Oracabessa, Jamaica

When I realized that Noel Coward's Estate, Firefly, which is now a museum operated by the National Trust, would not be open on Sunday (tomorrow), we quickly stopped everything we were doing (the blog for me and engine work for Peter) and yelled over to Gabor and Isolde, the German/Canadian couple on the steel boat Kestrel, whom we met at Errol Flynn Marina, to see if they wanted to go exploring with us. Fifteen minutes later, they rowed over in their dinghy and picked us up and we went to the dock on the beach. From there, we walked up to the main road and found a taxi.

The taxi driver, surprisingly, was unfamiliar with our destination, but with the help of Google Maps on my phone, mapme.com on Isolde's phone and advise the driver got from men along the road whom he stopped to consult, we made it along the coast and up the broken up road to the estate. The only visitors at that time, we were greeted by a friendly female guide who walked us to the main house, around the estate and back to the building from the 1600's that was the home for Henry Morgan, which Coward used to house some of his staff.

The main home is small, with a studio for Coward, who was an amateur painter, where some of his artwork was on display as well as photographs of various movie stars and celebrities visiting him at his mountain retreat. The table on the paved patio between the studio and the living quarters was set as it was when the Queen Mother visited decades ago. The living room has a large corner window with an expansive L-shaped window seat providing light and wonderful views of the grounds, the town and harbour of Port Maria, the Blue Mountains and the cliffs dropping down along the coast to meet the crashing waves of the Caribbean. Here there were many individual studio photographs of movie stars, most of them arranged on top of the large piano. In addition to being a noted playwright, Coward was an actor, composer, and singer, so he held small private parties here. Off the living room was a small butler's pantry, where meals that were prepared at and transported from his property nearer the coast, Blue Harbour, were reheated and plated three times a day.

At the top of a simple but elegant wooden stairway is his study, where he wrote. The entire eastern wall is covered by a tarp which, when raised, reveals the large swimming pool (now covered over) just below and the grounds and provides the same panoramic view as the living room. It is an inspirational spot. Adjacent to his study is his modest bedroom, with a large four-poster bed, some bookshelves and paintings. Behind the bedroom is the tiled bathroom and the large walk-in closet.

After walking across the grounds, to the statue of Coward--seated and smoking a cigarette while he enjoys the view--and to his grave, we came back to Morgan's house. The guide called a taxi for us, and we enjoyed the beauty of the surroundings and conversation while we waited for a half hour or so.

Noel Coward's painting studio at Firefly

Dining table set for the Queen Mother

Peter, Isolde and Gabor

Firefly's living room 

Piano in the living room

Butler's pantry 

Part of the garden 

Raindrops on a lovely flower

View from the living room

Coward's desk in his study

Coward's bed and two of his paintings

Statue of Noel Coward

Henry Morgan's 17th century house

Grounds with Coward's grave on the right

Our driver took us back to Oracabessa by a different and better maintained route and dropped us off near the western end of town. We meandered along the sidewalks and main street, where there were many produce vendors, barber shops, wholesale/retail stores and hardwares. We stopped for ice cream a one of the grocery stores and also sampled and bought some fruit, including one we hadn't encountered before, naseberry. Although Port Antonio had been recommended to us as "authentic," we found Oracabessa much more "real."

Barber shop and street vendors, Oracabessa 

Colorful wholesale store, grocery and bar

Loopy electrical wiring

Since Isolde and Gabor had visited our boat for drinks and snacks yesterday evening, they reciprocated and we joined them for beer and pretzels on their vessel, exchanging stories and information about our sailing adventures and our children, before returning to Mantra for the night.

When I abruptly ended the last post, I was about ready to provide some historical background about Oracabessa and James Phillippo. When this dedicated missionary arrived in Jamaica in 1823, white plantation owners forbade preaching of the Bible and religion to the more than 300,000 slaves on the island, who were not allowed to practice any religion. Despite this, he built places of worship for and preached to the slaves. In the 1830s, along with fellow missionary Thomas Burchell, Phillippo developed a system of Free Villages for emancipated slaves. These individuals were not allowed to own property, but Burchell and Phillippo acquired land (through agents, since the owners would not have sold to them) where these freemen could build houses free from the threat of eviction that they suffered from estate owners. Phillippo created new chapels in the villages and established Sunday schools and academic schools and also organized the training of teachers. The first Free Village was Sligoville, established in 1835, followed by Sandy Bay and Oracabessa.

It is interesting that we actually did not see any churches except for one for Jehovah Witnesses when we walked along the main street of Oracabessa.

