SAFARI SO GOOD

A family from Illinois shared the back of the jeep with us. The Land Rover had a row of seats on each side in the truck-bed and the trip videographer sat in the final seat. It was more fun to stand! Our friends, Mike and Julia, rode in the back of another jeep with the

I haven't ridden in the back of a truck since I was a teenager. Standing there with the wind blowing through my hair and the verdant mountains rising up on both sides of the valley, I really felt as though I were on a jungle safari. Richard pointed out additional features along the way - termite mounds and trails, banana and plantain trees, breadfruit (a dietary staple and major source of carbohydrates) and the exquisite African Tulip tree. It's also called 'the flame of the forest' because a bouquet of brilliant red flowers crowns the tall tree. There are over 500 species of ferns on the island. Bamboo also lined the road. Farmers use the bamboo to support the vines of yams, a major cash crop. But the bamboo acts like a weed, growing to such heights and density that it chokes out the native vegetation. Apparently, nothing can be done and large sections of the forest are being over-run by this Chinese invader.

The mountain people had none of the basic conveniences to which we've grown accustomed. For water, rain barrels collected run-off from the roofs of their houses. Most of the homes appeared to be simple one-room affairs. Oil lamps lit the night, batteries or generators operated the few electric appliances and propane tanks fired up the stoves. We passed a man walking home with a bunch of bananas balanced on his head.

A fan-shaped concrete structure rose several stories high planted into the side of the embankment. The bottom of the edifice came to a point that funneled the rainwater into a large concrete reservoir. Here, a man took a shower by filling five-gallon buckets of water and then dumping them onto his head. We crossed a bridge where women washed laundry in the river below. I expected the inhabitants to resent tourists. I know I probably would have, but everyone acted cheerful and friendly.

We reached our destination, Mayfield Falls, after an hour's drive. A mock village of bamboo huts housed shops, dining areas, dressing rooms and bathrooms. Unlike the merchants at Dunn's River Falls, craftsmen and women here remained in their shops until approached and never gave the hard sell.

The group changed into swimming suits, including Richard and the other guides, and we hiked across a narrow bamboo bridge and then down to the river. Two additional guides, James and Gary, joined the group to lead us up the falls. The waterfalls weren't as dramatic as Dunn's River and each cascade rose between five and 10 feet, but the secluded setting felt more natural and not so touristy. The forest canopy embraced the stream adding to the deep jungle mood. The gully remained mostly in shade with only the occasional shaft of light caressing the water. I immediately dove into the first pool and was invigorated by the cool mineral water.

James showed the way through the water but didn't make us hold hands like at Dunn's River Falls. Gary guided non-swimmers up a separate path along riverbank whenever the water became too deep, while those of us in the river were free to play. It was better than any waterpark. We jumped off logs, dove into pools, sat under the many falls and in the natural Jacuzzis, splashed each other and slid down the rocks.

At one pool, Kahlil (the driver of Mike and Julia's jeep) dipped below the surface and disappeared. He re-emerged a few seconds later downriver near a small waterfall. A cave passed under the fall so we each took turns swimming through the tunnel. I went twice and even the mom from Illinois braved the tight passage.

Further upriver, a rocky outcropping provided a jumping platform into one of the deeper pools. Like everything else, I went first and Julia followed. The 10-foot-high jump required a leap over a sharp rock jutting up from the river. I had to work up my courage for that one. Higher up, Kahlil sprung from another overlook nearly 20 feet high. I thought the first jump seemed scary until I climbed up to the higher ledge. It was narrow and covered in mud. You had to jump WAY OUT to avoid hitting the rocks just below the water.

I'm glad I had my practice from leaping off our balcony at Fairwinds Villa. With barely any room to push off, I threw myself off the outcropping and cleared the rocks by several feet. The other guides also jumped. Mike was the only other tourist to work up the courage for the higher jump. He barely cleared the rocks and scraped his back slightly after hitting the water. I had to go again so Karen and Julia could take another photo, and guess what? It was even more intimidating the second time.

Playtime ended and we exited the river onto a grassy path. Gary pulled a leaf from a plant and slapped it against his skin leaving a white temporary tattoo. He gave a few of the boys similar natural tattoos. Off in the distance we could see a line of large storm clouds approaching. We hurried down he path back into the jungle as one of the guides yelled out, "be careful of the green plants." Huh? Mike and I looked at each other. "Aren't they all green plants?" He asked. Soon everyone was asking "What green plants?" but we never found out.

As we returned to the village, the rain arrived as a light shower. Everyone agreed that there'd be no point into changing into dry clothes until the storm passed. The guides broke out the Red Stripe beer and rum punch as we gathered our belongings and climbed back into the trucks. (Mike and Julia seemed to be first in line for the rum punch.) We pulled away from the village thinking that we'd beaten the storm. Karen and I were glad we didn't change our clothes, which sat in backpacks in the front of the truck with the other bags.

The sky opened into a full deluge. Rain poured on us like we were still under one of the waterfalls. Richard stopped and we scrambled to secure the canvas top over our heads. Outside, the other guides and guests fought a similar soggy battle. The covering wasn't exactly waterproof. Water dripped through the top and streamed in at the back. Our trip back down the mountain had none of the charm of the ride up. Engine fumes permeated the enclosed space whenever we slowed down. Two of the guys from Illinois had become nauseous to the point of almost throwing up. They sat right across from Karen and I. We were really, really glad we hadn't changed our clothes. Fortunately, the two guys held it together.

These mid-day storms are usually short-lived and sunshine returned upon arrival at our lunch stop, a seaside park owned by Chukka Blue. The park included a large picnic shelter, bathrooms and (ah yes) changing rooms. Toweling off and putting on dry clothes never felt so good. A buffet of rolls, cole slaw, marinated vegetables, potato salad and jerk chicken was served. Karen and I finished lunch and wandered to the end of a pier to join Mike and Julia in another round of punches. The park lay next to a stunning white beach and a quiet mangrove forest. We sat and watched the ocean waves ride up onto the shore. The entire trip was billed as lasting about three to four hours. It had been almost six hours since our 9:00am departure. This was the last port of call and we'd soon be driven back to the villa. But we were in no particular hurry. After five days of exploring Jamaica, we had settled into island time.