that a lot of suncream may be required for some on the beach.  

We meet Rita and Chris again in reception. They are on their way home to -30C in Toronto. Niagara Falls is frozen over. Rita fills us in on the ranting guest.  We now know who he is - in the room next door.

Talking of mischievous neighbours, we found these guys outside our room. They move around in a gang of four and are as bold as you like.

Each day that passes seems to be shorter and we keep meaning to do something, but we decide we are just too busy. On Saturday morning, we were going to go out on the glass bottomed boat and maybe do some more snorkelling but the wind and surf is up today.  There is a red flag on the beach, but I wouldn't describe it as rough.  We can now see there are 2 reefs, one about 100 metres out and another perhaps 500 metres out - there is white water out there that we haven't seen before. The waves are lapping up at my sunbed. Gladstone says to me, " don’t fall asleep Mr Keen, you might wake up in Cuba."  I really fancied a swim out to the first reef but that is beyond the rope and there is quite a lot of boat traffic out there, although quieter today.

Friday was an especially busy day.  It was a bit cloudy in the morning, so we went for a massage.  My Caribbean cure is still work in progress so lying face down for half an hour with blocked sinuses was difficult, but Jasmine was very understanding. We then emerged into bright sunshine and discovered the tennis and pickelball courts.  We had a quick game in 32C heat and will definitely be back again, though I think padel tennis would be better - less far to walk to fetch the ball after Mrs K's errant shots. To be fair she was good but was still protecting her back.  

I then decided that I should avail myself of my customary holiday haircut.  There never seems to be time before we leave home.  There is a telephone call to locate the hotel barber and eventually Eric turns up.  He is a tall and skinny young Jamaican lad.  There is some conversation.  I don't normally like to do that, just get the job done and let me get back to my sunbed.  But there was 2 of us in the salon and the silence would be awkward.  We start with the weather.  Eric is an authority on hurricanes.  We talk about the 100mph winds in the UK and 1m people being without power.  Eric is impressed.  Eric tells me that his father was English - either that or lived in England until he died a couple of years ago.  But he never had any contact with him until a few years ago when he spoke to him and his step mum on the phone.  "He just didn't want me" says Eric, "I never understood why".  This is heavy stuff over a haircut and I hope Eric is concentrating on the job in hand.  I don't have sight of a mirror because Eric has to turn me away from it in the dimly lit room to use the daylight from the door.   Eric tell tells me his father died 2 years ago and his step mum passed a few months ago.  "How old?" I ask.  "92".  "Really?  How old are you? "  I thought he was maybe in his mid-late 20's.  It's his birthday today.  He is 51.  "NO!!"  How? “I just stay happy”, he says. It's an incredibly sad story but we have heard similar stories of Jamaicans emigrating to the UK during the Windrush years and leaving some or all of their kids behind with other family members.  Some of those kids were never reunited with their parents.  You can read up about Cole Palmer's uncle who was left in St Kitts while his father travelled with Cole's grandparents to the UK.  [If you are not into football, Cole Palmer is a talented young Chelsea footballer].

Saturday night was reggae night and the singer was top notch.  We enjoyed the Jamaican buffet including the specialities of Ox Tail and Curried Goat.  Mrs K decided not to go in for the diamond raffle this time.

The food has been very good.  Al-a-carte at every meal but Mrs K has special needs and likes to create her own menu.  The staff are getting used to her now.  Yesterday she put her foot down and insisted I had a salad for lunch after having a steak the night before and then steak and eggs for breakfast.

We are being very nicely looked after by Gladstone.  He might be the coolest and most relaxed guy I have ever met. He checks in with us a couple of times a day, booking us in to the restaurants and insists on escorting us to our table.  He even did that when we visited the main hotel, coming on the bus with us, showing us the way to the restaurant across the vast estate and serving us our cocktails.   I wondered if he was then going to go into the kitchen to make sure the chef was on his game. We are not used to this kind of attention. The staff are incredibly friendly and helpful - I have done more fist bumps in the past week than I have in my life to date. The hotel manager is constantly walking around the hotel and seems to know all the guests by name – well, he knows Mrs K anyway.

We will fly back Monday night. We feel like we need to come back to Jamaica to explore a bit more next time. But the priority this time was to relax and we did just that. I might need to have a dry February. I am bringing my cold back with me I’m afraid, and Mrs K is too.

Thanks for reading.

Jeff