My Orgasmic Jamaican Birthday

By Felicia Persaud

News Americas, MONTEGO BAY, Jamaica, Fri. Aug. 5, 2011: There is something to be said for achieving an orgasm without any sexual intervention and this past weekend in Jamaica was one such experience.

From brown balls of sugary delights that is the Jamaican naseberry or sapodilla in Guyana; to the juice dripping yellow mangoes, the sweet and tantalizing taste of shimmering red apples (cashew in Guyana); the coconuts that seem to last forever; fresh fish that delights the taste buds and water that laps at your body and sends shivers throughout – the experience was purely thrilling.

And a welcome relief to my birthday this year – especially since I wanted something unusual – to achieve a different kind of high in a place I love.

And what other choice than Jamaica? It’s one of the few places that always feels like home to me – maybe because most of my brethren are Jamaicans or because the island is such a contrast in geographical look and feel; the music is so titillating or because the fresh fruits and food always opens up my appetite.

Whatever the combination, it is purely magical. So on July 29th, I packed my bags and headed to “yard” – Montego Bay – for my birthday weekend, along with a few friends.

From weeks before there was one thing on my mind that I knew for sure would thrill me – and that was Bluefields Beach, Westmoreland. So after feeling a bit antsy waiting forever on my bags at the Sangster Airport and a rental car, we headed out into the bright sunshine.

The heat alone on my skin and the cool trade winds that followed it felt like heaven as we began the trek to Westmoreland with visions of blue waters, fresh coconuts and fried fish, dancing in my head.

But with the drive about an hour from the airport, it became a necessity to satisfy the cravings I was starting to feel in my belly and juices began flowing for a good Jamaican breakfast – the kind that only the really local establishments’ offer.

And so we pulled off the road into a local restaurant where breadfruit – like huge round, green balls – grew right outside the door on tall trees with thick trunks that overhung the property; where the wind caressed your face and your eyes lusted from the verandah to the beautiful houses perched precariously on hillsides that offered an enviable view of the sea and lush green vegetation.

A rumbling stomach soon reminded me of why I was there and so – tearing my eyes from the scene just yards away – I ordered. Ackee and saltfish please, some calaloo of course!; green banana thank you ma’am; a dumpling too and don’t forget some roast breadfruit with that!

In what seemed like minutes, I polished off my breakfast like someone starved for days – to the teasing of my colleagues – as I purred like a pleased kitten about the joys of what I had just devoured.

And within minutes I was ready again – for my next gastronomic thrill in Westmoreland. The ride to Westermoreland is now a joy, since the construction of the new highway not only offers pristine views of lush vegetation but allows an almost voyeuristic peek into the lives of local Jamaicans in villages all along the way.

From the young kids selling genip, coconuts and mangoes on road side stalls to residents waiting on mini-buses, white rum signs that dot the rum shops, handmade dance hall signs on lampposts and images of half naked women advertising the local go-go bars – there’s something to be said for getting a view of everyday village life.

But it’s Bluefields Beach that has my heart beating faster and as we pull into the parking lot at this national land mark shrine, I almost run to the love I’ve been thinking about for too long – that shack on the beach that offers up fish any way you want it.

In minutes, I’m drinking from a huge, yellow coconut, its thick white jelly beckoning me to hurry up and taste it. And as I raise my head from the shell that has me consumed for an instant, a delicious fried fish is placed before me – head and all – as a hint of vinegar wafts up to my nostrils. I bite in and shut my eyes for a sec to savour the escoveitched parrot fish that tastes like it was caught just hours before.

My thirst satisfied and my fish craving complete I head into the crystal clear blue water. It’s warm touch combined with the light caress is almost tantric in experience.
It leaves one yearning for the comforts of a bed and so we head back on the long drive to our hotel resort of choice – Round Hill in Hanover – nestled way in the rainforest hills and offering up a spectacular view of the sea.

Round Hill Hotel and Villa is definitely for the nature lover and we arrive in time to catch the air refreshed from a sudden afternoon downpour and to the sea lapping just yards from my room.

