From Mo-Bay to Treasure Beach ...

It’s hard to believe, but Villa Hikaru is even better than I’d imagined.

We arrived at Montego Bay airport around noon yesterday local time (Jamaica is Eastern time, but they don’t do daylight savings time). The airport is underwhelming, hot and crowded. Much smaller than I’d imagined. But we moved through customs with no problems, found our bags and then tracked down Omar, whom we’d hired to take us on the 2 ½ hour drive to Treasure Beach and Hikaru.

But first we had to find a way to fit our bags in Omar’s woofer-infested trunk. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that much speaker packed in such a small space. But after some finagling, he got the bags in and we set off.

Montego Bay’s roads and drivers remind me a lot of Mexico. Everyone goes fast. The roads take inexplicable turns and jags, and folks negotiate by dead reckoning and an undying faith that there is enough room to squeeze past that guy on the bicycle, the stray cow and the oncoming Toyota van at 60 mph.

Our first stop was at a small store owned by a smiling Indian. In no time, he had three boxes of Cuban cigars sitting on the counter in front of me. I opted for a box of Cohibas, Lara grabbed a six-pack of Red Stripe and we were back on the road.

The Red Stripe probably was a bad idea, in retrospect. I had already had A Few Bloody Marys on the plane, and it didn’t take long to down a few of the beers. I seldom have more than a few glasses of wine at a sitting these days. The heat and the alcohol started to unclench the knot in my back. Which is good. But it also filled my bladder, forcing us to ask Omar to make a few pit stops along the way. Omar obliged. He’s a good driver, feeling no need to pass everything ahead of him at all costs. I couldn’t tell if he was driving this way to spare his suspension on the pocked roads, spare the two fat white people in the back seat or a little of both. He’s quite but flashes a quick smile and friendly laugh as we careen toward Treasure Beach.

Our first stop was a roadside shack, where we bought jerk chicken for three and four more Red Stripes for about $500 Jamaican dollars (about 10 bucks U.S.) We ate it as we bounced down the road.

The scenery on the way in was impressive. We went up over the mountain and through a lot of small villages. The people were clearly very poor, but they seemed to get by OK. There were lots of roadside stands selling fruits and vegetables. Many of the small frame homes we passed had porches packed with people watching the world go by. Estates were perched high up in the hills above Mo-Bay. Omar stopped at one point to get a coconut to take home after he dropped us off, and we also stopped at some roadside vendors and bought a few bags of plums on our behalf. Had those for breakfast this morning. Delicious. Small and firm with a tough skin, and the pit is oddly similar to the pit of a mango.

Our arrival at Hikaru was like a homecoming. Miss Joyce, the housekeeper, welcomed us with open arms and explained various idiosyncrasies of the house. It’s beautiful. Hikaru is U-shaped, with an open patio facing the ocean. Each of the four bedrooms opens out onto the patio, and the main dining area and kitchen are tucked in the middle. It’s a wide-open floor plan that seems to catch the ocean breeze as it moves landward.

Mr. Valnie, the groundskeeper, showed us the grounds, including a lap pool, beautiful bougainvilleas and several great spaces to relax and read. He also took us on a quick tour of the beach, showing us where the surfing area is and warning us which points to avoid. He has a great respect for the ocean, which I share. I will be heeding his warnings about undertows and hidden reefs. Mr. Valnie’s language is poetic, sprinkled with metaphors and similes punctuated by a confident, knowing smile.

I guess I realized this is the perfect place to unwind last night after our dinner of lobster salad and fresh pineapple. Lara and I were counting the lizards on the ceiling of the patio, a full moon rushing in to highlight the lizards’ fitful movements. The tide fills me with noise whiter than the moonlight. My mind unclenches. Each breath is a pleasant hit of salt-air and flowers. I slip into “vacation mode.” This morning I am awakened by a rooster laughing at the sunrise.

Strange scenes:

-- As we exited the airport, a large flatbed was bass-bouncing through the parking lot, packed with speakers and beautiful women wearing ‘70s-style afros and shouting out to Mo-Bay to tune in to their radio station.

-- Driving on the left freaks me out. Omar is a good driver. But occasionally we’d come to an intersection and I’d forget that we were supposed to be on the left instead of the right. I remember having the same problem in England. I really had to think before I stepped into the street to cross. I kept wanting to look the wrong way for the double-decker bus that was about to mow me down.

-- As much as I love dogs, barking makes me crazy. It’s one of my peeves, and it drives me to distraction when a dog is endlessly yapping for no apparent reason. And this served as a relaxation barometer. Last night in the surf and moonlight, there were constant spurts of barbaric yaps sounding through the hills. And it didn’t faze me. In fact, it was kinda cool. We could hear occasional sounds from the village wash in with the surf. The bass-beat of a car stereo (probably Omar). Roosters. The pig next store. My Zen mind was finally emerging from the daily rut . . .

-- Bottom’s up: I drank more than I usually do yesterday, starting with bloody Mary’s, then switching to Red Stripe, then Appleton dark rum. At one point I started thinking about it. Why? Then I realized that I had used the booze to force my mind and body into a lower gear, to slip into vacation mode. Once I was there, I switched to water. It normally takes me a few days to relax on vacation. Here it had taken only a few ours, thanks to Red Stripe and the beauty of Hikaru.

Posted by Bob Benz at 11:39 AM | Comments (3)

July 11, 2003