Respites
Fisherman’s Beach: Joy Tapped, Beauty Found
Ivy F. DeShield, contributing editor
ivydeshield@gmail.com
My joy for 2011 is the time I spent this month in very good company on the sands of Hellshire Beach (aka Fisherman’s Beach) only 14 miles outside of Kingston, Jamaica, dining seaside on steamed parrot fish, festival (sweet fried maize dumplings), grilled spiny lobster tails, and natural coconut water. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever had a more satisfying meal or I should say, feast. I can’t help but recall this beautifully, nostalgic experience in romantic terms, even though our crew was miles and miles from the luxury of classy 20 footers, five-star accommodations and fine dining on a boardwalk. No, there wasn’t a uniformed hostess waiting to usher us into Aunt May’s colorful, rustic beach shack bar or a refined maitre d' to seat us at the best table in the house with a waterfront view, but there were intimate bands of deeply tanned, smiling faces with their cheerful, sharp patois cries welcoming us into their warm and friendly assembly of swimmers, hawkers, fishermen, cooks and tourists. And everything was kissed by color from the many thatched-roof restaurants to the rainbow-hued tams and other wares hanging from various booths along the beach.
Traveling back in time now, my memory is all the clearer. In Hellshire, celebration has no need for a holiday or a particular season, and the spirit of enterprise is non-stop and thriving. My travel mates and international designers, Korto Momolu and Meghan Fabulous (Noland), and I were immediately rushed by several beach hawkers who showed off their delightful wares of painted calabashes, seashell jewelry, clothing, carvings, Jamaican jerk spice, etc. One particular guy allowed us to pose with his cinnamon-colored donkey, which stood by patiently as we included it in the backdrop against the crystal aqua blue waters of the Caribbean. Still dripping from the rolling waves, rambunctious children of various brown shades raced around us, occasionally stopping their afternoon play to throw us inquisitive glances or boldly approach us for a closer inspection at our motley group, only to lose interest seconds later. And as I stood there, staring directly into the skyline with the sun beaming strongly and watching a highly occupied young woman attempt to build a sandcastle, I realized that for the moment, I was happy, completely. I was transfixed as I stood quietly swaying to the DJ’s old-school R&B beats and reggae sounds reverberating through the open sky, wild and free. Nothing is tame beneath a wild sky, and everything surrounding me was alive with pure joy and raw beauty.
I can still see Korto spreading her arms wide against the blue sea and Meghan with a quiet, wistful grin playing on her lips in the shade—and me...Well, I believe the Rasta spirit captured each of us in a special way. For those few hours, Hellshire was our heaven on earth. Even though we have now returned to our respective homes in Northern America, I think the beginning of a new journey began for each of us on Fisherman’s Beach that day. We have already made a pact to return. And next time, we will spend at least one full day seaside. We will eat the sky, sip the white sands, listen to the waters and smile at each other when the need arises. Absolutely free to be who we are for once...oh, and no worries, Mon; no worries at all.
