Learning about Jamaica -- and from each other

October 24, 2004|Eric Goldscheider, Globe Correspondent

KINGSTON, Jamaica -- In our zeal to dive into our Jamaican adventure, Josh and I rushed through customs and headlong into my first embarrassing, if minor, snag. He let me live it down, but not for a day or two.

This was to be an intergenerational buddy trip. My fantasy was teaching my 12-year-old son the ways of cheap travel, avoiding tourist clichs, and soaking up local ways. His fantasies were all about five-star suites and first-class everything.

Lesson one was to pack everything for a fortnight into two carry-on day packs. Only after we smugly glided through passport control and customs did I find out that currency conversion in Kingston's Norman Manley International Airport takes place in the baggage claim area. So while passengers with large suitcases eased into cabs, we were petitioning bemused officials in a small office to let us back into the airport to get a few Jamaican dollars.

Lesson two was Josh's to give: Slow down. He compared my gait to that of ''a freaking super runner." I regard walking as basic transportation, not necessarily as an opportunity just to amble. But adjusting my pace was easy as we were enveloped by the tropical heat New Englanders like me start to crave soon after the first golden maple leaf hits the ground.

The Sandhurst Hotel was a great landing spot for what was to be a vacation combining urban exploration with lazing on the beach. We would eat in neighborhood restaurants, discover side streets, write in our journals, and journey across the island.

The contrasts between those who have a lot and those who have next to nothing are extreme here, and they mingle in popular culture as well as in the street. The roughest slums like Trenchtown are glorified in the music of Jamaica's most famous ambassador, Bob Marley, who died of brain cancer in 1981. His ability to give voice to the aspirations of the poor made him globally loved. So there is something slightly odd about hearing the social commentary rife in reggae lyrics (''Dem belly full but we're hungry. A hungry mob is an angry mob.") on the radio interspersed with hourly updates on the status of Air Jamaica flights. I had to wonder what tiny percent of the listening audience cares about the comings and goings of the elite on any given day.

People I asked, though, including Raymond Douglas, the manager at Sugar Daddy's restaurant, who hasn't flown for three years, insisted the regular drumbeat of information about delays and on-time arrivals is much valued.

''It keeps you abreast in case your friends are coming or going," Douglas said.