A Day in the life of me: Stranded at Sea

As a child growing up, I spent most of my holidays from school running around Port Antonio, regardless of how long each holiday was. My Dear Aunt would pick us up from school on the last day or if we were lucky on the second to last day of school and off we go, Portie or bust, come rain or shine, hell or high water nothing could stop us. I use to suffer from the worst car sickness, it was just horrible and the winding country roads made the journey even worst. I tried many different tactics to ease my suffering, from turning my head before the car starts going around the corner, to looking up, down or close my eyes but nothing worked, eventually I grew out of it. I remember on one trip the car had that green peppers smell because we had pizza and being nauseous at the time meant that whenever I smell Green peppers I got nauseous for the next couple months even when I was not in a car but no matter what, nothing could stop me from heading to my Portie. One of the good things about being a regular visitor to Port Antonio was that we amassed a nice legion of friends who would also head to Portie at the same time.

On one particular night the Portie gang was hanging out by the tennis court trying to decide what to do the next day when someone came up with the grand idea that in the morning we should go fishing out on the high seas. The agreement was made to rendezvous on Monkey Island just off San San beach, however while the members of the crew who lived at the Blue Lagoon had their own boats, we needed an additional boat for members of our crew and at that time one could rent a row boat on San San Beach. So everything was sorted, boats… check, crazy kids… check, fishing tackle… check, time to turn in and get some sleep because we had a 7:00 am wake up time and 8:30 am Rendezvous time.

At about 9:00 am the next morning the phone rang, the Blue Lagoon crew had been to the island and back and we were still in bed, so up we jumped in a mad rush and out of the villa in 15 minutes flat, stopping at the other villas to collect the remainder of the crew. We stopped at the last villa to collect a young English kid who was new to the group as this was his family’s first time in Jamaica and as soon as he hugged his mom good bye, she burst into tears, she must have thought this was the last time she was ever going to see her son again and looking back now, I do not blame her, since most of the crew knew nothing about surviving at sea or even how to row a boat, with the exception of my little cousin and some members of the Blue Lagoon crew we were all novice, with very little fishing experience.

Off we went, down the secret passageway, which is a series of steps through dense vegetation, leading down from the hill to the street, then a mad dash across the street, through the bushes and onto San San beach towards the boat rental place which was just a section at the far end of the beach. On our approach one of the men working there said “a what unoo boys want?”, we said we needed a boat because we were going fishing, without batting an eye he said “unoo have money?”, we said have any what, why? …You see we were accustomed to running around Portie without a cent in our pockets, heck we did not even have pockets because all we wore at the time was swim trunks and our only means of payment was putting various expenses on our Dear Aunts tab and so the question of money was foreign to us. We looked at the man as if he was from the planet Mongo and he looked at us kids as if we were from the distant planet Remulak in galaxy far, far away, this was going to get nasty because we needed a boat and he was standing in our way. The boat debate carried on until the owner of the boat rental place came over and said, “oh... is alright man, is Mrs. Such and Such Pickney dem, just give them what dem want” ….great crisis averted. 

The man gave us a rawtid (very) big boat, we said to each other, no worries nuff room and jumped in as he pushed us off. We drifted for a while trying to figure out how we were going to do this, the boat was wide, much too wide for us kids to comfortably have one person row it and the oars were kind off fat for our hands but hey, we gave it a go. It was a slow and hard process, not very comfortable and we lacked coordination as each of us took turns. Finding ourselves out a bit we decided to change strategy, one person would row one side and another person would row the other side, …now que Benny Hill music, because it was the most Benny Hill of moments I have ever been involved with and I have been in many. First we tried to row to a beat to keep us in sync, like in those old Roman movies but soon after we started going in circles and off course, the boat bobbed up and down as tempers flared, everyone started calling everyone else an idiot and accused each other of not knowing what they were doing, truth be told none of us knew what we were doing. The English kid had the look of fear on his face and my little cousin said that he was not feeling too comfortable about this adventure and was thinking of jumping overboard to swim back to land. My little cousin does have a knack for abandoning any adventure he considers foolhardy and life threatening but we convinced him to do otherwise, we needed his expertise.

