We are in a house across the road from the beach in Long Bay, Jamaica. Long Bay is a little village on the coastal road between Port Antonio and the town of Manchioneal. It has maybe 50 houses, a little supermarket, a gas station, a post office/library combination, a bunch of churches (today is Sunday, we passed several churches and saw many church ladies in their hats), a school and a dozen or more bars, which are little shacks made of scrap wood and corrugated metal. All sell beer and drinks; many serve food. The bar across the street from our house is run by LaToya, who has been keeping…

Avoiding Jamaica's resorts, we got a car and headed to the boonies and were struck by how much this place reminds us of driving across Senegal. Cities and towns built by past colonials crumbling into disrepair, yet still functioning to some degree. Shacks made of sheet metal and cast off lumber where someone has set up a shop. Transportation centres like the gare routieres where too many people are cramming into route taxis that resemble newer sept places. The Jamaican patois is loaded with African words. Rastafari are a lot like the Baye Fall. A lot more rain and vegetation here. We can converse better in English than our broken…

We arrived in Ocho Rios on Monday, March 13. We had driven, mostly without incident, from the Montego Bay airport. We found out too late that Ocho Rios is a cruise ship port. Every day a new behemoth arrives and disgorges its load of passengers who wander around town buying souvenirs. Consequently, numerous shops and market stalls have sprung up to sell these people crappy junk. Besides the cruise ships, all-inclusive resorts abound, where sun seekers can pay $350 per day to a hotel corporation to sit on a beach, get fed and entertained by loud DJs who exhort them to get up and drink. The only money that goes…

We are in a house across the road from the beach in Long Bay, Jamaica. Long Bay is a little village on the coastal road between Port Antonio and the town of Manchioneal. It has maybe 50 houses, a little supermarket, a gas station, a post office/library combination, a bunch of churches (today is Sunday, we passed several churches and saw many church ladies in their hats), a school and a dozen or more bars, which are little shacks made of scrap wood and corrugated metal. All sell beer and drinks; many serve food. The bar across the street from our house is run by LaToya, who has been keeping…

Avoiding Jamaica's resorts, we got a car and headed to the boonies and were struck by how much this place reminds us of driving across Senegal. Cities and towns built by past colonials crumbling into disrepair, yet still functioning to some degree. Shacks made of sheet metal and cast off lumber where someone has set up a shop. Transportation centres like the gare routieres where too many people are cramming into route taxis that resemble newer sept places. The Jamaican patois is loaded with African words. Rastafari are a lot like the Baye Fall. A lot more rain and vegetation here. We can converse better in English than our broken…

We arrived in Ocho Rios on Monday, March 13. We had driven, mostly without incident, from the Montego Bay airport. We found out too late that Ocho Rios is a cruise ship port. Every day a new behemoth arrives and disgorges its load of passengers who wander around town buying souvenirs. Consequently, numerous shops and market stalls have sprung up to sell these people crappy junk. Besides the cruise ships, all-inclusive resorts abound, where sun seekers can pay $350 per day to a hotel corporation to sit on a beach, get fed and entertained by loud DJs who exhort them to get up and drink. The only money that goes…

We are in a house across the road from the beach in Long Bay, Jamaica. Long Bay is a little village on the coastal road between Port Antonio and the town of Manchioneal. It has maybe 50 houses, a little supermarket, a gas station, a post office/library combination, a bunch of churches (today is Sunday, we passed several churches and saw many church ladies in their hats), a school and a dozen or more bars, which are little shacks made of scrap wood and corrugated metal. All sell beer and drinks; many serve food. The bar across the street from our house is run by LaToya, who has been keeping…

Avoiding Jamaica's resorts, we got a car and headed to the boonies and were struck by how much this place reminds us of driving across Senegal. Cities and towns built by past colonials crumbling into disrepair, yet still functioning to some degree. Shacks made of sheet metal and cast off lumber where someone has set up a shop. Transportation centres like the gare routieres where too many people are cramming into route taxis that resemble newer sept places. The Jamaican patois is loaded with African words. Rastafari are a lot like the Baye Fall. A lot more rain and vegetation here. We can converse better in English than our broken…

We arrived in Ocho Rios on Monday, March 13. We had driven, mostly without incident, from the Montego Bay airport. We found out too late that Ocho Rios is a cruise ship port. Every day a new behemoth arrives and disgorges its load of passengers who wander around town buying souvenirs. Consequently, numerous shops and market stalls have sprung up to sell these people crappy junk. Besides the cruise ships, all-inclusive resorts abound, where sun seekers can pay $350 per day to a hotel corporation to sit on a beach, get fed and entertained by loud DJs who exhort them to get up and drink. The only money that goes…

We are in a house across the road from the beach in Long Bay, Jamaica. Long Bay is a little village on the coastal road between Port Antonio and the town of Manchioneal. It has maybe 50 houses, a little supermarket, a gas station, a post office/library combination, a bunch of churches (today is Sunday, we passed several churches and saw many church ladies in their hats), a school and a dozen or more bars, which are little shacks made of scrap wood and corrugated metal. All sell beer and drinks; many serve food. The bar across the street from our house is run by LaToya, who has been keeping…

Avoiding Jamaica's resorts, we got a car and headed to the boonies and were struck by how much this place reminds us of driving across Senegal. Cities and towns built by past colonials crumbling into disrepair, yet still functioning to some degree. Shacks made of sheet metal and cast off lumber where someone has set up a shop. Transportation centres like the gare routieres where too many people are cramming into route taxis that resemble newer sept places. The Jamaican patois is loaded with African words. Rastafari are a lot like the Baye Fall. A lot more rain and vegetation here. We can converse better in English than our broken…

We arrived in Ocho Rios on Monday, March 13. We had driven, mostly without incident, from the Montego Bay airport. We found out too late that Ocho Rios is a cruise ship port. Every day a new behemoth arrives and disgorges its load of passengers who wander around town buying souvenirs. Consequently, numerous shops and market stalls have sprung up to sell these people crappy junk. Besides the cruise ships, all-inclusive resorts abound, where sun seekers can pay $350 per day to a hotel corporation to sit on a beach, get fed and entertained by loud DJs who exhort them to get up and drink. The only money that goes…