You love designer duds, covet a closet full of fashionable shoes and handbags – why would you even think of staying anywhere other than a designer hotel? That’s exactly the thinking among a handful of the world’s top fashion houses, including Armani, Versace, Bulgari, Missoni, and Moschino, who are boldly taking the idea of lifestyle chic where no hotel and spa has gone before. Haute holidays have arrived. Here’s our peek at the new chic: vacationcouture.
Nicely tying up my time in Jamaica with a rainbow, my final day on the island coincides with an announcement by the Jamaican LGBT rights group J-FLAG of a television campaign aimed at encouraging Jamaicans to love and support their LGBT family members. The US Ambassador to Jamaica, Pamela E Bridgewater, addressed a packed audience at the launch of the public service announcement, Unconditional Love, stating that “homophobia must be eliminated immediately, [because] as President Obama says, no one should be hated because of who they love.” Featuring Christine Straw, former Miss Jamaica World and Miss Jamaica Universe, and her gay brother Matthew Straw, the video is a public declaration of love and acceptance – not the typically bigoted rhetoric one has come to expect publicly from the island’s leaders. As a step toward greater visibility, the effects of the PSA can’t be underestimated. For too long people have dwelt in the fear of what they don’t know: when it comes home to roost that’s no longer a valid excuse. Change, it seems, is finally coming to Jamaica – whether people like it or not.
Without question, the Sugarloaf pineapple is the tastiest fruit I’ve ever sampled. (How’s that for a sweeping statement?) Native to parts of the Caribbean and South America, the fruit was brought to Hawaii where it was bred and branded as the Kona Sugarloaf, a miniature masterpiece with no acid, a high sugar content and only the slightest of woody cores. Squat and cylindrical in shape, it is an unusually sweet fruit in an unusually petite package – especially if you’ve grown accustomed to bigger equalling better. Far from the genetically modified consistency of large-scale commercial growers, the Sugarloaf in Jamaica maintains its naturally quirky appearance, like an heirloom. It’s a succulent testimony to the power of personality.
Despite a fondness for jerk, Jamaica’s true national dish – the food expats crave to a degree so obsessive that’s it’s canned and shipped around the globe – is something called ackee and saltfish. Ackee is a fruit which when ripe splays open in an act of self-immolation to reveal a shiny black seed the size of an olive. Only then is the flesh fit for consumption and still it first needs to be boiled. Once cooked it has the deceptive texture and appearance of firm scrambled eggs, which might be one reason why the dish is a popular staple at both breakfast and brunch. Another is the fact that salt fish is the Caribbean’s answer to smoked salmon, and here it’s sauteed with sweet red peppers, onions, a healthy amount of allspice and the boiled ackee. Like a good plate of hash it satisfies the palate’s craving for savory and sweet, while the starchy ackee functions like potato, soaking up the residual cooking flavors while pleasantly tricking the eye.
If you’re driving around Jamaica and see a homemade sign with the scrawl “ice cold jelly,” take heed and stop. It means there’s cheap, cool refreshment to be had in the form of coconut jelly, the slightly sweet, delicious slime – for lack of a better word – that forms inside the fruit of an immature coconut and tastes like, well, jelly. Even better: if you’re cycling through the jungle and happen upon a roadside Rasta fruitstand, make a pit stop for a banana or two and some intensely hydrating fresh coconut water. Don’t be put off by the half-dozen or so ganja-smoking Rastas under the lean-to, they’re stoned out of their minds. More formidable is Mamma, who despite seeming to have never discovered the benefits of wearing a bra is outfitted in a pair of Gucci sneakers and fisherman’s cap. She’s the one in charge here, so ask the boss for a coconut water then watch as one of her boys hacks at the fruit with a machete before handing it off to you with a straw. While you’re drinking it down let Mamma show you the rest of her fruit:  plantains, baby banana, cassava, breadfruit, lemon, lime, and curiously conical pineapple. If you’re lucky she’ll also enlighten you to the fact that she’s no Rastafarian – her family are Maroon, from up in the hills. When you ask about the Maroons she’ll tell you something else you didn’t know: the Maroon were runaway slaves who banded together and took to the hills, establishing a communal hunter-gather society. On other Caribbean islands the runaways were quickly overcome by white settlers and hunters, yet in Jamaica Maroons thrived and grew powerful enough to fight the British colonists to a draw, eventually signing treaties which not only freed them a good half-century before the abolition of the slave trade but also guaranteed them autonomy. Their continued isolation has essentially kept the Maroon separate from mainstream Jamaican society to this day, which is why you might struggle to understand Mamma’s patois yet still grasp her sense of pride.
For a small island nation, Jamaica has an inordinate number of churches; most of them squarely and scarily of the right-wing variety. It’s unsettling to think that the country’s endemic homophobia could emanate from such peaceably humble buildings – especially when all the ladies wear such fabulous hats. (Click the image for greater detail of that sartorial fact) Still, I couldn’t help but smile at the irony as I cycled past one church in particular.
