My wife and I went back to Jamaica last week. We took a
direct non stop flight from Vancouver that had us in Montego Bay only six hours
after our seven AM departure. The photo at the head of this story is the scene
behind my pot dealer’s shack proving that even the poor in Jamaica have
beautiful views. The stop at the road side shack was the first one that we made
after picking up our rental car from the Montego Bay airport. The car had four
bald tires, torn upholstery, missing hub caps and a smashed dashboard. The
steering wheel was on the wrong side of the car and due to a defective neutral
switch the car only started after several tries. That will teach me to use a
cut rate rent a car outfit in order to save a hundred bucks. Nevertheless we
arrived at our hotel without problem two hours later in time for a walk along
Negril’s seven mile stretch of beach before dinner. The next day we treated
ourselves to a beach side massage under some palm trees. A few hours later we
drove from our hotel on the beach to the small town of Negril and then to Rick’s
Café at the west end of the island. Rick’s Café has been a landmark in Negril
since the early seventies when it was started by some expatriated American
hippies who were rumoured to be involved in the ganga trade. Everyone who is
successful in Jamaica is rumoured to be involved in the ganga trade. When
Rick’s thatched roof bar first popped up like a magic mushroom from the ground
it was a paragon of laid back hedonism with nude swimming in the ocean-side grotto
and weed smoking everywhere. High Diving from the cliffs was allowed at your
own risk and there were no lifeguards. The owners of Rick’s Café accessed their
private living quarters to the side of the business by walking along a plank
laid across an opening at the top of the grotto thus showing a disregard for
their own safety that exceeded any disregard for the safety of their patrons
who regularly flung themselves from the grotto’s highest perches into the ocean.
Today all that has changed. Compared to what it once was Rick’s Café is
downright elegant with a beautiful bar and restaurant rebuilt after the last
hurricane. A new swimming pool has been added to the property with decadent in-pool
dining and luxurious lounging chairs and gazebos. No one is swimming nude or smoking
weed at Rick’s anymore probably because ninety per cent of the patrons are well
heeled tourists from tour buses whisking in for brunch or sunset on the cliffs.
The tourists are chasing a dream of unfettered hedonism that Rick’s once
offered but that freedom is gone now replaced by material opulence. The view is
still the same. The sun still sets like an orange ball on the ocean creating
splendid sunsets. The sound system still pumps out a reggae beat that
obliterates the sound of the waves crashing against rock cliffs. But I miss the
old Rick’s that was run by hippies who have no doubt grown into accomplished
business men and who have since honed their hippy retreat into a posh country
club for the rich. We had a great time at pool side with a warm lunch and bar drinks
while realizing that we are the very fat cats that Rick’s Café has evolved into
attracting. Rick’s has changed the same way that the rest of Jamaica shows
change. The highway from Montego Bay has been modernized and straightened by-passing
many of the road side stands and businesses along the way. Cell phones are
everywhere and even the poorest of Jamaicans seems to own one. Banks and banking
machines are easily accessible and black market money changers are surprisingly
absent. Jamaican weed is still excellent but good weed is no longer a rarity in
the modern world. There are still some things that are still the same in
Jamaica. The warm sun. The white sand. The tepid water. The slow pace of life
and the friendly people. When only a week or two of vacation time is available
it is comforting to know that I can always count on Jamaica as a one or two week
prescription to overwork and fatigue.
Jay Carter Brown