Next the decision was made to drop anchor, settle the boat and have a mature discussion as to how best to reach Monkey Island, where we could see the Blue Lagoon crew in the distance laughing their heads off at our expense, in our minds this was supposed to be a Hawaii five o moment but it was most certainly not. We dropped the anchor and watched as the rope swooshed over the side of the boat and sank beneath the crystal clear waters of the bay however it was way too late before we realized that the end of the rope was not tied to the blasted boat and we watched as the end swooshed over the side and disappeared from view.

Laughter, panic and cries of idiots filled the bay before we decided to signal the Blue Lagoon crew for help. One of the guys powered up his boat and came out towards us, he was coming at speed but hey he was the expert not us, then my little cousin realized he was not going to stop in time and shouted brace for impact! The boat hit the rented boat, it did not hit us too hard but the hole in the top side of the rented boat said otherwise, more laughter as he gave us a rope that we tied to our boat and he towed us over to Monkey Island.

We stayed at Monkey Island for a while laughing and joking about what just happened before the decision was made to split the crew into the two remaining power boats. I was given the job of tying the rented boat to a tree on the island and then we were off. It was a beautiful sunny tropical Caribbean day as we powered our way to find a nice fishing spot. We found a spot and dropped anchor with much laughter as someone shouted “make sure it’s tied to the boat”… It was then that I decided that fishing was long boring process, you can see the little buggers in the crystal clear waters below but they just ignored your line and bait. After a while the crew in the other boat decided they have had enough and was heading to the Blue Lagoon to relax while we decided to stick with this fishing thing a little longer. Then after about another hour everyone got fed up, we were hungry, thirsty and wanted out of this boat so we decided, to hell with these ungrateful fish, let’s head to the Blue Lagoon Restaurant for something to eat and to relax with the rest of the group.

What happened next can only be described as anchor’s revenge because this anchor was stuck on the reef below and no amount of powering and turning the boat could free it. After another hour which seemed like three hours of trying to free the anchor we began to feel proper sea sick. The boat bobbed up and down, up and down, the sun was hot, we were thirsty and hungry with parched dry lips and the smell of sea water made us feel even worst. One person shouted let’s cut the rope but the owner of the boat and anchor was not having it, it was not an option.

Not long after the English kid put his head over the side and decided to feed the fishes with the content of his stomach, he threw up and his face changed colour. I was this close to follow suit with a second course when another one of the boys went stir crazy, shouted he could not take it anymore and jumped overboard, dived down to where the anchor was and seconds later came up with not only the anchor but the large piece of coral it was attached to which had the most disgusting smell, it was an extremely stink piece of coral but we were free, free at last, thank God almighty, we are free at last and off we went, full speed ahead feeling the cool tropical breeze on our faces as the boat zipped over the water. All I could think of was standing on dry land, drinking some water and eating a club sandwich.

While heading back I left my line in the water, I looked back to see it skimming on top of the water as we sped along, then I looked back again a fish about a foot long was attached to it, I shouted I got a fish, even though it was totally by accident. We arrived at Blue Lagoon to find the English kids’ mother waiting for us with sandwiches, we chat and laughed then ordered more food on my Dear Aunts tab.

Sometime after we remembered the other boat we left at Monkey Island so we jumped back into the boat to retrieve it but when we got to the island the boat was gone. It seemed my expert sailor knot was rubbish and had nothing to do tying knots at sea. The boat drifted away and went further out to sea, we went after it and returned it to the rental boat place which by this time was close, everyone had left, so we dragged the boat onto the beach with the rest of the other boats then head back to the Blue Lagoon where great fun was had by all.

The next morning my Dear Aunt called the villa, she was not pleased, she demanded we marched our little behinds down to the office immediately, which we did only the see the boat rental owner with a long list of grievances and to say he was not a happy chappy was an understatement. Anchor and rope missing, damaged boat due to hole in the side, boat not returned at the appointed time, rental fee due and he was told by someone that it was drifting alone on the high seas. The man demanded compensation which my Dear Aunt paid, she was very upset and demanded we be more careful at which point my little cousin and I put on our best Puss in Boot, “poor ting pickney” Face and even though she pretended it was not having an effect, we knew it was, how could she resist us, we had power and we were not afraid to use it as we turned up the “Cutetage” to max. Couple days later, Dear Aunt got the bill from the Blue lagoon and it was Puss in Boot face time again.

