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It seems like a simple question. “Hey, Spencer,” I ask, “how did this Martha Brae River get its name?”
“Yeh, mon, dat’s a good story.” Spencer is a graying raft captain with a quick smile. He’s been escorting tourists down this Jamaican waterway since 1969. The mode or model of transportation hasn’t changed in those 30 years—the raft consists of about a dozen 30-foot bamboo rods tied together and fashioned with a bamboo seat for two. Spencer acts as gondolier, poling his charges down the lazy river.
There are optional stops along the Martha Brae. Spencer will pole the raft over to the bank to check artisans’ hand-carved wooden turtles, or to buy a Red Stripe beer.
But back to the legend.
According to Spencer (who deserves his own Travel Channel special), Martha Brae was a “good witch” who served as an Arawak Indian doctor of sorts in a town by the river. During Spanish rule of Jamaica, she was jailed. But she refused to name the location of a native burial ground reputed to hold a cache of jewelry. Martha, the story goes, was later key in killing a unit of Spaniards who tried to loot the sacred site.
To fully appreciate the tale—Spencer spends 20 minutes in the telling—you have to imagine a gnarled storyteller, walking back and forth on a creaking vessel, pausing now and again for emphasis, switching sides on the raft.
It’s a remarkable moment in time.
Yes, I greatly enjoyed a weeklong visit to the Caribbean. Are the stories true about rampant crime in Jamaica? I didn’t witness any problems in the tourist havens of Montego Bay and Negril. But The Gleaner daily newspaper is filled with reportage of murder and larceny—especially in the capital city of Kingston.
Are reports of bad roads and worse drivers accurate? Absolutely. I passed three accidents just the first day. The omnipresent roadside warning signs are a clue; “Don’t be in a hurry to enter eternity” is my favorite.
“Don’t be in a hurry” is good advice for local drivers and visiting tourists alike. Think like Angela Bassett in How Stella Got Her Groove Back; her lead character regrooved at Round Hill Hotel & Villas in Montego Bay. Indeed, to enjoy Jamaica, it helps to bring a sense of adventure, and toss out your day planner.
The first day, I find myself housed in a seven-room royal villa at the Half Moon Golf, Tennis & Beach Club, just outside Montego Bay. The villa has its own pool, not to mention a butler, cook and room attendant. I quickly make friends with my villa-mates. A good idea—we’ll be sharing the common living and dining rooms.
The Half Moon campus is sprawling—400 acres spread along the northern beach (Cuba-facing) side of the island. There are 53 pools and 419 rooms. The villas are a mile and a half from the lobby. Because of the distance, our villa is allotted two golf carts. The American mindset: Grouse about traveling a mile and a half for lunch. The wiser, Jamaican outlook: “Irie (cool), mon—we get to use golf carts.”
The nearby Rose Hall Plantation Great House—country singing legend Johnny Cash has a home nearby—is a fascinating stop. The 18th-century Great House was home to Annie Palmer, the “White Witch.” Annie oversaw the torture and degradation of hundreds of slaves. She also killed three husbands—one by poison, one by stabbing and another by pouring boiling oil in his ear as he slept. Annie’s legend lives on—though hardly anybody seems to miss her.
Before leaving Montego Bay, I made the requisite stop at the Hip Strip, akin to San Diego’s Gaslamp Quarter. The main tourist draw here is Jimmy Buffet’s Margaritaville bar and restaurant. Be forewarned: Jamaican nightlife doesn’t kick in until about midnight and lasts well into the morning.
It’s about an hour-and-a-half drive from Montego Bay to Negril. On the way, our sly tour guide has our group make an unscheduled stop at Chukka Blue Adventure Tours. We do a horseback ride-and-swim. Riding horses that go neck-high in the surf is awesome. Just overlook the occasional patches of pony flotsam.
There’s been no national census on Jamaica. But the estimated population of Montego Bay (82,000) dwarfs Negril’s (4,100). By comparison, Kingston is home to nearly a million.
Tiny Negril is home to a gorgeous boutique hotel called The Caves. I didn’t stay here—but you should. Located on the westernmost tip of Jamaica, the property literally sits atop a maze of natural caves, with Caribbean seawater flowing in and out. Thirty-foot cliff dives can be safely braved. There are just a dozen rooms in this unique, fashionable and pricey property. Each room is different. All have sea views—except two, which are adjacent to caves that lead underground and right out to the sea.
After a tour of The Caves, we stopped for dinner at a restaurant-hotel called Rockhouse. So taken were we with the cliff-side ambience and the property’s owners, we nearly stayed all night. Rockhouse’s thatched-roof villas are more in line with a budget.
Negril is home to a stunning beach. Area hotels include Negril Cabins, Hedonism II (’nuff said), Sandals and Grand Lido Negril. The posh Grand Lido offers a fantastic, fancy dinner party—barbecued lobster is served at the buffet—capped by live singing and dancing.
Near the end of a week-long two-city tour, it seemed sacrilege to leave Jamaica before making a pilgrimage to the Appleton Rum Factory. It’s a long drive—two hours from Negril. But rum is a major export, and plays a big role in the history of the country. And besides, learning about a country’s economic history is always more palatable served with 17 different product samples. Yeh, mon. Dat’s a good story, too.
If You Go
Air Jamaica flies nonstop from Los Angeles International Airport to Sangster International Airport in Montego Bay. A round-trip fight is $672. For reservations, call 800-523-5585. At the Half Moon Golf, Tennis & Beach Club, one night in a royal suite is $495; call 800-626-0592. For more information about Jamaican hotels and activities, call the Los Angeles office of the Jamaican Tourist Board, 213-384-1780.
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