ocean | Next Exit Travel

We interrupt our Ireland trip for a quick jaunt to the Caribbean.

As we’ve mentioned before, we both travel for work. In fact, a work trip was the impetus for starting this blog. Often times we’re in detail-less conference halls in face-less cities and we make the best of the time by exploring early in the morning and the few hours after we arrive and before we leave. Only once in my career have I been presented with a work trip that elicited the response, “Are you serious?” That was this trip.

And so it was that WPT (thanks to frequent flyer miles) and I found ourselves at an all-inclusive resort in Jamaica. I was initially dubious, but I looked at the costs and compared them to the same meeting, held in San Antonio, the previous year. The all-inclusive rates and direct airfare were actually cheaper than going to Texas. Huh.

The beach was literally a 90 second walk from the room. — The beach was literally a 90-second walk from the room.

We stayed in Montego Bay, at Iberostar’s Rose Hall Suites, and had a room (with a small porch) that overlooked the pools on the first floor. The ocean was literally right outside our door and I went to every single work obligation with wet hair. In fact, we had a 30 minute break after lunch one day and I managed to go from business suit to swimsuit and back again in that time.

I showed up to meetings with mask marks on my face. Repeatedly.

We usually prefer travel that is under our control and allows us to see the real place and people and not what the tourism board (if there is one) promotes. We relinquished the reins this time and just let the resort do what it does best – take care of its guests and present an appealing artifice.

That's my boss waving at me in the lazy river. Thanks for letting me go to Jamaica, boss! — That’s my boss waving at me in the lazy river. Thanks for letting me go to Jamaica, boss!

Lazy river. An excellent choice after coffee with coffee liqueur.

The buffet restaurant catered to vegetarians fairly well and was accommodating when they heard I was vegan. I pretty much lived on potatoes, plantains, and rice for the days we were there. At night and in the rain the local frogs sang, which delighted me. Also, there’s a lot to be said for someone showing up at your door at 9pm and offering you chocolate before bed.

Captain Tandy (that’s the resort behind him)

From what I could see, many people come to these resorts to bring home third degree burns and drink the bottom-shelf liquor. To each their own. We learned early on to ask for the top shelf and it would be served in a brimming glass. I highly suggest the coffee with the coffee liqueur. It is especially delicious when sipped during a meeting. Working!

Mobile souvenir shops, one of the early morning denizens

Ghost crab, another early morning denizen — Wee ghost crab, another early morning denizen

I was surprised by how few people came out to the beach for sunrise. That’s the best part of the day! Plus, by getting up early I was able to get in almost an hour of snorkeling each morning (we brought our own fins and masks). Once I was done with work we took out a small catamaran and then went out on a snorkel charter to the deeper reef. The small artificial reefs in front of the hotel weren’t bad, but the deeper reef had older, bigger corals and older fish. It was the first time we’ve ever had an actual guide snorkeling and free diving with the tour group. I absolutely loved being in the water there and will do a separate post with underwater photos.

Our final morning we got up early for sunrise and then swam the small artificial reefs looking for the young eagle ray WPT had seen the day before (he was able to swim and sail while I was in meetings, the lucky bastard). After patrolling the three small artificial reefs and swimming with many schools of juvenile fish I feared I wouldn’t get to see the ray. I saw a large stingray and was prepared to be content with that. Then the young eagle ray appeared and swept by us with a grace that is unmatched by any other animal. Those are the travel moments I live for.

Sunrise again, because waking up never gets old!

All-inclusive resorts dissuade you from thinking about much other than where you want to swim and what you want to drink. You find yourself playing water volleyball with your boss or having shirtless conversations with colleagues (him, not me) and that is perfectly normal. And then it is time to return home. We walked into the Montego Bay airport and it was like the interest for not feeling stressed for three days quadrupled. Lines everywhere. Chaos. Sunburned, confused, drunk, and hungover people as far as the eye could see. Confusion in at least four languages. Eventually we checked our bags and entertained ourselves by watching people walk through the doors and seeing expressions we wore not long before playing across their faces. I thought perhaps it was just a new experience for me, but a colleague traveling on the same flight said that he had traveled the globe and had never seen a line like this. We made it through security and to our gate in time and if anything the experience was more amusing than frustrating. I have no idea what Jamaica is really like, other than the ocean, but the ocean is what will draw me there again.

