Buch lesen: "Jamdown Sundown. My whispered chronicles of the Caribbean"

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Jamaica… When we say this word, we all involuntarily associate it with a tropical paradise, the gentle Caribbean Sea, the best coffee in the world, which is born in the unique microclimate of the Jamaican Blue Mountains, which owe their name to the fog of this color that surrounds them in the mornings, with excellent local rum – perhaps the most tangible today (at least to taste) reminder of the island as a former haven for pirates.

And, of course, the names that come to mind are Bob Marley (what would reggae music be without him!), Usain “Lightning” Bolt (multiple Olympic champion, the fastest man on earth), and perhaps Robertino Loretti, who almost 55 years ago performed the unforgettable “Ja-a-a-maika” that is still so sweet for all residents of the USSR (which, however, for some reason no one knows on the island that was sung by the then very young Italian!).

Everyone who comes there – for business or pleasure – instantly shakes off all their worries and anxieties. Peace, relaxation, peace of mind, unhurried movements, activities and thoughts – this is what distinguishes the Jamaican, typically Caribbean rhythm of life from the tense, crazy, often senseless in their bustle everyday life of European countries, and even the United States, neighboring Jamaica.

The National Tourist Board describes the Caribbean island’s appeal in a similar way: “Jamaica is more than just a tourist destination. It is"a special feeling, it’s a set of impressions… Jamaica is a place where people come to get a positive charge, it’s a force that allows the world to feel more in order by sharing its rhythms, energy and spirit with it.”

It is probably no coincidence that in the current ranking of the 25 most popular tourist destinations in the world, according to the authoritative Internet portal “Tripadvisor”, Jamaica is in 12th place (St. Petersburg, by the way, is in 14th place).

Wars and armed conflicts, which, unfortunately, are so “rich” in our modern world, seem very distant from there, from Jamaica, sometimes even unrealistic, although the World War II did not pass the Jamaicans by: many of them fought against Nazism, mainly as part of the British Air Force (Jamaica at that time was under the colonial rule of London, which was ordered to live long in 1962, but to this day the formal head of this state remains (the King of Great Britain). Of course, there are not many veterans of that war left on the island now (according to some sources, no more than 150 people), but they are still held in high esteem there. The Russian embassy does not forget to invite them to its events on the occasion of May 9.

Many of the world’s most famous Englishmen were passionately fond of Jamaica. Winston Churchill, after resigning as British Prime Minister, spent months living in a luxury suite at the Jamaica Inn in Ocho Rios, eagerly and with undeanible talent transferring the island’s wondrous landscapes onto canvas.

Ian Fleming, who settled in Jamaica after the war (his father has been close with Churchill), was there when he began writing the first James Bond novel, “Casino Royale,” in 1952 from his residence – now one of the island`s most exclusive hotels – GoldenEye near Oracabessa.

Fleming remains a cult figure to this day: close to his former estate stands Jamaica`s third most important international airport, named after him (primarily serving private aviation), while the island boasts a sizeable public James Bond beach on its northeastern coast – respectably equipped for Jamaican standards.

The paradise island has many other notable features. For example, it was in this country that the world’s first beauty Lisa Hannah (the third Jamaican to occupy the prestigious “throne” in 1993) was nominated almost 20 years later for the post of Minister of Culture and Youth Affairs in the government of the People’s National Party (now in opposition). Here, too, cabinet ministers past and present have included Rastafarians – followers of the Rastafari movement), easily identified by their iconic dreadlocks woven like felt (remember Bob Marley again).

Jamaica is also known for the fact that the main language there is not so much “classical” English, but its local dialect (in the perception of the proud inhabitants of the island, this is a full-fledged independent language) Patois. It is not very understandable for the uninitiated, but if you learn a couple of phrases in Patois and demonstrate this modest knowledge to the Jamaicans, then you can be sure that they have such knowledge the excitement about the “secret” will cause genuine delight and exclamations of praise.

Jamaicans are generally exceptionally friendly, smiling and welcoming by nature, always ready to help guests of the island, including those who do not know English. The signature style and philosophy of life of its inhabitants is “Jamaica – no problem.” No problem, and that’s it! This is a universal key phrase to the Jamaican soul, much like the common expression “ya man” or “ya mon” (philologists still debate the best way to convey the sounds of this equally unique island expression, meaning both agreement and affirmation without any specification or simply a statement of something in various contexts).

