A private beach looking down toward the big resorts.

Text and Photos
By Shari Benyousky
Guest Columnist

Day 1 – Arrival And Some Jamaican Patois Greetings

“Ya’mon! Welcome to Jamaica.” The taxi driver waiting at Sangster Airport in Montego Bay held up a sign with our names printed on it. He flashed an enormous smile with beautiful white teeth. “Where you from, mon?” He led us out to the parking lot. I wondered if this was a greeting calibrated for tourists.

In a second, I saw beaches and flowers and blue, blue, blue skies out his taxi window and I stopped caring. On the Sunday we had left Warsaw for Midway, the Warsaw roads had been covered in ice.

Houseboats flowing in the bay near Seawind On The Bay.

For $45 (or $6,840 in Jamaican dollars at the 1/152 exchange rate), the driver took us to a grocery store for supplies, drove the 15 minutes across Montego Bay, and deposited us at our Airbnb, a little Jamaican-owned resort called Seawind-On-The-Bay which was sandwiched between giant resorts with curated palms and wide, thick gates. Our yellow apartment building had bougainvillea growing over a pergola in front of our door, but bright pink petals coated the ground. “We’ve nuh had rain for months now.” The gatekeeper shook his head sadly as he handed us the keys. “Everyting looks droopy. And di wata bills are high.” It looked gorgeous to our midwestern eyes.

A walk around the grounds revealed an ocean bay view where houseboats and ocean tankers floated next to each other. I felt the heavy load of gray snow fall away under the soothing murmur of white-winged doves which cooed from palm trees and strange, bright flowers. I kept stopping to pull up my PlantNet app to take pictures. “What is THAT?!” Snake Plant, Flame of the Woods, Crown of Thorns (hey, my mom has a pot of that at home. It sure looks different here), and Mango trees.

Day 2 – The Beach, Of Course, And Some Poisonous Fish

After we used the Airbnb’s tiny kitchen to whip up some Jamaican rum-raisin muffins and eggs, we emerged into an 80-degree morning with a hint of humidity. We found the Airbnb pass for the beach and walked two minutes down the road. We arrived at one of those high iron gates, not sure what to expect. The guard wrote down our names in a little notepad, and we emerged onto a perfect private beach as the sole occupants. The white sand had been raked, and my footprints were the first ones. The water was smooth as glass. So smooth that we could see a 6-inch-long fish darting in the shallows. “That’s a barracuda!” Tony exclaimed. “And over there two baby swordfish.” The two swordfish already had their characteristic long, flattened bills, and they hung in the water like tinsel. We settled our stuff in wicker chairs and dug out the snorkeling gear.

To the left of our beach was the mega-resort beach. A guard stood on the shore making sure no one walked the beach past his post. To the right of our beach stood two empty hotel towers. “Yeah, lots of resorts went outta business from COVID,” the lifeguard told us. Between the two beaches a long rocky pier stretched into the pearly blue. From the top, the gray rocks looked unremarkable, but from under the water, things are never what they seem. Once my eyes adjusted, we could see anemones, long-spiked urchins, schools of purple and blue and orange-striped, and yellow fish dart in an out of the cracks.

Pergola outside our apartment.

Tony pointed out something weird down in the kelp. We stared down at a bulbous, slightly triangulated body that wiggled more than swam. Later we spent an hour trying to figure out what the heck it was and realized that we had seen a Caribbean Puffer Fish which is 1,200 more poisonous than cyanide. One puffer fish could kill 20 adult humans and there’s no antidote. Of course, we didn’t eat it.

We swam around the end of the reef and found another thing not to eat — an enormous moon jellyfish. Beautiful. Scary. The lifeguard said the moon jellyfish stingers were too weak to penetrate human skin. I didn’t stick around to test that theory. I asked him if he would be at the beach again tomorrow. He laughed. “Yea Mon, that can’t miss me!”

