'You know Celine Dion?' and The fluidity of my skin

I have been in Jamaica for three weeks already, and it’s been an exciting little while since my previous blog. I have been to Negril on the Western coast of the island several times already.

Negril and its famed Seven Mile Beach used to be, in the ‘60s, a favoured hippie hotspot. While the beach is still quite lovely, I have been told by several people that it used to be so much more magnificent. As Jamaica ‘thrived’ as a tourist destination, the precedence was to develop sufficient and attractive infrastructure. Environmental considerations were of course not prioritized, resulting in the degradation of the sea and land. And even more shocking was to hear from locals that resorts have been reported to pipe sewage into the ocean, without any repercussions. Hearing this, I with pride applied my biodegradable sunscreen to enjoy the pretty much crystal-clear waters and soak up the sun. While trying to get a nice tan (read: I got incredibly burnt, freakishly strong sunrays!), dudes locally known as ‘Rent A Dread’ would offer me anything from Sea-do rides, ganja, fruit and ‘Jamaican Steel’ (no explanation necessary on the last one, right?). A less pleasant encounter involved a sting-ray that swam with me too close for comfort.

Even though it took plenty of persuading, coaxing and negotiating with our dearly loved and protective hosts and friends, Alissa and I took local transport to Negril. It always amazes me how efficient, albeit incredible/seemingly unorganized, public transportation is in non-Western countries. No schedules, no specific departure times, no route maps, and no maximum passenger capacity. But it’s so cheap and works marvellously! And, something exciting always seems to happen during a trip. One event that will become part of my regularly re-told travel stories took place during a return trip from Negril, back up into the hills of the cool(er) Mandeville. The radio was blasting a best-of medley of Celine Dion songs. The best part, though, were that the songs transitioned from one to the next via a Jamaican Dancehall-esque groove! At the time, I wished that I had brought a tape recorder. Canada meets Jamaica, mon! So, me being all excited, I started singing to the songs quite - loudly I guess. Loud enough that a few girls who were seated behind me in the minibus could hear me. One of them, super ecstatically, tapped me on my shoulder and said: Oh my god, you know Celine Dion? Haha. I was so amazed and flabbergasted by the question that I just said: yes! The girl and I started singing, practically screaming, and acting out Celine Dion songs together. It was a blast.

I have also, again to the amazement of co-workers, begun shopping at the local market and generally spending more time in the ‘wild west’ of Mandeville. I love it there. It’s hot and humid, so many people, music blasting, jerk chicken simmering, men screaming out the name of the town their taxi is leaving for, and plenty of cat-calling. The latter, while of course awfully annoying at times, has become quite a source of amusement to me. While walking, I keep thinking: what will I be called next? When I first arrived in this country, most calls were the usual ‘Hey, Whitey’, followed by the customary ‘Pssssst’. If Alissa who is of Korean descent and I walked together, I’d usually be called ‘Miss Chin’. Guilty by association, I guess. Many times it has happened now that people will come up to us and ask if we speak Chinese, or whether we were from China. Definitely a first for me! But, the most amazing thing happened last Saturday. Within a matter of one hour, I was called Whitey, Miss Chin, and get this: Brownie! Haha, I guess I have been tanning a bit too much. Who knew that my skin colour and facial features could be so fluid!