On the plane to Jamaica, my watch strap snapped, and I had to abandon it and the shackles of routine and switch to island time. Coming back, a hurricane was forecast and the island was battening down the hatches as I packed. We took off hours before the tropical cyclone made land. Yah mon.
The journeys there and back sum up different aspects of this complex Caribbean island – a mix of chilled, laid-back vibes, deep culture, stunning land and sea, and history with layers of migration and colonisation.
They really do say ‘Yah mon’. All the time, a bit like our all-functioning “grand”. And the people really are warm, but chilled.
Watchless, I slip into the Jamaican way, and familiarity with the patois. Singsong “Mawnin!” first thing. “Yard”, or “yaad”, is home, or Jamaica itself. “Welcome home” is an enveloping greeting. Christopher Columbus discovered Jamaica, apparently. “But we were already here” is our guide Sedrecia Francis’s dry and truthful response. He found it, “But it wasn’t lost.” There’s a sense of humour in Jamaica, and a sassy knowingness.
This is a “wellness” trip to the island nation, organised by the Jamaica Tourist Board.
The airport in second city Montego Bay, Mo’bay, is busy, colourful, noisy, chaotic, hot. Our driver Ledgie (Kemar Ledgister), however, is cool. We travel parallel to the coast via Falmouth and St Ann’s Parish, to Ocho Rios. We pause at Juici Patties for a patty, a slightly exotic pasty with spiced fillings of beef, shrimp, chicken, cheese, or local green callaloo. The descriptions don’t always align with the contents, which seems typical; you need to be in the know.
Ocho Rios, or Ochi, is our base for a couple of days. There’s loads to see nearby, including the well-known Dunn’s River Falls, the river tumbling and cascading from 55 meters high over travertine terraces to the sea.
It’s well set up for visitors, with tropical parkland, beach and changing huts. Although photos of the falls are ubiquitous, nothing prepares you for their intimidating magnificence. For a moment you think, “I don’t think I’m capable of the climb.” But … maybe we’ll give it a go for five minutes. Divide an impossible task and take it as it comes. You can bail at any point and climb the adjacent steps instead; maybe knowing this makes it feasible.
Relying on the sure-footed, confidence-boosting guides, we climb through the rocks as the water pushes against us. Water-shoes with good grip are essential, togs a plus.
I make it, right to the top. Clambering, slipping, climbing. The sense of achievement is exhilarating. Feeling fear and going for it boosts the spirit; this is wellness, for sure.
Half an hour east of Ochi near Oracabessa is Sun Valley Plantation. We lash on mosquito repellent and a machete is produced, for violently splitting coconuts. We drink the “wata” then eat the flesh; delicious and lush, it also replenishes electrolytes. Once a slave plantation that now grows bananas, owner Lorna Binns leads us through the large gardens of the plantation, talking about the tropical fruits, flowers and plants, the therapeutic and medicinal values of the trees, herbs, and spices. We feel, smell and taste them, watching hummingbirds. Warm, hugely knowledgeable and humorous, Binns is an exceptional host. She married into the plantation, is obsessed with plants, and has built a great sideline in botanical tours.
Afterwards in a shaded jungle veranda we eat ackee and salt-fish. This national dish of salted codfish and Jamaican fruit ackee looks unexciting but is pretty tasty, savoury and salty rather than fruity.
Ochi is a tourist hub, easily accessible for adventure sports and resorts. But it’s a real town too: Friday evenin at sun dung, locals are liming (hanging with friends, sharing food, drink, chat) on shack verandas.
Just outside Ochi we’re staying at the Jamaica Inn, which oozes colonial-style glam: low-rise, with louvred shutters, antiques, whirring fans and croquet on the lawn. Owned by the Morrow family since the 1950s, it has hosted jet-setters from Noel Coward to Ian Fleming in the 1950s and 60s. It retains that vibe, as well as its original architecture and layout.
Sipping cocktails on the terrace, gazing down at the gardens and beach bar where breeding turtles are protected under the sand, we’re sitting where many far-glitzier visitors have sat. Photos of past guests adorn the games-room sideboard: Winston Churchill painting, cigar in his gob; Marilyn Monroe and Arthur Miller honeymooning; and more recently, Meghan Markle, who married the first fellah there. They still host destination weddings – you can even stay in the same suite as Miller and Monroe.
Beyond the hotel’s private bungalows along the beach is the spa. Mango and coconut moisturiser is whisked up in a liquidiser, and the massage feels almost sacred because of its setting: a small bamboo hut jutting over the water, with the sound of the sea (no need for spa soundtracks here).
But the highlight is the bedroom, located in a galleried wing between beach and sea, with its dark woods, white cottons, a four-poster bed, louvred doors and original tiles. Lozzacking with feet up on my generous veranda, sipping a cup of Blue Mountain coffee with just the lapping water and the whirring fan for company, I think this is my favourite hotel room ever.
I’m awoken by a tropical storm at 3am: lightning, thunder, torrential rain. It feels dramatic and cleansing. I think of Lorna Binns and her banana trees with their shallow roots, and whether they’ll survive.
