26th September 2006

A team of “plumbers” arrived today to replace the faulty washing machine. I am impressed. It has only been a week since we had our first visit. After much contemplation from the team a plan was hatched to remove the old machine and then bring in the new one. Complex I know but this crack team took a mere two hours to figure it out. Unfortunately large American top-loaders into small Jamaican hovels will not go. Not without extensive carpentry to remove door frames.

During the remodeling of our cave, Lady of Leisure, displaying a new found knowledge of all things DIY tried to convince one of the team to check the fuse box as an increasing number of sockets were refusing to work. It has been spreading over the course of last night like a plug plague. A long discussion ensued, like conversational tennis where LoL attempted to convey what she meant to an increasing bewildered “spark” during which time LoL began to doubt her omniscience. Eventually the problem was diagnosed. Jamaican refer to it as a “breaker box”, though whether that was enough to allow them to fix the situation remains to be seen. Everything appears ok at the minute, but I’m not naïve enough to believe it can be fixed in one go.

New washing machine duly installed and doorway completely reconstituted, a test was initiated. New washing machine does not work and there is much to much work involved taking back down the door again. The team left for re-inforcements never to be seen again. This one will run and run.

24th September 2006

A lazy Sunday afternoon in Haagen Dazs treating the kids, though myself and Lady of Leisure fully participated in the ice cream feast also. A couple of Blue Mountain lattes were ordered to round off the event but these were undrinkable because of an overwhelming taste of UHT milk.

It seems I am a sucker for punishment by continually giving eateries the benefit of the doubt only to be sorely disappointed with the outcome practically every time. Last week a simple request for a chicken wrap, no tomato, no mustard came back as tuna with mustard and tomato.

Jamaican’s also have a habit of smothering the beautiful aromas of their world beating coffee by smothering coffee with powdered cinnamon. It has taken me six months, but I have finally convinced my local coffee shop that it is neither required nor wanted on my coffee and by and large I receive what I want 90% of the time. The problem comes when I try somewhere new. Yesterday I ordered a vanilla latte in the sister store of my local coffee shop and despite explicit instruction for no cinnamon, which were noted and written down by my waiter. Of course my coffee arrived liberally coated so I dramatically and loudly scooped off the offending foam and tapped it on to the saucer. At some point one of the Lady of Leisure’s many acquaintances arrived, so another round was duly ordered, same instructions, same waiter, same result. This waiter had taken away my previous cup and had looked with distain at the foam swimming around the saucer that I had painstakingly removed. This is standard service in Jamaica where tourism is the biggest industry and service charge is applied de rigeur.

23rd September 2006

We had managed to convince our newly arrive ex-French colleagues that it would fantastic idea to babysit for us, with a quick bribe of a half decent south African shiraz and a promise to reciprocate in the near future. Nordy Lass was turning 21 again and a bit of a gang were getting together to go down to Café Aubergine, newly opened in Kingston.

Café Aubergine (the original) is stuck half way up a mountain between Kingston an Ocho Rios. By all accounts, it is well worth while taking the time to stop and enjoy good food in a quiet and beautiful location. All very bijou but on the few occasions where I have passed, I have been too focused in getting to my destination before the kids re-awaken to contemplate a break in the journey. I was looking forward to the meal.

The setting in for the new café aubergine did not endear itself to me immediately. It is located off Constant Springs Road along with a number of other restaurants in an open air plaza. I just got the impression of a shopping mall food court.

The menu though had a decent selection and the wine list had a number of mid range (Jamaican standard) wines, though with no wine producers name, selection is a bit of a shot in the dark. The produce wasn’t fresh however and service was typically Jamaican. Rare steaks came out medium, Moules Marinere came with a tomato sauce and quite a selection of the dishes came back completely different that their description on the menu. The chilli and thyme crust on my lamb chops was very tasty, but not the rosemary and garlic that I ordered. Reasonably priced so I didn’t come away feeling diddled as I often do after eating out, but I failed to see why everyone else raves quite so much about the place.

