Scenes from the Road

I am back in Treasure Beach after four days on the road with my darling daughter, my personal guide to the beauties of Jamaica. The air here is delightfully cool and crisp. (Yes, I am still in Jamaica but we are experiencing what passes as a cold front here. It’s warm not hot and nights require a blanket!) Having finished a typical Jamaican breakfast of salt fish and ackee, freshly squeezed orange juice and assorted tropical fruits courtesy of Audrey, our housekeeper and outstanding Jamaican cook, I am ready to sit back and relax and try to unpack the multitude of impressions and sensations received over the last four days.

Most of the time, it's hot and dry and almost desert-like in Treasure Beach and the sound of the sea is constantly in the background but, as I have discovered, so much of the interior of Jamaica is lush, green jungle rich with fruit trees and all kinds of vegetation climbing and twining up and down and all over and under each other. We drive up and down the hills passing the concrete palaces of returning residents painted in neon colors, shanty settlements, tiny cook shops and bars blaring music always at high volume.

Our first stop is just twenty minutes out of Montego Bay but it seems like we are in the middle of nowhere. We drive deep in the jungle to the farm of Inty, a Rasta farmer who has singlehandedly carved out an acre of cultivated land from the surrounding bush and has planted it with squash and okra, organically of course. His partner is Uncle, a lovely, sweet-natured older farmer with very few teeth but a strong, upbeat spirit and much natural courtesy. We spend the afternoon tramping through the bush to view the farm and Uncle tells me of his years in Florida cutting sugar, his belief in the value of hard work and the land. When we leave, Inty cuts us a bunch of small yellow bananas as a parting gift. They are called honey bananas or Chinamen bananas but whatever their name, they are deliciously sweet tasting. I can’t imagine ever enjoying a store bought banana again. . .even if it is organic and from Whole Foods.

That night we spend at Highland House, an old style luxury villa set in the hills above Montego Bay on beautifully landscaped grounds that include an organic farm, the reason why Liz and I are visiting. The villa also boasts a large, screened-in yoga studio surrounded by foliage and flowers that, as two dedicated yogis, we take advantage of before leaving.

Friday morning we head up to the north coast but not before stopping off for a tasty lunch at Evelyn’s Restaurant, a small hole in the wall restaurant with a veranda right next to the sea. The sea is rough, white waves tossing in a blue and green sea, and the wind is blowing. There are large rocks holding down the corners of our oilcloth tablecloth. We wait and wait for our food since it is only Evelyn, a short, stout Jamaican Indian woman, who takes the orders and then cooks the food. Her specialty is curried conk, so fresh it tastes briny, and served with homemade roti. Definitely worth the wait.

Our goal is not one of the myriad hotels and condo complexes strung along the north coast highway in a sad and characterless procession but Itopia, the longtime home of Sally and Perry Henzell where we’ve been invited to stay by Jason and Laura Henzell. The house is located off the highway and down a series of rocky, bumpy and increasingly isolated roads that wind through the jungle and the ruins of old sugar plantations. The house, built originally in the 1600’s of limestone, its surface now mottled in shades of black and white, probably once served as a residence for a plantation manager and seems as solid now as it must have been long ago.

But how to describe the spirit of the house and the grounds which are totally infused with the spirit of Perry and Sally. Sally has filled the house with an idiosyncratic but magical mix of antique furniture, family momentoes, art work, curios and collections and surrounded it by flowers and fruit trees and wild landscape. Before everyone arrived, Liz took me through the house inside and out to discover all its mysteries and special beauties. Euphemia served us tea in the living room. After dinner we all talked and drank wine while the house glowed in candlelight around us.

I slept in a fourposter bed hung with lace and tattered mosquito netting and woke up early to the sound of the birds. My shower was built out of stone and shells. Our final morning, the sun was shining and the air was warm and fragrant. After breakfast, everyone wandered outside and laid on the grass to listen as one of the guests, Jean Louis Aubert, a French pop star, played the guitar. It seemed as if he was just not serenading us but serenading Itopia itself, this enchanted space. It was truly a privilege to be there.