NOT in Port Antonio! Anchored in Oracabessa Bay, Jamaica

On Thursday, March 28, we began our escape from Port Antonio at 11 a.m., as our friends Carla, Joe and Ethan helped us cast of the dock. We only went from the West Harbour to the East Harbour, where we dropped anchor as far away from the town's shore as possible. While it wasn't quiet in East Harbour, it wasn't obnoxiously loud. The anchorage was open to the north swells, so we were rocking and rolling a little, but the much lower decibal level made it worth it.

Peaceful Oracabessa Bay

The next morning in the rain, we pulled up anchor before 9 a.m. and began our journey west along the north coast of Jamaica. Winds were light and the sea was a bit sloppy, but we happily motor-sailed along until we reached the small anchorage of Oracabessa Bay. Hidden behind the palms and other trees just east of town are villas of the rich and famous. Perhaps the most famous is Goldeneye (off our port side). This villa was built and owned by Ian Fleming, who purchased 15 acres along the coast in 1946. He negotiated to spend three months a year here while still employed as Foreign Manager for the British Sunday Times, and it was at his Jamaican home that he wrote the first and subsequent James Bond novels. The first, Casino Royale, was written in two months in 1952 and published in 1953. Later, a number of Bond movies, including Dr. No and Live and Let Die were filmed on the estate and in the surrounding area.

Fleming died in 1964, and in 1976, the Jamaican property was sold to Jamaican musician Bob Marley, who then sold it to his producer Chris Blackwell (credited with introducing the world to reggae and ska) a year later. The estate has hosted many celebrities. According to Wikipedia, while owned by Fleming, the property was popular with Hollywood stars and British literary greats as well as aristocrats and foreign heads of state, including Errol Flynn, Lucian Freud, Truman Capote, Princess Margaret and Prime Minister Anthony Eden. With Blackwell as owner, the estate has been a vacation spot for other celebreties, including Grace Jones, Bono, Naomi Campbell, Michael Caine, Pierce Brosnan, Harrison Ford, Johnny Depp, Kate Moss and Richard Branson. Sting wrote "Every Breath You Take" at Fleming's writing desk while vacationing on the estate in 1982.

Blackwell has roots in Jamaica dating from British colonial times. His father Joseph was from the family famous since the early 18th century for the Crosse and Blackwell brand, and his mother, Blanche Lindo Blackwell, was a Costa Rican born Jamaican heiress whose ancestors made their fortune in the rum and sugarcane industries in Jamaica in the 18th century. (The fortune was later lost, but the family recovered financially with bananas from Costa Rica.) Blanche grew up in Jamaica and lived there much of her life on the island, where she became a muse for Noel Coward and a muse and mistress for Ian Fleming. Chris Blackwell also spent his childhood and much of his life in Jamaica, which explains his deep connection to the music.

Noel Coward's estate is ten miles away. The British playwright fell in love with Jamaica while visiting Fleming in 1948 and decided to buy coastal property for himself. His first Jamaican home was named Blue Harbour, but he found that it was too busy and crowded with guests for him to work, so, in 1956, he purchased land above it and built a small home which he named Firefly. This piece of property was originally owned by the famous pirate and one-time governor of Jamaica, Henry Morgan. Firefly fell into disrepair after Coward's death, but it was purchased and restored by Chris Blackwell.

Like Goldeneye, Firefly had numerous famous guests, including the Queen Mother and Queen Elizabeth II, Sir Winston Churchill, Sir Laurence Olivier, Sophia Lauren, Elizabeth Tayler, Sir Alec Guinness, Peter O'Tolle, Richard Burton as well as neighbors Errol Flynn, Ian Fleming and Ruth Bryan Owen.

The name Ruth Bryan Owen probably does not trigger recognition. However, she was the daughter of one of the richest men in America at the time, the attorney William Jennings Bryan, and was also the first female U.S. ambassador. In her twenties, married to her second husband, a British Army officer, she was deeply moved by the story of James Phillippo, a British Baptist missionary who arrived in Jamaica in 1834 and is famous for fighting for the right of emancipated slaves to purchase land and develop their own settlements, the first of which was Oracabessa. Inn 1910, Owen persuaded her husband to accept a commision to Jamaica so that she could build on Phillippo's work. Her husband oversaw the building of schools and roads and she encouraged the residents of the area to develop their skills as artisans, painters and carvers. This allowed them to achieve econonic sustainability, particularly since she was able to use her connections to the upper class in the U.S. to market their work.