Our ‘plumber’ had returned yesterday for the briefest of poke arounds before informing us that we needed a new washing machine.

20 September 2006

A “plumber” has come round to fix the washing machine. After a number of hours poking around, he left assuring us all was fixed. Needless to say, it wasn’t and the crafty artisan has managed to fuse half the sockets in the house.

I fear this will become a saga like the water tank but my only consolidation is that there is not a waterfall springing from it. Yet!

19th September 2006

The thing about working for a small company that has grown too quickly is the lack of systems and procedures. There are many ways this is manifest but one of the glaringly obvious things is the housing allowances given. There are huge inequities and now that the Lady of Leisure has morphed into the Jamaican ex-pat welcoming committee, she gets to see them all.

She likes to remind me that as I chose our house, it is all my fault we live in a pokey little cave when everyone else lives in a beautiful mansion. Unfortunately she’s right.

We have done a few things to brighten up the hovel like replace a number of rugs that were so dirty and infested, they moved around the floor of their own accord. The only problem with the simple plain, tasteful cream rugs we have in their place is that they serve to highlight how dirty and distasteful the sofas are. It somehow seems makes them feel more uncomfortable too. It is also not helped by the fact that the washing machine has packed up, and that the help is getting under the feet of LoL as she has no ironing to do.

13th September 2006

If I thought last week at work was bad, it was simply the precursor to this. It is the week before a board meeting when a company of 2000 people frenetically pull their hair out at one man’s whim. The management time and effort expounded in this pandering, it is a wonder that the company does not grind to a halt one week in every month.

To make matters worse Lady of Leisure has suddenly become Lady of Leisure Time. Monday at the Cinema, Tuesday at the Canadian Women's Club though entry criteria cannot be strict as she’s is not Canadian, Wednesday was the Jamaican Photographic Club and Friday was a girly night out. I think she is trying to highlight the juxtaposition between her lifestyle and mine in an artistic way of telling I’m working too hard.

I can’t help noticing that Jamaica has a number of incongruities. In almost every aspect of life, Jamaican’s just seem to coast along without a care in the world. Nothing fazes them and there is not a problem that is insurmountable. Not when it comes to driving. Traffic has been worse than usual recently, but just watching people get pissed off waiting and drive down the wrong side of the road is simply shocking in its brashness. When they have the audacity to honk their horns at cars coming in the other direction all you can simply do is laugh. At home we used to see an ad for Bacardi that poked fun at Road Rage and how it could not exist in the Caribbean. It seems funnier now given how wrong it is.

While on the subject of incongruities; Jamaica has given the world some of the fastest people on the planet. Not just now with Asafa Powell et al, but Sherone Simpson, Veronica Campbell, Merlene Ottley and going way back through history. So how come the women here walk at a pace slightly slower than those big stones on Easter Island?

11th September 2006

After such a lazy day and early night, Sunday sprang into action. There was work to be done; chickens to prepare, potatoes to roast and melt in the middle chocolate puddings to be cooked just right. It was mostly the lady of Leisure and I was simply logistics, so in honour of all her activity she shall henceforth in this diary entry be known as Eve of Endeavour. We were entertaining newly arrived colleagues and decided to treat them to some home cooking as they have been holed up in a hotel for a number of weeks with a child.

The thunder from yesterday returned but came back angry. In now growled and fizzled and spat. Too furious to rain it lashed out with dramatic forks from above the mountains. Eventually the storm huffed and lingered in the background like a child making its presence heard. All afternoon the thundered rumbled, occasionally menacing, providing a thoroughly tropical soundtrack for our mashed potatoes and scallions.