Of course, behind the outward carefree nature of Jamaican life lurk some rather pressing issues for the state and society, as is often the case. While in 2009 Jamaica held an honourable third place in the so-called World Happiness Index, by 2016, it had slipped to 73rd – a change that, admittedly, was unsurprising. There are many reasons for this. These include an overwhelmingly high crime rate (Jamaica is among the top five countries with the highest number of murders – three a day, although they occur mainly in their own, criminal environment, bandits generally leave tourists alone – why harm the hand that feeds you?). And of course don`t forget the corruption – common not just in the “third world” countries – and domestic violence. Jamaicans have proven themselves to be the “kings” of the so-called lottery scams, having illegally swindled over a billion US dollars in recent years from disoriented elderly Americans who believed the telephone fairy tale about a “super win” in Jamaican state lottery, which, of course, does not exists. As the saying goes, there`s a black sheep in every flock.

But amid all this, Jamaica remains a captivating island for lovers of exoticism, warm seas, and magnificent beaches, as well as fans of Bob Marley and Usain Bolt, boasting its own unique character and remarkable, colourful people who are easily recognizable even beyond Jamaica`s shores.

We, Russians, are respected and loved there, guided by the universal foreign policy formula “we are friends to all and enemies to none,” and remembering over 40 years of friendship and cooperation – though some sources claim this history as fat longer and more diverse. But more on that later.

One can only hope that those unfamiliar with Jamaica will, upon reading this book, form their first impressions of the island and its inhabitants – and possibly feel inspired to embark on their own journey there. However, merely dreaming of Jamaica, I believe, can warm the soul on our long autumn and winter evenings, fostering a positive outlook and offering an escape into tropical fantasy.

“Jamaica, no problem!” Or, as the unforgettable Robertino Loretti sang: “Jamaica! Jamaica! Under your beautiful tropical skies, I want to live and die!”

Well, we’ve already lived our share there…

Part one:
Just the Facts

Keeper of the Waterfall

My first experience in Jamaica was as an ordinary passenger aboard a 16-deck cruise liner making leisurely touring the Caribbean islands with a stop in Caracas.

The “Star Princess” docked confidently at the port of Ocho Rios – one of Jamaica`s three main resort towns, not the largest but perhaps the coziest in the eyes of both tourists and locals. For staff of the Russian Embassy, Ocho Rios is the closest “beach” destination to the capital, Kingston (just over an hour’s drive along a modern – toll – motorway built by the Chinese).

Incidentally, Ocho Rios was never actually crossed by those “eight rivers” that gave the charming town its Spanish name, near which Christopher Columbus is believed to have set foot on the island once again on June 20, 1503 (after its discovery in 1494).

It`s thought the settlement was originally named by its discoverer “Las Chorreras” (meaning “waterfalls”, as it`s home to the island`s most famous cascades, Dunn’s River). The English, who invaded Jamaica in 1655 and defeated two years later the Spanish at the Battle of Las Chorreras, simply adapted the acoustically challenging word.

The very the name “Jamaica” is believed to derive from itself comes from “Xaymaka” (“land of wood and water”) in the language of the Arawak Indians who inhabited the island before its discovery by Columbus. According to historians, the native inhabitants of Las Chorreras retained far from favourable memories of the Spanish visitors, who plundered mercilessly and abused the local population in every way, condemning them to slavery while also infecting them with diseases brought from Europe that proved fatal to the islanders. But that is another story, to be recounted later.

Today, Ocho Rios warmly welcomes tourists and cruise ship passengers from around the world. To further boost the appeal of Jamaica’s northern coast, Usain Bolt, for instance, not so long ago, in September 2016, riding on the wave of his phenomenal success at the Rio de Janeiro Olympics, opened another restaurant in Ocho Rios (after Kingston) bearing his name, with a culinary-musical-sports theme and an ambition to expand this budding franchise not only across North America but also into Europe and the Middle East. Perhaps it might even reach Moscow, where Bolt famously triumphed in the 2013 World Athletics Championships…

But now, for us passengers aboard a cruise liner, the long-awaited moment had arrived – disembarking onto solid ground. Thousands of tourists from around the world poured out of the ship`s cavernous belly onto the welcoming Jamaican shore, hungry for new impressions poured onto the hospitable Jamaican shore, hungry for new impressions of the island where there are “no problems.”