Health and Safety was not an issue back in those days as the owner of the boat rental place did not think twice about giving a bunch of kids most of which was not even in their teens, a boat and helped pushed them out to sea, no licenses and certification required. Personal responsibility was yours regardless of age, if you climb a tree and fall out then either you, broke your neck and die or get up dust yourself off or never climb a tree again or you learn to be more careful the next time you climb a tree. In those days you learn by trial and error, broken limbs, cuts and bruises was a part of the process.

Not too long ago I sat on my verandah drinking a beer, I saw my neighbour pulled into her drive way as she had picked up her little Tubby from school and was dropping him home. I watched as little Tubby rolled out of the car with his box of Meal Deal and entered his house. Then his friend from next door Little Tubby2 rolled over to Little Tubby’s house, soon after both of the Tubbies left the house with the meal deal and video game console in hand and waddled over to Little Tubby2’s house.

It would not have surprised me if mom packed the Tubbies back in the car, backed out of her driveway and drive the couple feet next door to deliver them to Tubby2’s house, fearing the little round porkly Tubbies might stub their toes while walking. The Tubbies were so out of shape and overweight that I would not be surprise if their Overindulgent parents still wipe their nether regions for them after doing a number two. I looked at little Tubby and I wondered if these kids still climb trees, roll ball, fly kites, make sling shot and go on fun but sometimes life threatening adventures or are all such excitements now reserved for the virtual world? When I was growing up the only reason I would be inside was because I am sick and even then they had a hard time keeping me indoors.

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Fillet of Place

I’d never been on a bamboo raft.  Never knew they existed. So I sat and gazed at the couple reclining on the bamboo raft as it skimmed the water.  It was coming on twilight and the sun tinged pinky orange the bleach white villas behind them.  The air was cool underneath the overhanging branches.  I could hear their leaves rustling and the ripples as they formed on the water’s surface.  Grasshoppers and crickets began rehearsing the first tentative chords of their nightly orchestra.  I could see the eddy currents forming off the raftsman’s oar as he piloted the raft forward.  I could even hear the mumblings of the conversation being had by the couple. They didn’t mind my voyeurism.  Didn’t even know I was there.   Only the raftsman knew.  He was looking directly at me.

How romantic! I thought. 

I knew this image was taken in Jamaica, but where in Jamaica?  In the pre internet age of my early teenage years Google wasn’t at my disposal.  No.  Where was this place and how do I get there?  This powerful - provocative image became increasingly so each time I saw it repeated in subsequent issues of the magazine it was featured in.   So much so, that I wondered at the advertiser’s aim.  To me, the ad advertised the place and not the cheap cologne foregrounded.

This ad was my initial visual introduction to the Blue Lagoon, or Blue Hole.

Its genius loci had such a profound impact on my young teenage mind, even in 2D, and I decided definitively at that moment that this is where I’d spend my honeymoon.  Wherever ‘this’ was.  Even had the groom already picked out.  No surprise there.  Teenage girls envision this soppy stuff waaay ahead of time. We think of Love, Gossip, Fashion, Boys, Parties, Music, … .  Not necessarily in that order.  Maybe in that order.  It’s how we’re conditioned. That’s what the sociologists say.

A rarely seen vantage point: The courtyard entrances to two Villas

Fast forward three-ish years and I actually had my first real encounter with Blue Lagoon.  I was on a sixth form field trip.  Some wicked trip that.  Rocking and dancing in the aisle to Pinchers, Lt Stitchie and Tiger (Damn Ting! I put Jamaica white rum in di damn ting!) belting out of the superb sound system of the quarter million bus we hired for the day; half of us flirting (not me of course) and quasi-flirting (??  Maybe not quasi-…call me naïve; you wouldn’t be the first). Seventeen year olds: a hot mess of hormones and faux nihilism.

I think – I’m sure, that was my absolute first trip to Portland.  Our destination was Fairy Hill beach, but we stopped at Long Bay and Blue Hole on the way.  I was secretly excited to finally go to a place I’d only vicariously been.

It did not disappoint.

A bunch of us ran out excitedly to tromp all over the grounds…or just to get out of the bus.  The lagoon was aqua-emerald-turquoise-teal and the saturation more intense than I could ever have imagined. As was the foliage.  After catching my breath, I and couple of girls walked alongside the lagoon's edge and into a dense part of the foliage on the almost opposite bank.  Climbing up through there reminded me of climbing through the steep backyards of some of my neighbours’ houses in Stony Hill, sans limestone boulders. 