But the best was yet to come as they say – and in just hours a huge orange ball seems to evolve in the sky. It is the sunset from Round Hill that takes your breath away as you see the sun literally begin dropping off into oblivion and a dusky sky and stars start to make itsgrand entrance along with the crickets that begin their nightly serenade.

Drumming awakened me from the almost fetal comfort I had found on the bed – alerting me to the fact that it was dinner time. The grand buffet laid out in style and accompanied by steel pan music is almost as spectacular as the sunset, but it is the agility of the limbo dancers and the flexibility of the contortionist gyrating to the African drumming that draws your eyes from the patio of the restaurant and makes your mind wander and your imagination run wild to a different kind of pleasure.

Music does that to one’s mind and indeed the Hip Street in MoBay, with its varied choices, offers just the relief you need – especially after an Old Native at The Native Restaurant follows a mojito at the Havana Club – Jamaica’s own salsa location with a live Cuban band to boot. Forget ATI – who needs the madness of naked people partying in muddy pools left from the rains right?

Blue Beat was our ATI alternative – a lounge with an indoor/outdoor experience that overlooks the sea where shoals of fish are visible in crystal clear waters and where the deejay offers up a mix of music that would leave even the stoic moving their dancing feet. Even if it means for some, doing the River dance to reggae and hip hop – it’s acceptable too!

A night of partying is best cured with a great breakfast and some really cold water and so Ocho Rios’ Dunns River Falls suddenly seemed to be calling my name. But it’s that really great Jamaica breakfast that comes first – this time thanks to the private butler at a Half Moon Villa in Montego Bay, rented by a Jamaican New Yorker and friend of a friend.

The icy cold green june plum (golden apple for Guyanese) juice is a welcome treat for my thirst and the vast fruit platter combined with the mackerel, ackee and salt fish, yam, green banana, dumpling and breadfruit really hits the spot.

A golf cart ride around helps begin the digestion as we head to ‘Ochi’ for the real thing. The pounding in my ears wakes me up from the “itis” that followed such a huge breakfast and sets my heart racing.

Then there it is – a thing of such absolute beauty and power all rolled into one – the world renown Dunns River Falls. Clothes shed for something more sexy and light and climbing shoes rented, we begin descending the long stair way to the bottom of the falls.

The enormity of it coupled with the crashing waters is a sight to behold and the sudden connection of icy cold water hitting warm skin is electric and sends shivers down your spines.

The tingling turns into moans of delight as you stand under a portion of the powerful falls and feel it begin its own sensual massage of your shoulders and body while trying its best to literally strip you of your clothes, inhibitions and stress.

Orgasmic indeed you think as you stand under the water trying your best to hold on to your swimsuit top and bottom while at the same time try to keep some distance from the brownnin who has suddenly snuck in next to you and is trying his best to make a move.

A need of another kind soon needs to be filled as you realize climbing rocks and being massaged in various places at once can leave you starving. And so the return journey begins with a quick stop to Scotchies for jerk and soup. The smell of the jerked meats roasting between zinc sheets and on a pimento wood fired pit assails your nostrils as soon as you enter. Joining the line I quickly decide on some jerk fish, soup and breadfruit. The fish that comes in the foil wrap is heaven to my mouth as is the jerk chicken I try for dinner later.

And soon stuffed and satiated, we wend our way back to Hanover – happy and fulfilled despite a rain storm that kills all plans of an evening of gyrating to slow reggae music.

But not even the rain storm could stop my desire to soak in a natural tub of salt water and so hours later – after another of those long lasting coconuts, a passion fruit and some fresh herb tea – I make my way to the sea and let her waves and warmth embrace and caress me as the rains beat down on my head but fail to touch my body.

The soft, lapping waves embrace me and lull me into a reverie – where the rainforest looks greener, the thunder sounds more like really great music and everything feels like a utopia. And for one moment in time, I feel like I’ve truly achieved nirvana and all is right with the world.

Jamaica – one love indeed!


The writer is founder of NewsAmericasNow, CaribPR Wire and Hard Beat Communications.