7 hours to Negril

Peace Corps trainees visited current Jamaican Peace Corps Volunteers this week. I was lucky enough to be sent to Negril, the unofficial home of the best sunsets in Jamaica. (More on my time there later.) This post is dedicated to getting there which was quite the adventure!

The majority of training so far has been dedicated to our safety and security. This, of course, entailed extensive courses and demonstrations on riding buses and taxis, handling money, and dealing with harrassment. This weekend was the test: could I navigate across the island in one piece? The plan of attack was to head north from Ewarton to Ocho Rios and then follow the coastline west transferring in Montego Bay and Lucea and finally arriving in Negril: three transfers, four vehicles.

In order to avoid the hassle of finding seats for 13 of us on the crowded buses to Ocho Rios, Andy a fellow trainee, had arranged with her host mom's family friend to shuttle us for $300J each. Thirteen smiley American faces dutifully appear at the community center at 7:00, but, in true Jamaican style, there is no a taxi. At 7:30 we call the driver.

"Mi soon come."
"How much longer?"
"5-10 minutes."

Shift weight, chit chat. It starts to rain. At 8:00 we call again.
"Ya man. Soon."
"How far are you?"
"5 minutes"
"But it was 5 minutes last time!"

At 8:15, after another rain shower, two buses pull up. Finally. 13 not-so-smiley American faces dutifully pile into the buses. The driver of the first bus points behind him at the smaller blue bus.

"Why you friend a guh inna dat bus deh?"
"I don't know why they're boarding the other bus. It's not with you?"
"No suh!"

Before the driver can explain the situation the second bus takes off. It becomes clear that the first bus was the one we chartered and the second bus had inconveniently pulled in at an unscheduled stop. Our driver isn't happy about the $1500J pay decrease; we're not happy about the 1 1/2 hour wait. We decide we're not paying any more than $300 a piece to get to Ochi. He decides he isn't going to take us for any less the the promised total. Is he serious? Yes. 8 downtrodden American faces glumly plod down the street to the taxi stop.

"Anyone going to Ochi?"
No, but we can catch a bus at the bakery up the street. As we walk up the hill we hear the short beep beep! of taxis behind us. The cab drivers will take us to Ocho Rios after all. 5 once-again-smiling American faces and their bags pack into each taxi in the Jamaican tradition of "smalling up."


After about 3 miles we inexplicably pull over in front of a shop. Mark, the trainee in the passenger seat, informs us that the driver must be thirsty because he's asked the shop owner for some water. Andy and Mary release signs of relief that the water is not for the car just before the driver lifts up the hood. It is for the car. Water is poured; steam billows upwards. Someone points out the gas gauge is on empty, and Andy starts a rousing chorus of the Blinking Bus - a clever kids song which curses Jamaican transport. After several more words with the shopkeeper the driver shuts the hood, starts the car, and we continue up the mountain.


The next stop is a farm stand where more water is brought out. This time the driver gets an egg and black pepper too. Mark now knows better than to assume the driver is hungry. The driver cracks the egg, an pours it into the radiator followed by the black pepper and water. What!? Amazingly, the leak is fixed!

We start up the road again. The driver pulls into the gas station at the top of the mountain and alleviates our second fear by filling up the tank. We buy a paper: a new U.S. ambassador has been appointed to Jamaica. Hurray! But Oh no! the leak has opened up again. We add another egg at the next farm stand (I'm still not completely comfortable with that), but the hole is too big this time. The driver stows 2 large containers of water in the trunk. Things must be serious now. I naively wonder what fate has in store for both us and the car as the driver accelerates further up the mountain.

We come over the top of the hill and pull into the first driveway on the left. A hand-painted sign on the door says Ratty's repair shop. At this point, 1 1/2 hours have passed and we've only stretched our legs once. We unfold ourselves from our smalled up position and settle down near the shed out of the rain but under a wasps nest. We decide that flagging down a bus to take us the rest of the way might be a good idea. Unfortunately, this happens just after a bus to ocho rios passes us. I carefully position myself out of reach from the spray of puddles by passing cars and keep my eyes open for buses. I don't see any before the driver finishes epoxying the leak.
"We'll get there." He reassures us. Somehow I don't feel reassured. Fortunately the rest of our travels are relatively smooth, with only the normal heart murmurs when our bus veers into oncoming traffic while passing a car or when a pedestrian starts hitting the side of the van, makes kissy faces at the window, and yells at the driver to stop the van. I will forever remember how to fix a radiator with egg and black pepper!