So many thoughts and feelings on the eve of our trip to Jamaica it's difficult to put them into words. For so long, twenty eight years to be exact, I've been completely infatuated with Jamaica, Jamaican culture, Jamaican history, but it all rides on my deep and endearing love of Reggae music. In my mind, no more pure, original and righteous music has ever graced the Earth, but with every passing year many more legends of Reggae's hey day die before their time, victims of violence and ill health that belies Jamaica's Commonwealth status. The musical pioneers of the 1970s: Bob Marley, Peter Tosh, King Tubby, Augustus Pablo and now, sadly, Vivian Jackson (aka. Yabby You) are all breaking bread with Jah Rastafari. So I have to get to Jamaica before it's all gone, before this flash of genius, this musical Juggernaught, born out of the convergence of ska and Jah, has passed on forever.
But with this journey comes trepidation. Jamaica, it seems, is not for the faint of heart but rather for the strong of will. For some who venture from the safe confines of the all inclusive resort--hyperbolic chambers of decadence--find Jamaica overwhelming and downright scary. Jamaica boast some of the worst ghettos in the Western hemisphere, but it was from these very ghettos that germinated the all powerful force of Reggae. So we have chosen to walk the line between the two. On the one hand, we are shunning the resorts in favour of the usual local submergence, but on the other hand, we've chosen an area, Treasure Beach, that will allow relatively easy acclimation: the recipe we've usually found best for independent travel. There will likely not be a trip to Kingston this journey, but who knows what the future holds. For the first time ever, I think we really don't know what to expect with a trip, but good or bad, in twenty four hours from now, I really don't know what the fuck I'm going to be doing.
Isn't that what adventure is all about?
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