Yoga Center Trip April 2004 - Part 5
February 2, 2005
Tuesday 4/20/2004
It was becoming a routine for me, up before dawn, ganja with the sunrise. Since I missed two of the last four sunsets, I found myself falling in love with morning in Negril. Sitting quietly, eyes closed and senses tuned. I can hear distant waves gently washing the beach, a rooster is very serious about waking the entire neighborhood, another in the distance does the same. The sweetness of the garden calls to the Doctor Birds, like beautiful Jamaica herself called to sailors and pirates alike in centuries past.
The road gets busier as the sun rises. Cars race in and out of town, while voices sing their melodious patios. It’s going to rain today. Big fluffy clouds float in on the breeze, and the garden seems to raise it collective countenance skyward in way of acceptance.
How cool is it to be in Negril on 4/20. I realized this early and planned to make it a true 420 kind of day.
I began breakfast alone about 8AM, but by the time I was finished the breakfast table was full. We were becoming quite the happy little group. I tried to explain the concept of 420 to a Canadian, a French-Moroccan, and an aging non-conformist, agrarian tile artist, but to no avail. We moved to a discussion of doing something together one night. Alfred’s Beach Party Extravaganza looked like a lot of fun, so we decided to go there together Wednesday night. Teach everyone in Negril how the yoga-folk get down!
I had a brochure from some tour company promising fun and frivolity at Black River for about $60US. Yasmine liked the idea of a Black River trip and agreed to come along. She read my brochure then showed me her “Lonely Planet Guide to Jamaica”, which had a less organized way of visiting Black River, It sounded great! Take a route taxi from Negril to Savanna-La Mar, another to Black River, then find a guide to take us up river in a small fishing boat. Alan explained the way route taxis worked and about what it should cost us. I was way excited! The idea of traveling by route taxi fit with my idea for this trip, a more “authentic” Jamaican experience. Not to mention that I would be spending the day with the lovely Yasmine. I told her about Tedd’s Shroom Boom, she was non-committal, but I was hopeful, I’m always hopeful.
With my social calendar quickly filling up I figured it was a good time to hit the beach to get some photos. An original trip parameter was to get pictures of as many hotels and landmarks as possible, and I was falling woefully behind. Walking up the beach I was surprised to see the T-Water Beach Resort closed and abandoned. I snapped away with my camera and my mind raced to think up scenarios of how I could put a group together to buy this place. I’d call it “Vinny’s - One Particular Harbor,” and then I’d have to hire a roomful of lawyers to fight Jimmy Buffet when he sues me for copyright infringement.
I got an hour’s worth of good pitures and I landed a few doors down from Kuyaba. I’d told my friends there I’d stop by this morning to see what they had planned for the next few days. A feeling of trepidation came over me as I walked across the beach. I’d gotten pretty loose the other night, (ok, sloppy even) and I really hoped I didn’t step on any toes or worse, grab any asses!
No sooner did I enter the Kuyaba grounds did I see Patty and Erin sitting on their porch. They were surprised to see me. They actually thought they’d scared me off! HA! Scare me off? My trepidation dissipated.
The plan for the day was a trip to Rick’s about three-ish. Every trip to Negril seems to include a night at Rick’s, I know its touristy joint with all them All-Inclusive busses lined up in the yard, but I still like it. I consider it a Negrilian guilty pleasure.
The thunderheads that had been building all morning finally they let go, and the torrential downpour that ensued washed clean the thin veil of dust that seemed to cover everything. It was so tropical-y like, and stuff. I sat in the safety of Kuyaba’s cottage porch, as big fat raindrops pounded man and nature. About a Red Stripe later, the rain stopped and the ladies went off to do some shopping. I headed back to the Yoga Center.
After a nap in the after-rain cool I strolled into town to check my email. More to unclog my mailbox spam, than to communicate with the strange world to the north, but as I looked at eight hundred plus messages, It felt like a giant hand from the “Real World” was reaching out from the monitor to snatch my soul and drag it back to the land of schedules, appointments and phone calls. I logged off and almost ran out of the place.
Promptly at 3 o’clock I arrived at Kuyaba, and in true Jamaican fashion the taxi was soon come. This was fine because the others hadn’t returned and it gave us time for a round of Red Stripes. I tried to recruit them in my 420 concept too, they understood the meaning, but didn’t indulge in the action. The diver showed about 3:20 and we waited for the rest of the crew. After about ten minutes, Erin decided just to leave a note, but couldn’t find pen or paper so we just left our three empty Red Stripe bottles in front of Meg’s door as a clue. All the way to Ricks we devised a plan to bar hop all around the West End leaving only three Red Stripe bottles as clues to our whereabouts. We dubbed ourselves “The Three Red Stripe Crew,” but by the time we finished our first round our friends arrived foiling our plans.
Ricks was fun, isn’t it always? As the sun sank deeper in the western sky the crowd thickened, and the nightly party began. By the time “The Wild Thing” entered Rick’s tiny cove the party was in full swing. We drank, and drank some more, danced and danced some more. I had a feeling I should try diving from the highest cliff, so I sat down, had another beer and waited fot that feeling to go away. Again, as before with the Kuyaba Party Animals, the hours flew by and twenty blurry photos later, it was dark and we headed back to Kuyaba for dinner.
Kuyaba has a great bar, swinging hammock style bar stools that were only uncomfortable if you were sober, which if you sat very long, you wouldn’t be. Kuyaba also has a top-notch restaurant, a diverse menu with good prices. It’s situated right on the beach, open-aired, with an almost Polynesian flavor. About eight or ten of us sat at a large table and enjoyed each other’s company. We were being much more civilized than we had been a few days earlier, and a good time was had by all.
I returned to the Yoga Center around 11PM to find Alan and Yasmine still up and discussing some form of intellectual pursuit. I joined them and we began to talk about this morning’s rain storm. They told me how the holes throughout the garden filled with water and the giant crabs that lived in them came scampering out and were running all over the place.
“Sure, make fun of the drunken guy.” I laughed, not believing them. They laughed even more at my insistence they were putting me on. “They’re mongoose holes!” I declared, which made them laugh all the harder.
“The Yoga Center is like a sanctuary for giant crabs, no one hunts them here so they can grow very big.” Alan explained.
“Why would we lie to you?” Yasmine asked innocently.
“If I was sitting here minding my own business and giant crabs came running from everywhere? Oh my God! I’d climb up on the table and start screaming like a little girl!!” I must have said with a terrified look on my face because they both thought that was hilarious!
“I still refuse to believe you!” I pouted and retreated back to my cottage.
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