Breakfast on my veranda is a private pleasure looking out over vast blue and fish below.
We set off, west then inland to what feels like a jungle clearing in the middle of nowhere, but is in fact beside new highway construction, and not far from luxury Mo’bay resorts. We’re at the Rastafari Indigenous Village for a tour of traditional Rastafari life. The fire’s embers are warm, evoking ritual. King Toto’s drums are gathered outside his hut. A large red-green-yellow shelter near the Ital kitchen displays Rasta leaders’ wisdom.
This self-sufficient community of healers, musicians, storytellers, crafters, herbalists, cooks and growers in the jungle welcomes outsiders for visits or retreats that “step beyond the therapeutic envelope”, exploring sacred plants, healing, meditation, drumming and chanting, and “full-spectrum psychedelic experiences” should you choose. We drink coconut wata instead. Firstman talks about their way of life, society, environment, and Haile Selassie. Reiki healer Queen Izeteh shows us the village, rustic but comfortable guest cabins, her herbal soaps, and plants from callaloo to cacao to marijuana.
Though it’s just a skip away, this world could not be further from where we’re headed, Round Hill Hotel and Villas, a sugar-cane plantation turned resort on a secluded peninsula in Mo’Bay, combining a hotel plus 27 individually owned villas. You can rent some of them, along with butler and private breakfast. Noel Coward was its first shareholder in 1953; the current owners are discreetly listed in the lobby. Ralph Lauren is one, and afternoon tea is in the lounge named for him, but his villa isn’t for rent. Villas rarely change hands. We have a nosy around a few. They’re landscaped for privacy and have distinct decor, reflecting owners’ tastes, from luxurious dark furnishings to beach house. Staying here is a peek into super-rich lifestyle, secluded but with resort facilities.
In contrast there’s more affordable comfort at the Zoetry Hotel in Montego Bay itself. At this luxury all-inclusive (including a daily mini-pedi/mani and laundry), my ground-floor balcony steps into a stylish small pool and, just beyond, the beach.
Further west, Chukka Ocean Outpost at Sandy Bay has lots of activities, from horse-riding in the sea to over-water ziplines and bamboo-rafting. On its Farm to Table lunch tour, it’s raining as we trundle in the back of a covered truck through back roads and jungle and among wooden shacks (this is the farm part), with amusingly corny commentary from the driver-guide. At the ruins of Blue Hole Estate Great House, a crack team has conjured lunch in basic conditions using local produce: pumpkin soup with garlic-coconut cream, jerk chicken, snapper, local vegetables, and potato pudding with pumpkin ice-cream for dessert.
One of the striking things visiting Jamaica is its contrasts: the great disparities in wealth, and tourism ranging from well-heeled luxury and fine hotels to laid-back hippy-and-ganja. The legacy of slavery and plantations is stamped on the present, and several worlds coexist, from the grand houses of the wealthy, past and present, to people trying to make a living from fishing, woodcarving and hawking. There’s the Jamaica of locals liming and strings of roadside shacks selling crafts, vegetables and jerk, gloriously warm aquamarine sea and tourist-brochure beaches, tropical forests and striking vegetation, day after day of sunshine punctuated by extreme storms.
There are also multiple iterations of “wellness”. Oh yeah, did I mention I climbed a 55m waterfall?
Visiting Jamaica
- Montego Bay on the north coast is close to the airport, with a range of hotels, amenities and a club strip. Much is internationally owned. The south coast, including Treasure Beach, is mainly community-based tourism, and mostly Jamaican owned.
- Negril in the far west is laid-back, with beach lounging, reggae, sunset watching and cliff diving. It’s low rise, low density, and famed for Rick’s Cafe bar.
- Portland on the far northeast is peaceful and serene, with lush vegetation and impressive but lesser-known falls, a good spot for boat trips or hikes. Ochi has multiple adventure parks and is well located: 90 minutes to other resorts and 45 minutes to the capital, Kingston.
- Car hire is very doable for getting around. A driver can double as a guide or negotiator.
- Much has to be imported and cost of living is high. Tourist prices are at US-European levels, which is expensive for locals but there seems to be a dual economy and currency (Jamaican and US dollars) and tiered pricing for locals.
- Although hotel rooms often have mosquito repellent, bring your own – and bite-relief cream.
- Food ranges from roadside shacks to higher-end local dining to international. In Ochi, the Jerk Center had pork and chicken cooking on a vast barbecue. I had jerk chicken, bammy (cassava) and festival (long deep-fried slightly sweet bread) with a Red Stripe beer. Miss T’s Kitchen in Ochi is casual and eccentric, with well-crafted Jamaican dishes: brown stew, escoveitch (fish with a spicy rub including Scotch bonnets; not for the faint-hearted), curried goat, oxtail and jerk.
- There aren’t direct flights, but several connection choices. Peak is mid-December to mid-April; it’s quieter and better value in shoulder seasons (May-early June, and late October-early December).
Deirdre Falvey was a guest of the Jamaica Tourist Board. visitjamaica.com