Eventually I found what had called to me across the water:  Two villas. One in total, exquisite ruins; the other only just.  We conveniently did not hear our teacher call after us to be careful.  We climbed up and lobbed ourselves over the temporal threshold of the latter villa.  It was constructed of wood and painted white.  Inside was silent.  We subconsciously responded to this silence by reverting to our hushed voices.  The chatting and laughter from our party outside reduced to incoherent white noise.  The rooms were a shadow of their former selves, but discernible nonetheless. The villa wasn’t big, but it was bright and well planned.  Much of it remained true and we were able to walk its corridors that led to the remains of room after room and climb a partial stairway leading to what was once upstairs.  It was easy to imagine residing in this space now coloured the faded white of deteriorating clapboard, cloaked in bright green moss and grey-green lichen. 

Easy to imagine sitting on the balcony observing a pinky-orange sunset to the tune of a thousand crickets, easy to imagine falling asleep in the rooms facing hillside to the lull of rustling leaves and the muffled, melodic klaxon of the occasional country bus rounding the bend of the not too distant A4 road above, easy to imagine being awakened by the seven-tiered coo of the white-wing doves and arising to see the morning sun reflecting off the still, glassy surface of the aqua-emerald-turquoise-teal lagoon, easy to imagine planning the day’s occupation whilst lounging in the living room with its French windows flung wide to let in nature.   

Wandering through the villa I noticed that philodendron and other foliage had crept up and vined and snaked their way through the rotted away portions (even the plants wanted to see inside this folly), weaving in and out as they found their way to the sunlight above, tiny bits of which floated down through the holes of the soft, rotted cedar shake roof to rest on the floors and walls, highlighting that peculiar shade of chartreuse that new moss has in the sunlight.  One could hear the intermittent sound of leaves rustling in a cascading crescendo and feel the coolness of the now semi-enclosed space.  The sublime takeover of nature transformed the villa in ruins into a cathedral in the treetops.  A monument to what once was.

It was hard to reverse track and exit this ruin.  A stark contrast to the solid, sure, concrete villas on the other side of the lagoon, yet just as majestic in its faded glory.  I found myself lamenting,


‘Who didn’t love it enough to preserve it?’

Few things last forever.  I suppose.

Pastel drawing of Restaurant

'Orchid Cay' with foliage

I was in a very pensive mood on our departure from Blue Hole and on to the next stop, Fairy Hill beach, which held its fair share of delights.  My pensive mood returned once evening fell and we headed back to Kingston.  I knew I would return but I never knew that I was destined to see my first moray eel and spotted eagle ray at the Blue Hole.  That I’d go on several trips to Portland with friends when on vacation from college and revisit the lagoon each time; that I’d get my diver’s certification there and nearby Trident Wall; that it would take eight different shades of blue and nine different shades of green pastels to recreate an image of the lagoon for an art class; that Master Bates, the unofficial mascot of the lagoon would remain long enough to gain a bit part in a YouTube feature decades hence; that I and my schoolmate/blindly-unbeknownst-to-me future husband (who was also on the trip) would, on our honeymoon,  swim out to the tiny little cay and climb it, stand at the top, and in youthful, destructive ignorance, pick two purple orchids as I selfishly and carelessly exerted my power over nature.


I regret doing that to this day.   That cay is now bald, that marriage long dissolved, Master Bates half rusted and shabby, the wooden shed in my pastel itself a ruin, the once lush bank to the left of the lovers on the raft now transformed into an abhorrent man-made, polluted, dumped-up beach.

I’ve been accused of being naïve, and a hopeless romantic to boot. Guilty as charged.  And I wouldn’t have me any other way.  It’s probably why it never occurred to me that Blue Hole’s timeless, startling, ethereal beauty would not go unnoticed by anyone who encountered her; in either 2D or real D.

The systematic destruction of the lagoon draws my soul and pierces my heart deeply.  I am at a loss as to why such a move was undertaken and why nearby inhabitants of the lagoon, some of whom wield significant power and influence over public policy and decisionmaking, have turned a blind eye to its demise. I find myself asking myself,

Do they not love it enough to preserve it?

Master Bates

 - Torsdag

 See also - My Favourite Parish: Portland

Save Blue Lagoon

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My Favourite Parish: Portland

Born and bred in Kingston and St. Andrew, that is the place I call home but it is the rural parish of Portland with its capital Port Antonio that I hope will be my final resting place, this is where I have instructed my family to spread my ashes. If Portland was a woman she would be my first and only love, it is the place where I am at peace as the stress of everyday life melts away, nothing matters when I am in Port Antonio.

