Somewhere behind Cuba we’re crafting a flag. Jamaica was never our destination, and yet now we’re really looking forward to it.

We’ve come to accept that we can no longer wait for favourable weather conditions that would let us cover the nine days from the Bahamas straight to Panama in one go. The succession of lows and fronts is too fast, the periods of passable wind and bearable swell are too short. So we decide to sail from Clarence Town to Jamaica first and wait there a few days, until the waves in the Caribbean Sea settle down and promise not to toss us about so much. We deviate from the plan — exceptionally as usual.

Saying goodbye to the Bahamas is both: hard and easy. Hard, because it’s the perfect sailing ground and because the cruising community — mainly US American sailors — quickly grew dear to us. Easy, because we finally want to move on and the constant storms are tiresome. Luckily, the day before our final departure, the supply ship docks, so we can buy a few more things. On top of that, the sport fishermen at the marina in Clarence Town (the strong wind drove us here) give us a fresh Wahoo as a parting gift, treating us to the best fishwe had eaten in a while. The sharks in the harbor basin are delighted with the scraps. As we finally leave, a humpback whale in the bay waves us off.

The passage to Jamaica isn’t bad. Only the erratic waves turn life aboard into a strain. At least they’re small, and we can put out the fishing line. A gorgeous tuna takes pity on us. And had we known it would be the last fish we’d catch for a long while, we’d probably have been even more thrilled.

To underline that we’re traveling on a peaceful mission and have nothing sketchy aboard, we send the US Coast Guard our float plan. Better safe than sorry in such crazy times.

The Dark Island

The wind blowing in through our hatches from Cuba speaks of the precarious situation there. The air smells of smoke and burnt garbage. Fire is perhaps the only way to cope with the current shortages of electricity and fuel. We can hardly imagine what everyday life must be like for the people there. Yet, we are only a few nautical miles away from them. After an inappropriately beautiful sunset off Cabo Maisí, the island remains eerily dark throughout the night. Hardly a light brightens the mountains or the coast.

A stark contrast comes with our arrival in Port Antonio on Jamaica’s northeast coast. A few miles off the coast the wind shifts and carries over an intoxicating scent of flowers that almost makes you giddy. After the sparse vegetation of the Bahamas, the green mountain landscape is soothing to the eyes.

Right at daybreak we reach the seccluded bay. Since anchoring costs money too, we head straight for the marina and its swimming pool. At the marina the officials come aboard, and together we battle bravely and sweatily through the endless paper forms. After about 45 minutes we’re allowed to hoist our homemade flag.

Port Antonio is colorful, bustling and loud. After the quiet days at sea we can take it, and the search for some nice jerk chicken begins. We stand out when strolling through the streets. There aren’t many tourists around. And the small, blond crew member sends the local schoolchildren into a frenzy.

Behind an cool expedition ship, across from the marina, an enchanted little island beckons for an exploration tour with the machete. Otherwise we stretch our legs in the ever buzzing streets and in the pool.

Into the Blue Mountains

We want to see more of the island, and a rental car is quickly found, a price quickly haggled. Off we go into the Blue Mountains, to waterfalls and coffee plantations. The narrow road screws its way endlessly upward through fairytale scenery. The river swimming spot we’d been aiming for was washed away by the floodwaters of Hurricane Melissa. Even so, we’re allowed to climb down to the waterfall at our own risk and buy coffee roasted the day before.

Afterwards Devon leads us through his coffee plantation, where he tends and nurtures his plants with great care. He too tells of the damage Melissa caused, and gives us a glimpse into the peculiarities of Blue Mountain coffee. We buy a few more coffee beans, since we’ve learned that its distribution is strictly regulated and almost the entire harvest goes to Japan.

The Waves Settle

After all these experiences, we get ready to leave. Provisioning in this hurricane-battered country is still limited. The island is grappling with the aftermath, and even in Port Antonio — a historically important shipping port for bananas — there are none to be found. Instead, we take some vegetables aboard. After three lovely nights in Jamaica, the sea has calmed, so we resume our journey. See you soon, Mister Tally Man.