I was unemployed. Davida was underemployed.

Looking back, we had no business going to the UK. But I’ll always be glad that we did, for that first trip together, in January 2000, proved just the start of a now 15-year journey.

Another part of the underlying magic of that first trip was the friends that we made. Our first three nights we stayed with zinester friends, Rachael and Jo, in southeast London whose flat – the converted chapel of a former school, adorned with everything from 70 years worth of toy robots to Trashwomen ephemera – remains to this day my all-time favorite dwelling. From London we headed south to Hove, a suburb of Brighton, where we stayed with friends of Rachael and Jo, in a cold-water squat without heat. So cold was the house that, when I got up to pee in the middle of the night, the cold porcelain produced an instantaneous cloud of steam. Yet another zine-friend put us in touch with a friend of his, a most gracious pensioner with whom we stayed the next night, in her posh house in Hastings.

Meeting locals always adds another layer of excitement to travel, one you would never otherwise experience. You learn of places and things and customs exclusive of any travel guide. And if you’re lucky, you gain a new friend from it. Zine connections are often particularly fertile given the automatic shared interests. And so, for these reasons, we looked forward to meeting yet another friend of a friend during our trip to Ireland.

Anto, his wife, Aine, and their two young sons live in Youghal, a seaside town about a half-hour’s drive east of Cork, on Ireland’s southern coast. He and Davida had been in touch via email before our trip, and with a quick phone call on the road from Dublin we arranged to meet not far from their home.

Quickly proving to our mutual satisfaction that neither of us was creepy or conservative, Anto invited us back to his house. There, we met Aine and the boys, with whom our son happily played despite a few years difference in age. Aine prepared an impromptu dinner, after which we retired to their living room.

The boys cavorted and Anto played records while the four adults talked of everything from parenting to zines to travel to politics to our shared love for the ocean. The single bottle of wine they had on hand didn’t go far, so Anto and I drove to a local supermarket, where I made sure there would yet be wine in their cupboard after we left. On the short ride to and fro Anto pointed out local landmarks like the Clock Tower Gate, in downtown Youghal, which housed prisoners during the Irish rebellion of 1798.

Back at the house, Anto and Aine invited us to stay the night. We gratefully accepted, and we all spent the rest of that evening talking and drinking wine by the fire, while Anto spun Irish records and we talked of our favorite music. Later in the evening, he gave me a Dubliners record to take home. When we went to bed, hours later, it was to allow our curious young one to finally sleep.

The next morning, after a hearty breakfast of Irish porridge, we piled into the cars and drove to Goat Island Beach, a favorite destination of theirs, in nearby County Waterford. The frigid wind did nothing to dissuade Anto from stripping down to his swim trunks and going for a dip in the cold sea. He and Aine also introduced our son to Irish sport of hurling, while Davida and I explored the rocky, majestic coastline. Afterward, they took us to the 13th-century ruins of Ardmore Cathedral. Anto pointed out the adjacent 9th-century stone round tower, used by local monks to protect their valuables from marauding Norsemen.

While the three of us would have gladly spent the rest of the weekend with our new-found friends, the road beckoned. Our plans called for us to be in Killarney that night, and to ensure time enough to see everything we wanted to, we reluctantly bid our hosts goodbye.

Ireland-0290 — 13th-century ruins of Ardmore Cathedral

9th-century round tower amid the 13th-century ruins of Ardmore Cathedral

But Anto and Aine’s hospitality and generosity left an indelible impression on us for the rest of the trip, and beyond. I’ve played that Dubliners record countless times since returning home, while Davida has worked to replicate the delicious pasta dish Aine prepared for us. And we’ve both been reading his zine, Loserdom.

One day we will go back, while we’ve made it well known to our Irish hosts that they will always have a place to stay in Baltimore should they ever venture stateside. For now, I can’t help thinking that, but for 3,000 miles of interfering water, we would all likely spend time together.

Culture, Nature, and the Strange

	Davida Breier on U-Turn
	Davida Breier on U-Turn
	Marianne Bohr on U-Turn
	Florrie Cooper on U-Turn
	Ken on Serving the Woods

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Culture, Nature, and the Strange