fantasy island

The word Jamaica means different things to different people. To the Native Americans who lived there, it was a "land of wood and water." To today's locals, it is an island filled with spirit as well as a home filled with hardship and poverty. To tourists who visit, it is a place of sunshine and Bob Marley, a place to get high as a kite. To businessmen, it is the bauxite (a type of aluminum) capital of the world. To Led Zeppelin, it is the proper way to pronounce the title of their song, "D'yer Maker." Yet these many shades of Jamaica remain largely separate from one another. Sun-seeking tourists are kept from seeing the poverty, while no one ever mentions Led Zeppelin at a bauxite mine.

Most tourists stand pat behind these walls of division. The resort town of Negril easily seduces the stressed-out Yankee into doing nothing but sitting at a hotel's beachside bar and staring out at the turquoise sea as it laps against the sandy shore, drinking a Red Stripe and perhaps casting the odd glance at a "European" sunbather or two. Although the goal of a hard-earned Caribbean vacation may be relaxation, this sort of sendentary behavior would run counter to Jamaica's motto: "Out of many, one people." With a bit of "lively-in' up yourself"--to use Marley's words--the tourist can get his red-striped ass off the chaise longue, leave the white people behind for a while, and hang out with the locals.

When tourism hits a lull during the fall months, the American and European tourists who are there cannot walk a spleef's length without attracting some sort of attention from the locals. It is often hard to distinguish friendliness from salesmanship among Jamaicans, which can be off-putting--nearly every conversation leads to a proposition to buy somethings: hair braids, motor scooters, marijuana, mushroom tea, ecstasy, heroin, cocaine, or crack. But even if it seems like the Jamaican local is aiming to grab that $20 bill pasted on each tourist's forehead, these dealers are nothing to be afraid of. They often provide some colorful moments.

Jamaica's cast of characters is worthy of a Dickens novel, except Dickens' characters never said "ganga" so much. Along the beach, each salesman has a name appropriate to his task. Chef grills the jerk chicken; Jelly-Man sells jellied coconuts off his cart. The beachfront entrepreneur with the most pedestrian name is John, a re-located Chicagoan who runs one of the chillest open-air bars in Negril. Why did he give up life in a first-world country to become a self-proclaimed "beach bum"? "Mid-life crisis," he says. His friend, Hills-Man, comes to the beach to visit when the takes a break from working his farm in the beautiful inland hills. There, according to Jelly-Man, he "grows everyt'ing: Sugar cane, potatoes, ganga..."

Speaking of ganga, the night atmosphere in Negril has quite a different feel. The beach at Negril fills with beach bums, hustlers, and prostitutes who, mixed with the tourists, listen to reggae and puff joints, a scene more than one suburban teenager has imagined while listening to Marley or Jimmy Cliff. The most ubiquitous dealer on the beach goes by the name of Doctor Fabulous. "Da Doctor" is a self-assured smooth talker, a "Rastafarian who smoke da ganga anywhere, anytime." Along with his potentsmelling crop, Fabulous deals out lines like "Da doctor needs his patient," and "I am da backbone of Jamaica." When he meets a student from Kentucky, he says that Kentucky in Jamaica "is where all da girls want their boys to bring them for da Fried Chicken," and then lets out a cackle, his over-stoned yellow eyes glinting for a brief moment.

The nighttime hustlers-even more than the daytime ones-always want something: you buy them a beer, they'll sell you a joint. As Joey, a disgruntled Peace Corps worker in Kingston said, "I've never met a Jamaican who didn't want money, an American visa, or sex...or all three." One of the more bizarre propositions made by local men to male tourists is what Doctor Fabulous calls a "Hexchange"--"I'll trade you one of my black women for one of your white women." This sort of racial sexual fantasy would probably be best left to middle-aged couples in a John Updike novel.

The average student is most likely to visit Jamaica during spring break when the resort towns are overrun with thousands of college kids desperately seeking insanity. Wet T-shirt and "hot buns" contests, random hook-ups with guys and girls from Chico State University, and a general cloud of psychedelic haziness pervade the whole week. Yet Jamaica has a beauty and culture that offers more than just a sunny location for spring break craziness and beach lounging. Natural wonders speckle the island. Larger features like Dunn's River Falls and the Blue Ridge mountains are breathtaking tourist attractions. Those who take the time will also find smaller treats, like guango trees that continue to grow despite having been distorted by hurricanes, or special native fruits like bread-fruits and soursop. Also, the island offers a treasure trove of local legend told in the musical Jamaican patois, a hybrid language fashioned by a complex multinational history.

Of course, it is impossible to avoid the music. As Scott Kroft of the Jamaican Tourist Board says, "Jamaicans love their music. You will not stop hearing that reggae bass beat from the moment you set foot in Jamaica until you get back on the airplane to go home." Of the many reggae artists to come out of Jamaica, Bob Marley rules at home. His portrait hangs on every wall, his music is everywhere. He is a Rasta patron saint. The mix of joy and despair in his music appropriately captures the essence of the island.