My love for Portie started at a very young age back in the 70’s at that time my aunt was the general manager for a couple of Portland’s finest hotels and I would spend school holidays with her. Port Antonio was freedom to me, our aunt had no idea where we were and what we were doing until she got the bills we ran up on our exploration. Over the years we amassed a legion of friends both local and foreign as we conquer and colonized Portie. Once we set out, we had no idea what was going to happen or how the day will end.  From Goblin Hill to Dragons Bay climbing trees and picking apples, to the Blue Lagoon for lunch, a ride on the glass bottom boat then to San San and maybe hitch a ride to the town and back, bedtime did not exist for us, we stayed up listening to duppy stories told to us by the night watchman, then raided the hotel kitchen, that was how we roll. I remember my aunt sending us to catch soldier crabs for the Hotel’s crab race, the smell of the property and the night noises will always be with me.

There are certain experiences in life that you lock away for a rainy miserable day, experiences you will never forget and never want to forget because it warms your heart and take you to that happy place.

I remember our laughter and screams as we played in the hotel pool, jumping in and out, diving from the diving board and pushing each other in. I remember we played Marco Polo and treasure hunt as we retrieved various items from the bottom of the pool placed there while we closed our eyes.  I remember seeing our parents relaxing near the tennis court with drinks in hand, having various conversations as they kept a watchful eye on us.

Fast forward 3 decades when I had the pleasure of taking my family to this very same Hotel, all the family and friends was there with another generation of kids doing exactly what we use to do, the laughter, the screams and playing of games as they jump in and out of the pool while we stand aside engaged in conversations with a rum in hand, the diving board is gone now, so is the hotel kitchen but very little had changed about the place, still full of charm. It was then that my Aunt came over and said “does this remind you of anything?” and I had to laugh because the sound of laughter at the Goblin Hill pool will stay with me for the rest of my life.

Historically Portland has not been an easy place to get to, it is rumored that this was by design, that Portland’s other lovers did not want to share her with the outside world and I fully understand why, her natural beauty is second to none, stunningly inviting, green, lush and so very fertile, she warms by heart and calls out to me when I am away from her.

The economic state of Portland has been in decline for some time now caused mainly by her isolation and the transformation of tourism, from community base to the dreaded Negril style all-Inclusive, bland, generic tourism with tenement yard looking gated compounds that we see today.  Over the past decade several prominent Jamaicans have set their sights on the Parish, buying up real estate as soon as it goes on the market and in most cases they have done nothing with the properties bought. First we heard they were waiting for a new Highway into the parish, when that was given, we then heard that nothing will happen until the new airport in St. Mary comes online, that airport is now online and so I am very afraid for the future of my beloved Parish, what will she become. Will they transform/Pimp out my Portland from a Beautiful, Reclusive, Innocent little girl to a harden money making Negril like "Drunken Crack Whore" turning tricks nightly for vomiting, half naked spring breakers or will she evolve into something that is pure, natural, holistic and beautiful.

I have long since abandoned places like Negril, Montego Bay and Ocho Rios to the Rent-A-Dreads, crack whores and the tourist that loves them. They are all peas in a pod and deserve each other, I laugh every time a tourist complains that they were being harassed in those areas. I too was harassed in Negril but it was not from a fellow Jamaican but from a pack of drunk, crack and weed hungry tourist, having to explain to one tourist after another that I don’t do drugs, don’t have any drugs and don’t know where to get drugs became too much for me and so I declared never to return, a shelf impose exile,  instead I prefer to find a nice quiet scenic part of the island for relaxation. 

Spring Break Negril

I have no faith is the people driving Portland’s redevelopment, I have seen their handy work, their concept of progress and I do not like it one bit. There was a time when you could drive from Montego Bay to Negril and enjoy the unspoiled beauty of the Jamaican coastline but not anymore, it has been transformed into something hideous, tacky, monolithic and generic as all-inclusive resorts litter the landscape, blocking your every view and destroying the once beautiful countryside.  This is an environmental disaster, no different than the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico with the same effects on the eco system and should never have been allowed, which goes to show that no amount of money can buy class.

“Bogooyaggafication!”