Dinner went superbly well. Our colleagues turned out to be chatty, witty and interesting. Dinner was prolonged as our cooker is decidedly Jamaican. It (yes - its not a person) just sometimes decides to do things at its own pace. Relax man, it’ll get cooked sometime. Roasts can take up to twice their prescribed time, though not everytime - its always a bit of a gamble. I think it does it on purpose during entertaining days to allow us to drink more and the evening progresses swimmingly. Sunday was just such a day. To accompany the wonderful meal Eve Of Endeavour prepared, our guest who had previously lived in France for a number of years brought along a superb “Lou Caberlaut”. Our oven was up to its old tricks, meaning that we had polished the whole bottle long before entrees. One of our guests had shown he wasn’t a rank amateur when it comes to wine and I was almost embarrassed about having to go to the "cellar". Excuses were being hastily prepared “Wine in Jamaica is hard to come by, the duty is prohibitive…..” and the pull out a bottle of something awful and American; or worse Australian. Just as we were draining our glasses, wineguy appeared with this quarter’s delivery. It could not have been better timed had I phoned him, and better yet, he came bearing gifts; 8 bottles rather than half a case. It was a South African collection and all were far too alcoholic and over extracted, but we had killed off the good stuff and I wasn’t going to embarrass myself by pulling out a Jacobs Creek. A great weekend rounded off with some much need serendipidty. Kingston isn’t always the trial it can appear to be.

10th September 2006

Saturday blinked into life late in the day. My eyes half opened and there was enough of a dull throb in my head to let me know I was awake, though the bit of my brain that was experiencing the pain was obviously too pre-occupied to tell my body. I slithered from bed to the chaise longue and the world buzzed by without bothering me too much. I managed to sneak some football in the TV when the Wee Lad turned away momentarily, though it never lasted.

Mid afternoon the thunder started. Loud, low, long and lumbering the day felt an empathy with me. It couldn’t even be bothered to rain.

9th September 2006

It was an uneventful week with the routine of schools, work and daily trips to the supermarket. I exaggerate greatly. For me it was a very uneventful week of work and occasional snatched hours of sleep, when not at work or stuck in traffic traveling to or from. Friday night came round very quickly and I made arrangements to meet the family in a restaurant. I thought I’d take some time and get to know them again, woo them a little by eating out. Meal was awful. I used to like Gaucho’s - friendly place, pleasant surrounding, kid friendly and the best beer battered prawns in the world. Well at least the best I’ve tasted. Well the only place I’ve tasted them really, but they are unfailingly good and come out like a plate full of babies’ arms. They do like to call them shrimp, but we’ll overlook the obvious Americanisation. Starters were good but I suppose that’s the essence of unfailingly good. Main course was the awful bit. I had a chicken and pasta dish which was quite obviously a frozen breaded chicken breast heated in a dolmio sauce. The Lady of Leisure had the baby back ribs or the third visit in a row. It would appear that the ribs have all come from the same animal as they have got progressively tougher over the interim. Kids didn’t complain though as they had Coke and never eat a bite anyway.

The evening was not a complete washout however as two friends, Nordy Lass and Big Man, took the masochistic decision to join us for dinner. Talk flowed and by the end of the night the men had arranged to sneak off for extra Red Stripes. (hooray Beer!) The Lady of Leisure duly granted permission and military maneuvers began to settle kids, drop off cars, appease wives and sneak a box of cigs out from the house Absolutely not for me of course. Nordy Lass does not allow the Big Man to smoke and I had a stash so I though they might as well be put to use. As it turned out the gesture turned out to be a test of resolve. Less 40 days and nights, more 20 golden lights but I passed with flying colours. These religious references are becoming more frequent, if more obscure. I’m going to have to Atheists Anonymous when I get back home.

4th September 2006

Two weeks without a cigarette and things are going steadily though drinking has lost some of its enjoyment. Its like the old Rich Tea ad – “A drinks too wet without one”. Certainly sitting out the back with a glass of wine and a book holds less of an attraction than it used to. I’d like to say the volume of alcohol has decreased, but no knowing what to do with myself between sips, I drink twice as fast. Chocolate makes an adequate substitute, though its taking its toll on the waist line. The Lady of Leisure is starting to take a firm line on this as I drag the whole family with me in this little vice, constantly buying enough chocolate for hurricane survival pack for the entire island. Never hear any complaints from the Wee Lad or Little Madam, though I guess their dentist might.