While residing in Oracabessa, Owen built a neoclassical mansion she named Golden Clouds, which is located along the coast between Goldeneye and Firefly. The interconnections between all of these is amazing. She purchased the property from Chris Blackwell's grandfather, Percival Henriques Lindo, whose family owned vast amounts of land as well as the famous J. Wray and Nephew Ltd. distillery. Of course, she also entertained famous people, including Charlie Chaplin, Clark Gable and Carole Lombard.

Golden Clouds is now owned (and operated as a resort) by the Canadian entrepeneur, software developer and author Colin Simpson, who just happens to be the great-great grandson of abolitionist James Phillippo!

We are off to explore on land now, so more later.

Peter is back!

Peter has returned from England, and we are planning our escape from the Errol Flynn Marina and Port Antonio! We will be heading west along the north coast of Jamaica toward Montego Bay. While he was gone, I had to run the generator and keep an eye on things in his domain, the engine room.  Not my job, but I pretended to be ok with it.

Sherri in the engine room

During the last couple of days, I have spent a lot of my abundant spare time with Carla, Joe and Ethan. Ethan likes to have "private time" (He tells Carla.) with me. He visits me on Mantra to play games such as chess and War. We have also enjoyed making boats from leaves and sticks at the frog pond near the pool.

Ethan with some of his boats

Later, mon!

More Non-Adventures in Port Antonio

Another couple of days have passed, and there is not much news from here. Last night the "music" was so loud that I finally had to close all the durades and hatches, forfeiting the nice breeze from outside. The difference was amazing; I could barely hear any noise from outside, so I guess I must totally close up the boat every night from now on.

Boats come and go from the marina, and I watch the arrivals and departures and greet the new people if I pass them on the dock or see them at the poolside restaurant. A couple of days ago, I started chatting with a woman by the pool, and we soon realized that we are from the same place! Carla, her husband Joe and their grandson, whom they have adopted, Ethan, live in the foothills just east of us in California. Even more amazing, Joe worked at Intel in Folsom also and remembers Peter! Over the past couple of days, she and I have spent quite a few hours together and have learned so much about each others' lives, families and adventures, including things that we usually wouldn't discuss with perfect strangers after only a day or two of acquaintance! This probably indicates something about our compatibility but probably says even more about how much I, at least, have missed having anyone to talk with.

On my own on the boat, in addition to Spanish lessons, reading and solitaire, I amuse myself in small ways. I have exhausted the entertainment value of finding all the cashews in the large jar of mixed nuts from Costco since I consumed the last of them this morning. The last two days, I have sat for a while on the swim platform and thrown wadded up pieces of stale bread into the water to attract sargeant majors (the fish, not hunky military guys) and then attempted to take photograph them.  Here are the best of the bunch:

Sergeant majors competing for food

Sergeant majors, part of the rudder in the water on the left and reflections of me and the sky on the surface

STILL in Port Antonio

Not much new here. The political campaigns continue unabated. There are two candidates for a seat in the Jamaican parliament, but the frequency and volume of the endorsements for one predominate. Ann Marie Vas, whose husband is already a member of parliament from the adjacent district (Do they not live together? Maybe you don't have maintain your primary residency in the district you propose to represent?), has organized a vocal campaign (although the scuttlebutt here is that her husband is directing everything. Have I been here too long???) Every telephone pole and post bears identical small posters displaying her face, name and campaign slogans. These can be ignored, and they are so redundant that this is easily accomplished. But the proclamations from loudspeakers mounted on top of various cars cruising the streets of Port Antonio in Portland Parish cannot be silenced despite my fervent wishes.

They call out for support of AC-tion Ann. It sounds like they are advertising a new Mattel doll.  "She can hit; she can kick; she can throw around her money and political clout!" She may be a worthy companion for GI Joe. (Is he still around?) The voices rise in excitement and then become strident and bellicose. Personally, I am ready to take on AC-tion Ann and smother her noise pollution. Were I in a position to vote, I would vote for anyone but her if only because I am so annoyed by her unbelievably loud campaign. But maybe this is what Jamaicans respond to?

Notwithstanding the noise from the land, it has been quiet here at the marina for the past two days. Both the boats with large French families departed Monday afternoon after spending hours in the pool and beside the pool before going their separate ways. It was very nice of them to include them in their fun and games.

