Ocho Rios, Jamaica, The Caribbean
One morning whilst travelling around Jamaica, my friends and I found ourselves sitting on floral-patterned pillows in the back of an old ute. We were hurtling through lush, emerald jungle, the warm air suddenly brisk as it rushed past us. Our t-shirts flapped wildly, and my hair had managed to spring free of its elastic band. It whipped and billowed across my face, and I struggled tirelessly to push it out of my eyes.
We had left the coastal town of Ocho Rios, and were heading up into the hills. Our hostel owner, Billy, was driving. Yesterday, we’d asked about visiting the renowned Dunn’s River Falls. In reply, Billy gestured to the tourist pamphlets lining the front desk.
‘You can take a big bus there,’ he said. ‘But it’s expensive, and busy. Too many people.’
He bent low behind the desk and withdrew a photo. He passed it to us, and I stared down at natural a pool, its milky, sky-blue water curtained by thick jungle.
‘The Blue Hole,’ he said. ‘I can take you. It’s much prettier, and with less tourists.’
As it would happen, we disregarded visiting Dunn’s, and booked in the next morning with Billy. We had been travelling for twenty minutes when we rounded a bend, and a small shed painted yellow, green and red swam into view. I felt the ute slow as we drove past. Suddenly, a man jumped out from the bushes and started after us. His legs pumped eagerly beneath him as he ran, and his long dreadlocks swung in unison behind him. He was holding a sign, and a tray piled high with small brown lumps.
‘Brownies!’ he shrieked with glee. ‘Brownies!’
It was impossible not to laugh at the sight.
The man brandished his sign high and tooted a plastic horn.
‘Brownies!’ we could hear his sing-song voice as we careened around another corner.
When we arrived at the Blue Hole shortly afterwards, Billy introduced us to our guide, Eddie. Eddie led us down a sloping path, edging further into the jungle. As we walked, I could hear the whisper of running water, and caught sight of the glistening, pool ahead. The Blue Hole opened up before us suddenly, striking and inviting; its water an electric, sky-blue. Peering down into the water, I couldn’t see the bottom. It was just like Billy’s photograph. I’d never seen anything like it.
We jumped in one by one, the icy embrace of the water surprisingly invigorating. After a few bombies and a swim, we climbed out, and followed Eddie around to the waterfall and rope swing. I figured this would be our swim spot for the afternoon, and was thoroughly enjoying myself, when Eddie told us to follow him on to the next spot.
We followed a shallow stream further into the jungle, which quickly stretched and morphed into more swimming holes. The pools were all connected by waterfalls, and Eddie helped us clamber our way up steep rocks to reach the very top. As we made our way, we passed several other groups of travellers and their guides, however it never felt overcrowded.
After another couple of rope swings and jump spots, Eddie brought us back down to the largest waterfall, which gushed down over an enormous rock.
‘This one you can walk down,’ he told us. ‘I’ll tell you where to put your feet.’
I watched hesitantly as the boys went first. When it was my turn, Eddie held my arm firmly as I walked slowly and carefully down the waterfall, before diving happily into the water.
Elle Conway studies Journalism in Canberra. Prior to university, she spent four gap years travelling, working and living abroad. She loves spiced rum, and dreams of one day travelling to Antarctica.