For our seasoned group of five globetrotting friends, the first challenge was selecting one driver from the twenty-odd local “taxi” services – mostly co, pact limousines and minibuses, many dubiously licensed – someone who seemed even remotely trustworthy and personable.

After a few minutes of scrutinizing faces and visually assessing the vehicles offered to “wealthy foreigners”, our choice fell on a young road warrior named Justin. He won us over with an exuberance that even by Jamaican standards was off the charts, coupled with what appeared to be a genuine – as we later confirmed – desire to showcase every nook and cranny of Ocho Rios and its surroundings, including its “secret” spots, within the short docking window.

Every time Justin pitched an excursion option at a reasonable price, and we responded with cautious, almost imperceptible nods, he`d throw his arms around us (Jamaicans place great emphasis on tactile connections in interpersonal interactions), as if to convey just how overjoyed he`d be if we chose him as a driver and guide for our tour. Of course, we chose him, at least in order to put an end to the drawn-out selection process.

First, we drove along the costal road to the “must-see” local attraction – the grand Rose Hall estate, located 15 km from Montego Bay, Jamaica`s second-largest city and its de facto tourist capital, boasting the most developed resort infrastructure. Built in 1770 for a local plantation owner, Rose Hall now houses detailing the history of its wealthy slave-owning former residents.

But its fame stems from something else: legend has it that the house is still haunted by the ghost of the White Witch Annie Palmer, who during her lifetime allegedly poisoned three of her husbands using various, highly inventive methods, along with several enslaved people for good measure. For which she paid the ultimate price, accepting death at the hands of one of her tormented slaves named Takoo. However, no historical evidence supports this “horror story” – though it undoubtedly draws extra crowds of tourists to Rose Hall.

In my opinion, far more interesting is the nearby planter`s estate, Greenwood Great House, where descendants of its earliest owners still reside among splendidly preserved antique furniture and vintage music boxes. At one time, their ancestors held over 2,000 enslaved people. Surprisingly, local lore claims this is the only plantation estate in the area not burned down by rebelling slaves in retaliation.

In Montego Bay, which boasts Jamaica`s highest concentration of hotel accommodations, lies the country`s foremost international airport, named after Donald Sangster. It handles the majority of the island`s tourist influx – over two million visitors annually, predominantly from U.S., Canada and the UK. This fact guided our decision to propose establishing an honorary Russian consulate there. The position was later assumed by Francis Tulloch – a well-known political and public figure in the country (in the past), lawyer and entrepreneur (in the present) and genuinely a refined, approachable gentleman who commands respect and trust.

This city, entirely tailored to affluent foreign visitors, retains charming Georgian-style stone buildings and wooden cottages. Here, one finds There are also countless souvenir shops along with a selection of restaurants, some aspiring to haute cuisine standards. Most importantly, Montego Bay offers no shortage of pristine beaches and top-tier resorts – or more modest hotels – for every budget and preference. Combined with its superb golf courses and vibrant nightlife, these attractions paint quite the complete picture.

But we didn’t stay long in Montego Bay. Justin suggested returning to Ocho Rios, where, he claimed, “real fun” awaited us. First, the Dunn’s River Falls, cascading nearly 200 meters into the sea, and Mystic Mountain Nature Park, whose summit can be reached via a zipline – which, in my estimation, caters more to thrill-seekers – soaring 700 meters above the see level.

Had we wished, we could`ve swum in Dolphin Cove alongside its docile inhabitants. But two of our group – inclined toward adrenaline (including our dauntless female companion) – opted for the zipline, while the remaining three descended toward the Little Dunn`s River Falls, still cascading into the Caribbean, albeit with milder force than its big “brother” – planning to lounge there until returning to the ship.