Some of the French kids in the pool

Zelie in my sunglasses

Eight of the eleven kids (from two families) watching Disney cartoons on my computer

The highlight of yesterday was running the generator! I closed up all the hatches and durades and used the air conditioner to reduce the temperature from 87 (actually, it didn't seem that hot) to 73 degrees while charging the batteries. I kept the boat closed up all night, so if there was noise, it didn't bother me, and there were no mosquitoes. The two previous nights, a couple sneaked in. After the din from shore had ceased and I was falling asleep, I heard that annoying hum by my ear and slapped the side of my head so hard I was wide awake again. But at least the mosquito was dead!

I pass the days studying Spanish for a few hours, reading novels and playing solitaire. I make myself one meal a day because I'm not that hungry and supplement this with an order of French fries at the poolside restaurant each day, where I go for a change of venue. About every two or three days, I take a small walk about town to get away from the boat and the pool. And so it goes. . . .

Sunset from Errol Flynn Marina

Port Antonio, Jamaica: Part 4

On Sunday morning (March 10), the four of us set off for another day of sight-seeing and adventure. This time we headed west out of Port Antonio and found that the highway was in much better condition than the one to the east. We drove along the coast to Buff Bay and then turned south for the mountains, specifically the Blue and John Crow Mountains National Park. Soon, we found the road crossing burbling streams. Waterfalls splashed down cliffs nestled in the foliage by the road. Flame trees, with their extravagant red flowers, stood out among the dense green foliage. The steep hillsides were often cultivated in bananas or coffee. When we stopped to admire a stream, a man ran out from a building partly obscured by the trees and shrubs and offered to guide us or sell us coffee. Enis, as had happened a couple times the day before, was asked discreetly to sniff a baggy full of the local weed to consider purchase. Enis obviously looks the most like a stoner among the four of us because Ula, Peter and I were never approached.

View looking down from a bridge 

Colorful shop on the mountain road, closed on Sunday morning 

Small waterfall

View from Blue Mountain Cafe

Peter, Enis and Ula on the veranda of the cafe

Tropical flowers and flame tree

Coffee beans

At about 4000 feet elevation, we came to the Blue Mountain Cafe, where five male bicyclists were taking a short break from their ascent from sea level to a crest at 6000 feet. They didn't even look winded! We stopped just to admire the panorama and take photographs. Ula and Peter had cups of coffee, and we arranged to stop back for lunch on our way back down the mountain. The winding road steadily twisted and climbed as we left behind cultivated land and entered the jungle. We caught up with the bicyclists at a three-way junction, took some more photographs and drove a bit farther up, but the road was getting more rough and the scenery was changing, so we began our descent after traveling a couple of more miles.

Another view from the cafe

Unidentified flowers

Coffee and Jamaican apple at the cafe

Banana flowers and fruit

Hibiscus picked up from beside the road

I had a vegetarian meal and the other three had the same food accompanied by fried chicken. The old chef presented his creations with flair and pride. The helpings were enormous, but we were hungry! We were the only customers again.

Back along the coast, Ula and Enis requested a stop at a produce stand, and right away, like magic, a colorful display appeared by a wide place in the road. The vendor provided us with samples of some the fruit.  The Jamaican apple is shaped like a pear but has a bright red skin and a pure white interior. Its texture is something between a pear and a Macintosh apple, and it is mildly sweet. The Jamaican star apple is the color of an eggplant. When cut in half, the fruit has some resemblance to a star. The way to eat it is to suck out the purplish pulp and the white slimy juice and spit out the seeds. In some ways, it resembles a fig, and after eating it, your lips feel slightly puckered and sensitive. The vendor deftly cut up a pineapple for us to purchase, and we also bought one intact as well as the delicious smaller tropical bananas, some Jamaican apples and Jamaican star apples.

Roadside stand

Jamaican star apple

Vendor artfully cutting a small pineapple

Back at the marina, we met up with Gail and Peter from S/V Pega, whom we had raced down from Great Inagua a few days before. (We got in two hours before them, having sailed all the way!) We planned to go to dinner, but first we had to find the town of Drapers east of Port Antonio and the bar that was hosting Vinyl Sunday reggae music. We got pointed in the right direction and stopped a couple of times to ask people hanging out by the road for confirmation. When we found it, there was no doubt that we were there. The dark bar was dimly lit with disco style lights, and on the porch was the DJ and a tower of amplifiers and loudspeakers. Although it was supposed to start at 6 p.m., we were obviously early as the popular place was pretty deserted. We climbed the porch steps and entered the bar, wide-eyed, then signaled to each other to go back outside as verbal communication of any kind was impossible. We had been told that Vinyl Sunday was a true Jamaican experience, and it certainly was an experience, but shouting futilely at each other while sustaining damage to our ears did not seem to any of us to be a good idea, so we left as soon as we took a quick photograph to mark the occasion.

