Kingston: Week One

My first week in Kingston brings to mind a quote from Alan Alda's autobiography, Never Have Your Dog Stuffed - And Other Things I've Learned. Don't take it to heart as a direct translation for my current state of being, it's merely the line that has crossed my mind more than once as of late: "Two utterly different forms of paranoia had met in the dark, and decided there was something under the bed."

On the one hand I have UN Security, my boss at UNESCO, and all the horror stories people have heard about the dangers of Kingston. Although I've been reassured more than once that no one wants me to be paranoid, those same voices are repeating stern warnings that apply to the many categories I fall under: foreign - white - young - female. I've been strongly advised not to go out alone at night (a warning I will continue to heed, as in Colombia, I promise) and encouraged to contact the UN Security to give a heads up if I'm leaving New Kingston - whether a trip across the island for the weekend, or an afternoon downtown to see some tourist attractions. They are very protective of their wee interns here (especially of the foreign/white/young/female variety). I also have to get UN Security for my apartment, which has created somewhat of a predicament for me. The short version goes like this: find an apartment I like, get approved for said apartment, settle up with my temporary accommodations and move into said apartment, get a phone call revoking my approval as second thoughts have been had. No one was happy about this, least of all the mother of the girl I'm renting the apartment from, who turned down a potential renter in favour of me (luckily I distracted her from her initial demands that I supply the contact information of the guy at UN Security). A temporary deal was struck where I will take the apartment for two weeks, so as to find a place with UN Security approval by September 1st. Just don't ask me how exactly I expect to accomplish that, as much as people are dying to rent me a place for 3 months with top notch security within my meager price range. This is one of those plans you make up as you go along.

Ah, but there is another hand (if you recall I started that last paragraph with "On the one hand..." - I know it was a while ago and you may have forgotten). On the opposing side of "pretend you don't speak English when men talk to you" is the Jamaican family I originally rented a room from, my new friend Tracy (who I met slightly randomly through Lonely Planet online), and the sister of the girl who's apartment I'm temporarily in. Here I'm told of the great fun to be had on the island and throughout Jamaica, the people I'll meet and the positive things I'll experience. And I've seen the Jamaican generosity that I've heard so much about (instead of the aggressive nature I've been warned about). Before she met me in person, Tracy was already inviting me to meet her friends and come stay at her house if I needed (although the 360 degree view is phenomenal, the location in Beverly Hills is a bit of a hike from my office). The sister of the apartment girl drove me around on a tour of New Kingston, showing me the grocery store and slightly hidden bus station - also telling me she'd have me out to lunch with her friends when I was in town next (and try to get me on the invite list for parties at the British High Commission). Thank goodness for strangers or I'd be living a lonely and scared life over here.

So I'm left to do my best to walk the line of caution, not falling into a false sense of security, nor living a paranoid live locked in my UN Security approved apartment. (Did I mention that on original approval of the apartment I wanted, one condition was that they would install a panic button. This is not meant to make anyone think I'd need to use it, but to illustrate how protective they are of me.) Now, before we delve into a couple pictures, I would like to give mention to my fabulous friend Jenelle Lewkowicz from Humber College who is currently teaching in South Korea. Our nearly opposite time zones still allowed for much overlap online this week, providing me with a friendly font to get feedback to my recounting of the continuously unfolding housing situation. A much appreciate lifeline as I continue to adjust to not having Katie and Don at my disposal as in Cartagena.

To be honest, I haven't gotten out much around Kingston, aside from New Kingston. The area isn't made up of beautiful buildings like Cartagena was, so all I have to offer at the moment is a picture of the view from my temporary apartment, and Emancipation Park. The park was unveiled in 2002 as a refuge in amongst the hustle and bustle of the commercial center. Apparently the land was also being considered by the government for commercial development or an entertainment complex, but without proper financing they opted to sell the land to the National Housing Trust for $1JA and the park was built. It has a running track, fountain and apparently reggae music plays from small speakers, but I didn't hear any on my visit. Maybe next time...

Looking out from the tiny balcony on my unapproved apartment, with the Blue Mountains off in the background.

Past the entrance to Emancipation Park is a walkway that cuts through the jogging path, with a fountain at the center.

At the entrance of Emancipation Park is a controversial statue of a couple of nude 3m-tall slaves, called 'Redemption Song'. It cost $4.5 million US to build and unsurprisingly, remains a bit controversial.