A narrow, winding path unexpectedly led us to a patch of grassy shore strewn with pebbles, where a rudimentary shack stood midway toward the falls. In front sat a mythic old Rastaman, his dreadlocks tangled as if untouched for decades. Despite the hit, he had draped multiple layers of once-colourful Jamaican garb – now uniformly dulled to muddy brown – over himself like regal rags. A makeshift field kitchen sat nearby: a lopsided grill, a couple of chipped enamel pots, and battle-worn mugs bearing rust stains, plus other mismatched utensils harder to identify.

The old man tracked our movements warily as we approached the falls just meters from his hut. He gaze lingered while we debated wading into the waterfall`s chilly pool to begin climbing its slick stones – a canonical (though hazardous) tourist ritual. Wisely, we chose brevity over misadventure and soon retreated to relax beneath the shade of short yet lush shoreline trees.

The old man approached, clutching a coffee-smelling mug and inquired raspily:

– Where you be from?

“From the ship,” we replied cheerfully, gesturing towards the enormous “Star Princess” gently swaying on the Caribbean waves to reinforce our point.

– No, which country? – the old man impatiently clarified his question. – Russia? Frost, Lada, Lenin… – everything that came to his mind at that moment.

“The rocks are slippery,” our new acquaintance observed, completely unrelated to his previous sentence.

– We noticed…

“Need sandals,” the old man continued, producing from behind his back with a broad gesture something resembling tattered flip-flops with tears in various places. Naturally, we wisely declined this offer, politely thanking him.

The elderly Rastaman seemed to be not at all upset about having lost the opportunity to earn some extra cash from Russian tourists, who are seen there, understandably, not as often as Americans or Englishmen.

– That’s how I live, – the local old-timer mentioned, once more without any connection to what had been said before. – 20 years in one place, next to the waterfall. And I can’t live without him. And he can’t live without me…

– Where will he go if, for example, you ever move from here? – one of us asked naively.

– No, I won’t be here and he won’t be here, – the old man solemnly proclaimed with insistent confidence. – He and I are firmly connected: I am his keeper. I decided so once, 20 years ago, and since then I have been here…

Of course, one could have chuckled to oneself upon hearing these speeches. But we remained quite serious. Jamaica, after all, is a mystical island with unique landscapes, waterfalls of unique beauty, and cheerful inhabitants, who seem to be always slightly “on edge”.

Few people know today that there, on the island, a subspecies of black magic called voodoo is still practiced in some places – the so-called Obeism, which in slavery times was, among other things, an instrument of revenge by slaves on white rulers, and is now officially banned (but politicians have long been flirting with the idea of lifting this ban or at least weakening it). The Keeper of the Waterfall – there was, as it seemed to us, something typically Jamaican, Caribbean, in other words, unreal-real.

Well, how could it be otherwise, because the waterfalls on the island are a generous gift of nature, first of all for tourists. Because the locals, of course, would not think of fanatically overcoming in rubber slippers, measuring out almost 600 steps, the basalt cliffs and falling vertical streams of Dunn’s River Falls, and even paying a lot of money for it, by Jamaican standards.

While we were pondering this, the old man, having seen off with his eyes a group of Jamaican children rushing towards the natural bathing pool at the foot of “our” small waterfall, turned around and headed towards his shack. Without letting go of the cigarette from his mouth, he climbed heavily onto a battered hammock stretched between the trees surrounding the hut and froze in a half-reclining position. His face, furrowed with deep wrinkles, gradually acquired an even more philosophical expression, detached from current reality, and seemed to freeze for the nearest haven’t been wearing this mask for half an hour.

By the way, some researchers claim that the hammock was invented in Jamaica. But as far as I know, there is no unambiguously confirmed historical evidence on this matter. Historians agree that the word hammock itself came to the world from the language of the Arawak Indians who inhabited the Caribbean, including, as noted above, Jamaica. So there is some scope for imagination in this regard…

It was time for us to tear ourselves away from contemplating the bright pictures of the waterfalls and seaside and get ready for the return journey to the ship. The “taxi driver” Justin, having driven up to us, had already picked up our friends along the way, deeply impressed by the “Tarzan tour” over the Jamaican jungle, and with a playful, exaggeratedly broad gesture invited us into the car.

This was my very first acquaintance with Jamaica. At that time I did not yet know that three and a half years later I would find myself there again in a completely different, non-tourist capacity and not for one, but for a whole 1450 days.