Ula, Enis, Pete, Gail and Peter getting ready to escape from Drapers Bar

Gail and Pete had eaten previously at the place we had passed by on Friday evening and had liked it, so the six of us went there for dinner. First, we talked with and admired (but did not purchase) the work of a prolific woodcarver before finding a comfortable, inviting place to sit and ordering our food at the windows of the two separate windows. Then we talked about boats and life in general while we patiently waited for our meals. (Patience is required at all restaurants here.)

Wood carvings

Afterwards, we returned to our boat, where Enis mixed Bahamian rum with Jamaican fruit juices for cocktails, and Ula cut up some of the fresh fruit. (It is like being a pampered guest on my own boat when they are on board.)

At 6 a.m. the next morning (Monday, March 11), Enis and Ula caught the express bus from here to the Montego Bay airport, a four and a half hour trip. Because of flight delays, they had a bit of time to explore Montego Bay. Peter got the boat ready for his absence and made a few last arrangements for his two week vacation in England, and I did laundry, cleaned and cooked meals for the first time in a couple of weeks. It was Peter's 62nd birthday, but we didn't do anything special. I guess his trip to England and his abandonment of me is his birthday gift!

He caught the bus at the same time on Tuesday morning, and I went back to bed. That afternoon, I played with some of the French kids in the pool and chatted with the parents.

Zelie, Soizic, Augustine and Mederic

The next day, I wandered around town a little bit, taking photos of interesting structures. I discovered fruit and vegetable stands tucked away in an alley off West Street in an area called Musgrave Market. The vendors were all women. One shared some delicious jack fruit with me, but I had to explain that I couldn't purchase anything that day because I already had provisions on my boat. West Street seems to be more prosperous and well-maintained than some other areas of town, but poverty peeks out everywhere.

Colonial era building, still well-maintained

West Street

It doesn't get any brighter than this!

Women buying produce on West Street 

Musgrave Market 

Uniformed school children playing in a park by the marina

West Street 

Another side of Port Antonio.  Is it an appliance store or a peanut shop?

Anglican Church

Anglican Church interior

Yesterday afternoon, I walked around a bit more and found the large Anglican Church open.

The weather is lovely here and the noise level is not. Everyone is friendly, but there is not much to keep me occupied. I chat with people by the pool sometimes, but the days stretch out before me. Some days I take a short walk in the area of the city near the marina.

A dive boat operates out of the marina, and I went on a two-dive excursion on Friday. Both dives were in marine conservation areas. The first was at Alligator Reef, and we dove to 60 feet. It was a drift dive over rows of reefs separated by deeper sandy bottoms. My vest was too loose and my tank kept shifting toward my right. In trying to re-center it, I accidentally released my weight belt. Fortunately, I was quite near the divemaster, who was spooling out a string to a float at the surface, and I was able to tug on the string to get her attention. I slowly ascended, and she and her husband/partner retrieved my belt. She brought it back to the surface, I put it back on and we were able to continue the dive.

Equipment was changed out for me during the interval on the boat between dives, which we passed by relaxing in lovely Blue Lagoon, and the second dive just outside the reef of the lagoon, down to 45 feet, went much more smoothly.  On both dives, the divemaster pointed out fairly well camouflaged, sandy-colored crabs. They had globular bodies, like inflated balls, about two feet in diameter and enormous claws. The barrel sponges were the size of very large trash cans and came in a wide variety of colors. It would almost have been possible to slip entirely down into one. Large spiny lobsters abounded in the crevices and under the ledges. We found a few invasive lionfish, but the divemaster's partner was there to hunt them with his spear gun. Visibility was excellent, at least 75 feet, so it was a very successful dive trip.

While I was waiting for the divemaster to show up at the pool--she was late because traffic was at a near stand-still due to both political parties hosting large, competing marches--I read a novel, until I was forced to go into the office to escape the highest level of decibals I have been subjected to so far. Both candidates (from blocks away) were broadcasting their speeches from loudspeakers on top of cars, and the volume reverberated off the marina building and was causing the plastic tables and chairs to shake!

It's after 7 p.m. now, and the various sources of noise are starting to compete again, and I need to close up the companionway to keep out the mosquitoes and no-see-ums. I still have another eight days here before Peter returns from England, where he is having a wonderful time with many friends.