Not sitting outside for cigarettes has meant I was listening to less and less music, so a small cd player was purchased for the kitchen. Not only does this mean I’m not tempted to sit outside and remember the good old days when I could have a cigarette, but I get to potter about and make delectables. Sunday was pickling day and my first attempt at Escoveitch. A bloody good attempt too, I might add and it wend wonderfully well with the roast turkey breast for Sunday dinner. I am now perfecting and personalizing the recipe. It will be pickle sauce with everything from here on in!

1st September 2006

Another week-end lumbers slowly into view and the Lady of Leisure is determined to mark the occasion by getting out of the compound. I am awfully inconsiderate in that after a week of work, I tend to come home to sit in front of the television on my ever expanding rear. Perhaps a dip in the pool with the kids, but generally expend as little effort as possible. LoL however, who will have spent the whole week on family logistics, lifting and laying, feeding and watering, justifiably feels miffed if her enforced incarceration in the squat is extended beyond the five day term.

There are sights around Kingston that I should make more of, but a lone trip up the Blue Mountains has bee it thus far and even then I didn’t make it to a coffee plantation. Most of my sightseeing around Kingston to date has been in restaurants.

The term restaurant is a very broad church in Kingston (there is another of those religious references creeping in again), encompassing anything from a Jerk centre to exclusive fine dining. There are numerous shacks and dark un-inviting corners, I have spotted along the roads in Grants Pen and Barbican that I have not been brave enough to try. Some of these have taken the effort to pictorially represent their bill of fare on the walls, but no matter how pretty the painting of a pigs trotter, I’m still not tempted. I think there must be a law in Jamaica, where once you get a certificate for the Food Safety authority, if indeed any such authority exists, you are forbidden from ever changing your menu. Even in the more expensive establishments such as Red Bones or Macs, you can be assured that your favourite dishes will remain on the menu longer than you will in Jamaica.

Macs is an unusual place, and it sets itself apart from other establishments, though you certainly pay for the experience. While not completely denying the fact the restaurant is in Jamaica, as it has local produce on offer, I think the fact that the restaurant has no windows is designed to you can actually forget where you are. The service is attentive here, boarding on the overbearing, but this is welcome relief from being ignored completely in most other eateries. The wine list is laughable at 8 reds and 8 whites, but even this is comprehensive to most. The range is ludicrous within the 8, stretching from Jacobs Creek and Yellowtail (at US$40 per bottle before service!) to Mouton Rothschild and Lafitte. I had the occasion to celebrate there recently, and had a fantastic meal of spiny Lobster followed by a beautifully cooked tender steak. Good steak is a real luxury in Jamaica, though as it is inevitably imported from America, a second mortgage is advised before ordering. The whole soiree was everything I had hoped for and expected, and was good value too. I feel though my expectations must have changed greatly since I have been here as the perceived good value was based on a level of service and quality of food that with hind sight that would be minimum requirements at home. Given that this was by far the most expensive meal I have ever eaten, bar none, it goes to show the lengths one will go to, to feel part of the first world again, if only for a few hours.

30th August 2006

Mosquitoes are the devil’s envoys. If there is one thing that will drive me from Jamaica before my time, it will these little vampires. I have been informed that you do develop a tolerance to these, but after seven months, my reactions appear to be getting more intense. Hardly a day goes by without a new bit and worse still the mosquitoes appear to have done some physical training. My latest batch of bites appear to have been obtained through my trousers.

I think it’s the thought of the mosquitoes is actually more troubling than the bites. In Jamaica, the insects are very large and slow moving, so they are relatively easy to kill. Often this leaves a disturbing large blood stain on whichever surface you crush them against. What terrors are borne in this blood, god only knows, but given the squalor of large parts of Kingston, rats, wild dogs, drug addicts all never far away, I can only fear the worst.

Two religious references in one post, Jamaican evangelism is working!