I almost wish 'Great Huts' wasn't actually in Lonely Planet. I didn't find the eco-resort tucked withing the pages and marked as an Editor's Pick. I stumbled across it online while looking at a different place to stay near Port Antonio, north of Kingston on the coast. The decor immediately caught my attention with bamboo huts (and treehouses) decorated with African inspiration. What sealed the deal alongside the tag "eco" was the pricing of economy rooms - actually within my self-constructed price range. While I wish this was some gem I'd discovered on my own, I suppose anything on the internet isn't so much 'discovered' as it is located.
My weekend journey began as all great ones do - with me heading in the wrong direction. Two sources had advised me to catch a bus from downtown to Port Antonio, and from there a taxi to Boston Bay. As this was my first venture using standard public transportation, I listened. My taxi driver to the bus station was skeptical, and would end up driving me to Half Way Tree, the uptown bus station closer to where I live and work. Here I found a bus within seconds, keeping me out of the downpour, as the sky had just opened up and let loose. Luckily my first offer of a bus (they all run with independent drivers, this ain't no GRT organization) was a practically full one. Buses don't leave the city at a certain time, they leave when they're full - or over filled. As all roads through the mountains, it was a long and twisty ride with much honking to determine whether or not we would encounter another vehicle as we rounded tight bends. We passed many photo opts that I wish we could have stopped for: bamboo stalks piercing through the canopy tops (destroying my notion of short and thin pieces being munched on by pandas), a car with "thug life" written on the windshield (occupants looking like legitimate thugs) and goats carefully climbing the trim on the local post office. Arriving in Port Antonio I immediately found a route taxi to my destination of Boston Bay (similar to collectivos in Colombia, excpet here they will put 4 in the back, assuming they're unlikely to get caught).
Entering Great Huts I made my way through a maze of bamboo to my hut, Akan Towers (not actually a tower, a hut). In my books this was a darn classy economy room by astetics, although simply furnished with the standard lamp, couch, fan, bed and mosquito net. That night, for the first time in a long time, I tucked in my mosquito next before falling asleep, memories of Ghana occupying my mind.
My economy hut, complete with a lamp attached to a big ol' branch, and outdoor shower through the back door.
The next morning I first woke up to pouring rain. Not wanting to start my day off on a less-than-awesome note, I went back to sleep to give it a second try. It worked. I made my way to breakfast with the sun shining and a jump into Boston Bay already under my belt. I met an Italian couple on 5 days of vacation from their jobs in New York. They had plans to attempt surfing (as Boston Bay is the premiere spot in Jamaica) and I wished them well. My day's agenda did not include falling face first into the ocean repeatedly while others watched. I instead opted to head to Frenchman's Cove, a VIP hot-spot in the 60s when the attached resort was run by a billionaire. The posh resort didn't last (and now a more modest version has taken it's place), but I felt pretty elite when I discovered that I had the beach almost entirely to myself. A father and his little kids played in some sheltered water next to the beach, but it would be an hour before anyone else would come down and stake their claim with a plastic beach chair. The high compliment of one of the prettiest beaches in the area did not seem too far fetched to me.
Why hello, completely empty beach sitting and waiting for me, I'm glad I could join you.
Since I was rocking this weekend solo, I took my camera along for a swim as part of the buddy system. I turned down the offer of a personal lifeguard from a peddler I met on the way in.
Next stop was Blue Lagoon - previously known as 'the Blue Hole' until Brooke Shields came along and the location was eventually re-named. Previously thought to be bottomless, Blue Lagoon has a depth of 200 feet and is a mix of warm water from the Caribbean Sea blending with cool fresh water from underground streams. If you spend the whole day at the lagoon, you can watch the water turn from turquoise to sapphire to deep blue. Aside from the few locals selling wares and offering bamboo raft tours, I had the lagoon all to myself, which I certainly hadn't expected (even though it is the off-season for tourists). I waded into the freshwater pond, where it had been diverted above ground to act as a mineral bath before feeding into the lagoon. Then into the deep blue itself for a swim. I began to feel uncomfortable with the attention and 'conversation' from one unoccupied tour guide, and later from his friend as well, so I made polite smiles and headed back to the hotel.
Standing in the cool fresh water and looking towards the Blue Lagoon.
One of many "selfie" shots taken over the weekend (I'll spare you from having to look at the rest) with a lovely blue backdrop.
I spent the last of the afternoon reading on the hotel beach, watching local children try to surf on waves much too small, and played "Uno" with a peddler who spends every day on that beach selling his necklaces (even when there are next to no tourists around). Since I was in Boston Bay, there was little question about what I would be having for dinner. Although now jerk chicken is widely known, until the 1950s marinating meat in jerk sauce was something only done in Boston Bay. I had my fill that night of jerk chicken, rice and beans, cabbage and carrots, and a bottle of homemade pineapple juice.
As the off-season also meant that my hotel was sparsely populated, I enjoyed Sunday morning reading alone at the temporarily closed bar set atop cliffs overlooking Boston Bay. It was easy to see the kind of fun atmosphere with mingling guests this pace must have during the high-season, the kind of place where after a day everyone would know who was who. This was the downside to traveling in Jamaica before a chill whips through the north and brings people down south. There weren't people around, which was unfortunate since I'm generally a social individual and was traveling solo. More than once I caught myself thinking "Oh, if so-and-so was here, they would love...". This time I had no one to share the trip with, and although it was a weekend of beautiful waters, I know it would have been that much better if I'd had a travel partner along to share it with. But, in lieu of that, I share with you instead.
Looking into Boston Bay from up high on the cliff top bar. Unfortunately when they closed the bar for the off-season they took all the supplies with them...
It's hard not to feel small when staring off into the blue abyss that is the Caribbean Sea.
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