Just recently one of these classless yobs with money devised a plan to build villas on Pellew Island also know as Monkey Island off the coast of San San Beach in Port Antonio, environmentalist both local and abroad decided that this was not going to happen without a fight and fight they did. In the end the parish council did not approve the plan and the island was saved (for now). To me Pellew Island is The Symbol of Portland recognized worldwide, if Portland had a flag, then a picture of this island should be on that Flag, in any case the island should not be in private hands but instead protected and owned by the people of Jamaica.

So now some idiot with more money than sense decided to create an artificial beach at the Blue Lagoon, I am sure the various ministers and some parish council members was properly compensated for this nasty disgusting act. As per the Jamaica Environment Trust  “the clearing and removal of vegetation from the lagoon's steep sides could result in silt running off into the sea”.  Portland is not short of beaches, they are everywhere naturally accruing for all to enjoy, I fail to see the need why this “muppet” needs to build one and I am sure this involves extracting sand from a natural beach thus a double destruction of our environment.  We cannot allow these wealthy low class muppets to do what they want, when they want to, at our expense. 

 

"One of the Caribbean’s most spectacular and tranquil natural sites, Jamaica’s Blue Lagoon has long been abandoned to touts, illegal activity and decay, but is now being developed (most recent being a large artificial beach on its shores, the site of events/parties such as one shown in the video whose address is below) – facilitated, amazingly, by the country’s environmental agencies.
Please write, fax or call the authorities using the contact info shown near the end of this video, to demand that all development be reversed, and the Lagoon restored to a natural state, protected forever as parkland, with all necessary facilities and regulations.


(I’ve been informed that email is not effective, as it’s read by staff and not by the addressee; if a letter comes it must be logged and taken more seriously, and I imagine the same goes for faxes and phone calls.)
Please pass it on."  --Mr. Marc Goodman (via Yard Edge)

*** Blue Lagoon Restoration Jamaica ***

Preta Portie: very good Blog on Portland 

I am not against Portland’s redevelopment, the parish is in a state of disrepair because of neglect and the people of Portland deserve a chance to have a decent standard of living.  However I am concern with the nature of any redevelopment and the negative impacts it will have on Portland’s environment and society. Developers need to take the time to understand the brand that is Portland, understand her unique history and why this parish means so much, to so many and build upon that.

The Government should declare Portland a Green eco Parish and developers forced to follow an environmental framework with sustainability in mind. A limit should be placed on coastline development, I say ban completely the building of Hotels/houses on our coastlines. I am sick and tired of seeing what was once a public beach with a diverse eco system turned to a private property overnight. 

To the Portland Parish Council there is a very thin line between rustic, old world charm and dilapidated and the Town of Port Antonio is dilapidated, I don’t care how the parish council and the tourist board tries to spin this, the town is rundown and in need of proper planning and restoration, at least fix the market for god sake.

Port Antonio Market

 

Until the developers publish their plans for Portland, I have suspended all plans to spread my ashes there, if I die before this development starts I have instructed all to disperse my ashes on top of Jacks Hill so I can survey my Kingdom Of Kingston and St. Andrew, better the devil I know than the devil I don’t know.

View From Jacks Hill

See also - Fillet of Place (Blue Lagoon) 

** Blue Lagoon to be declared a National Monument **

Tue. Dec.06,2011

Olivia ‘Babsy’ Grange, Minister of Youth, Sport and Culture, has signed a Preservation Notice regarding the Blue Lagoon in Portland.

Miss Grange made a submission to Cabinet and received approval.
The Notice, which was signed by the Minister as a matter of urgency, went into effect on Monday for an initial period of six months.

It gives the Jamaica National Heritage Trust, which falls under the Ministry, the power to carry out the work that needs to be done for the Blue Lagoon site to be declared a National Monument.
The Notice, which will be posted at the site of the Blue Lagoon, bars a number of activities from being conducted in the general area.

They include certain construction activities.

The notice also forbids the use of power-driven craft at speeds in excess of three miles an hour, dredging, or interference with the foreshore or sea floor.

A statement from the Culture Ministry says the National Environment and Planning Agency and the Portland Parish Council will be working with the Jamaica National Heritage Trust.

Poolside Goblin Hill Hotel 

 The Blue Lagoon

 Goblin Hill Hotel 

 Goblin Hill Hotel

 Goblin Hill Hotel - Lookout Point

 Frenchman's Cove

 The Blue Lagoon

San San Beach -  Pellew Island

More about → My Favourite Parish: Portland