One fine day near the end of the trip we procured a driver to take us on a little journey into Negril proper as well as the Blue Hole... what is Blue Hole you ask? The Blue Hole is literally a hole in the side of a hill with a natural spring bubbling up from it rich in minerals, it's a 25 foot jump (or higher if you climb into various other spots) or you can take the ladder down and jump in from there... the hole is roughly 35 deep and the water is much cooler than the Caribbean Sea (though the sea was damn near a perfect temperature) which in the hot Jamaican sun is wonderfully refreshing... our driver was a young guy named Troven and it just so happened that it was Father's Day... the boyos and the BW, in our previous trips to Jamaica, hadn't really ventured too far off the resorts, yes they went into the towns we stayed in but never really to far off the beaten path as they say... they were about to experience a bit of the same adventure i had on my trip to Nine Mile as we made our way towards the Blue Hole...
The first part of the trip to the Blue Hole was on the main road that took one into Negril but before we reached the town (technically we were right outside Negril in a little town called Hanover i believe that was considered Negril along with a couple of other resorts) we made a left turn and onto what i call the quintessential Jamaican road... the sort of road that at times can only barely be called a road... it's a road that's barely big enough for two cars to fit on and it winds crazily up and down the hills, the driver spends a good amount of time honking his horn because there are so many blind turns where one can't see what's coming that you creep along, at times the road is so rutted and beat up that you slow to even more of a crawl then when taking a blind turn and at times those rutted spots are on the blind turn, it's an adventure to say the least and that's not counting the spots where the road is nothing more than a dirt path... and so we bounced along slowly on the way to our destination...
It was as we made our way towards the Blue Hole that Troven glanced back at me and said, "Kono... are you interested in marijuana?"... i laughed and told him, yeah just a little... he then proceeded to tell me that behind the Blue Hole was a farm that one could take a tour of if i was interested, i told him i most definitely was but that with the family in tow i most likely would have to skip it but had i known about it earlier i most definitely would have taken a tour... the farm has it's own web site, Wabba's Weed, which can be looked up online, as i said Jamaica finally has gotten wise and begun to seriously cash in on it's most valuable natural resource, forget the bauxite that was mined to make aluminum, this resource was far more valuable and much less harmful to the environment...
On arriving at the Blue Hole we had to go through a little restaurant and bar, it was Sunday and early so it was slow and as we entered there was a Rasta rolling a joint right at the door, in fact every one of the five or six people sitting around the bar was smoking a spliff, i smiled and thought i could probably stay here all afternoon... next to the Blue Hole was a pool that was fed by the natural spring and while the BW got a pedicure by one of the locals using the minerals from the Blue Hole i took a quick dip in the pool to cool off before we both watched as the boyos jumped from the side and into the Blue Hole... the I-mac really loved it while Disaster was a bit apprehensive but after watching his big brother do it a few times took the plunge himself... the I-mac even went farther up, jumping from a tree stand that was roughly 32-35 ft. up... the old man (see me), who in his youth used to jump off a bridge into a shitty river while in college, was a bit too stoned from his morning intake to jump and so i went about halfway down the ladder and jumped in... the real challenge being getting out of the damn thing.. which meant a trip back up that same ladder which shook like mad as you climbed it but was a decent little workout...
Now behind the Blue Hole was a house... while the boyos were jumping and having a good old time, Troven explained to me that the house was the entrance to the farm, an old Rasta with dreads piled high on his head sat at a table in plain view and rolled a spliff, Troven then pulled up the web page and showed me and i was bummed that i couldn't take the tour, a trip through the fields and the curing room then followed by a session with a Rasta in a little hut using a gorgeous old water pipe... Wabba has won some awards for his sativa and being an indica man i wondered if there were other strains to smoke once the tour was over and i watched as three American guys came strolling down the path with their guide smiling and then being shown into the smoking hut... maybe i was a little green witb envy (pun intended) but one didn't have to take the tour to sample the weed as every guy at the Blue Hole would sell you some or roll you a joint, get you a pipe to smoke from and had i been alone or without the boyos i would have been high high high...
Negril seemed to be a hot spot for weed and mushrooms and there was even a tour you could take that went to about a half dozen different spots (the Blue Hole and weed farm being one) where you could sample the island's wares... there were bakeries selling edibles, a restaurant infusing food with cannabis... and there were signs in front of cafes stating "Magic Mushrooms sold here", mushrooms having never been outlawed in Jamaica they were now learning that their neighbors to the north enjoyed all kinds of substances and that a good many who enjoyed weed also had a predilection for the fungus as well... smart move...
And so what was the final tally of an old stoner's weed intake on the trip? well let's just say i did pretty well... using my trusty Raw hemp cones i rolled 12 joints of roughly a gram or more... finished every last one, usually averaging two a day... i'd smoke a bit and then carefully put it out and back into the joint bag so as not to taint the unrolled weed hence my ritual of rolling the next day's spliffs the night before... i'm quite meticulous when it comes to my ganja... so the stoner smoked just under half an ounce on his Jack Jones to go along with his daily slice of ganja cake... had i not blown money on the damn airport drinks i'd have scored more ganja cake but the truth is i didn't really need it, i just really liked it... and that was the trip... from the weed standpoint... i can honestly admit now that once i settled into my groove i was usually high from the time i got up until the time i went to bed, a feat i haven't pulled off, well? since the last time i went to Jamaica... seems the BW understands that it's probably a good thing i stay stoned as i can tolerate, for lack of a better word, her incessant talking (and sometimes worrying) about nearly everything while the herb puts me in a meditative and thoughtful mood where i can sometimes offer solutions... not that they will be implemented but hey man, i tried right?
On my last night, as i smoked my last joint by myself on my balcony, i looked up at the stars and listened to the sea, how many days do i get to do this i thought, i'm a lucky bastard in some respects, the old yin yang, there is the trials and tribulations and there is this... my thoughts turned to the boyos and my dad, i smoked a whole joint to the head then cracked a final Red Stripe as i gazed out over the coast of West Jamaica, i thought of how much i loved this weed and how i hoped to get back here again to partake but that if i didn't? well, praise Jah for the chances i've had to imbibe what i consider this sacred strain of herb, grown and cultivated and cared for by people who love the plant as much as i do... a plant that has meant so much to my life that it's interesting to sit and contemplate... to just sit and be irie mon.
1 comment:
That's a great travelogue kono -- I really felt I was on the trip with you. And how you managed your obligations to the boyos and the BW is to be admired. I didn't realise Jamaica had let loose its inner weed so much. Shame it's not moored where the Isle of Wight is! All the best, hope real life back in the north isn't too much of a come down.
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