Port Antonio is nestled between twin harbors on Jamaica’s northeast curve, where mist-shrouded mountains drop down to the sea and tourists are few and far between. Orchids, bananas and palm trees grow in profusion here. Waterfalls drop into fern-edged pools. And some of the island’s most elegant villas are tucked along hillsides overlooking secluded coves. Life moves at a slower pace here than it does elsewhere on the island – not that anybody anywhere in Jamaica is ever in any kind of rush – lending a vibe of authenticity which both Mobay and Ocho Rios sorely lack. There seems to be more time: to take advantage of swimming and snorkeling in the shimmering Blue Lagoon, which is fed by freshwater springs and said to reach a depth of almost 200 feet; to worship a little sun on the sand at Frenchman’s Cove, a favorite spot among shell collectors and sunbathers; to do, in fact, nothing. Eschewing more leisurely pursuits, however, I’ve opted to go cycling through the Blue Mountains, home of Jamaica’s eponymous – and very expensive – coffee, as well as its tallest peaks. Excited about traveling on two wheels, I’m nevertheless feeling a conflicted sense of both freedom and foreboding.
Jerk is Jamaica’s claim to culinary fame. A fiery spice blend of allspice, cloves, garlic, and Scotch bonnet peppers, jerk spice, as it’s commonly called, is dry-rubbed into various meats before smoking over a slow-burning mix of hardwood and charcoal. Jamaicans boast of being able to jerk anything – yes, the ubiquity of jerk means it can function as both noun and verb – from pork and tofu to shellfish and sausage, each augmented in its own particular way by a healthy rub of jerk. Yet for me, nothing quite measures up to how the spice permeates - and in the process tenderizes – the meat of a chicken. The capsicum in the pepper breaks down the muscle fibers, turning even the toughest old bird into something sublime and juicy – with a satisfying spice kick, too.  Makeshift jerk shacks are found all over the country, but along an empty stretch of road between Ocho Rios and Port Antonio I came upon Buccaneers Jerk & Juice, a substantially less provisional establishment with both a garden and bar. Half a succulent chicken with a side of festival, lightly sweetened fried dumplings that are tailor-made for mopping up the addictive mix of drippings and hot sauce which puddles on the plate, set me back all of eight bucks. That’s what I call finger-lickin’ good.
The 200-foot water-slide perched on the edge of Mystic Mountain is the perfect cool down after the sweaty adrenaline rush of bobsleds and zip lines. And despite the speed, I somehow managed to nail the landing – even if I do say so myself.
The second stop atop Mystic Mountain is the zip line canopy tour, a guided series of tree-to-tree platforms that sends you flying through the coastal rainforest. Readers of this site have seen me harnessed up a number of times, so the opportunity to indulge again is a bit of a no-brainer. With only six relatively short lines it’s by far the shortest zip adventure I’ve encountered, yet it also includes two interesting features that spice things up a bit: a vertical rappel and a suspension walking bridge.  As for the zip line itself, well, watch the video and you’ll agree it’s so easy even your granny could do it.
Head due East out of Mobay and after a while you find yourself in Ocho Rios - Jamaica’s adventure capital. There’s no shortage of tours and attractions catering to the massive cruise ships that dock off the coast but Mystic Mountain is the only place where you can make like you’re a part of Jamaica’s most famous team of Olympic hopefuls. On the Rainforest Bobsled ride, custom-designed individual sleds coast along stainless steel rails in a 3,000 foot gravity-driven whoosh through the forest. It’s sort of like a roller coaster – except for the scary fact that you’re on a sled hurtling between trees and limestone cliffs. You can control the speed with a handy hand break, however; or let go, if you dare, and allow the full force of gravity to propel you downhill. Fast or slow, you’re in for a thrill – with a soft landing at the bottom and a scenic ride back to the top.
Jamaicans have used traditional bush remedies to heal and nurture their people for centuries. At Fern Tree, the spa at Half Moon, the creation of a unique Spa Elder is a natural extension of this tradition. Part healer and part herbalist, the Spa Elder is designed to unite both traditional remedies and the present day spa experience by building local ingredients such as fruits, herbs, flowers, bark, and roots into the foundation of each treatment as well as spa philosophy. Consultations with the Bohiti – literally, “one who knows the wisdom of both plant and spirit worlds” in the native Taino language – can be used for advice on indigenous skin or body treatments; a detailed prescription of therapies suited to individual needs; or simply for learning about Jamaican herbs and rituals. It’s a brilliant idea. And the kind of service you’d expect to find at a lifestyle and wellness center or at a more traditionally defined luxury resort, like the bespoke Spa Shaman at Four Season Resort Nevis. With such a bounty of knowledge at their well-trained fingertips, the Spa Elder is a real resource for both spa novice and hardcore spagoer alike. After reading me and sensing my need for a deep detox, Elder Stella suggested I try the Cerasee Body Scrub, a mix of herbs and ground cerasee combined with essential oils to slough off dead skin. (Cerasee is known throughout Jamaica as a great skin cleanser with the ability to both sooth and heal. It’s also frequently brewed into a tea and used as a weekly detox – and occasional hangover cure.) Followed up with a moisturizing massage, I left the spa feeling lighter, brighter and tingly clean all over. As for the detoxifying effects of the cerasee, that became explosively clear only a short time later – after which I made a mental note to go in search of it in tea form.  The moral of this particular spa story: listen to your elder.
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