Dinner – A mile or so from our place we saw an intriguing little sign by the side of the road. Houseboat Grille. A path from the road ran back to the bay. As you passed, you could see glimpses of the restaurant. When we arrived, we were greeted at a tiny ferry. Yep, you get to ride the ferry over to the houseboat. I was sold already. But, once we were settled on the deck of the houseboat, it got better. The waitress brought me a Margarita (don’t judge — rum doesn’t impress me) and talked us through the specials. When it arrived, the Red Snapper Escovitch was so pretty, I almost forgot to take a picture before jumping in. Escovitch is the spice — it means a whole fish with a crispy skin marinated in spices and served with carrots, peppers, onions, a Scotch bonnet pepper, and vinegar. It’s spectacular. Afterward you ring a bell on the deck and the ferry returns over the green water to get you.

TIP — Groceries in Jamaica, as on all islands, are expensive since many must be flown in from abroad. A single small out-of-season pineapple cost $8 ($1,216 Jamaican). Be sure to buy some Jamaican Red-Stripe beer to drink by the pool though. It’s cheap and good. On the other hand, a nice meal for two including seafood, drinks, and sides runs around $50.

Day 3 — A Drive Around Montego Bay And Some Tasty Food

Tostones with sides and house-made pineapple jam.

Today we will take you to a place not to miss in Montego Bay. For context, I like local food — food that has its roots in the place where I am. Food that is grown here, if possible. Of course, Jamaica’s history is long and full. Even before Christopher Columbus landed in Jamaica in May of 1494, the land was used by pirates from everywhere. Food is vibrant and full of flavor from around the world.

In Montego Bay, the tourist trade has decreased in recent years since COVID and taxi drivers wait to get you everywhere. I mean everywhere. At any given time we could walk out the front gate and have five taxi drivers at our beck and call. When we would walk down the Jamaican Heritage Trail past the cruise ship dock, a dozen or more would promise us the moon. Our favorite was Clive. He had a vast knowledge of everything historical including a haunted plantation house and slave revolts from 200 years ago. We had met him on an hour-long trip to the Glistening Waters, a bay with bioluminescent algae that glowed when you moved your hands in it. Unfortunately, it was a little chilly the day we visited, so the glow was pretty low-key, and we couldn’t get good pictures.

Lunch — Clive took us up the hill over Montego Bay to a little place called Peppa’s. When we arrived and tried to pay him, he said, “Oh, I’m gonna wait. No worries, Mon. I’ll take you round di city to see things when you finish.” He brought us here because of my request for local food and sweet plantains.

From the deck of Peppa’s, you could see over the ocean and the route where planes arrived in Montego Bay. An interesting assortment of gospel music and reggae accompanied the tostones, curried conch, peas and rice, grilled shrimp, and, of course, sweet plantains. As I finished the last bits, drops of rain transformed into rainbows across the deck. The locals cheered the storm. The flowers immediately perked up.

Having a local beer by the pool.

A Tour of Montego Bay — Clive was already out of the taxi and waiting as we exited the restaurant. Since I wanted to see the “Real Montego Bay,” he had a plan. Up the mountains we went and into the warrens and alleys where Jamaicans actually lived when they weren’t serving tourists. We passed fruit markets and shabby stalls selling shampoos and cremes. We saw people walking the streets selling bags of Star Apples and Mangoes they picked from the trees. Clive told us that Jamaica has the highest percentage of churches per person in the world. He told us the average Jamaican only made $6,000 a year. At a stop sign, he turned to the backseat. “Yuh feel unsafe at all here? Americans tink wi unsafe.”

We thought about it. No, we hadn’t felt anymore unsafe here than we would have back home. Of course, there are places in Warsaw or anywhere one should be wary of walking at night.

“Exactly!” Clive nodded, satisfied. “Tell everyon’ tuh cum visit then!”

So, here’s to Clive and the lovely island of Jamaica.

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