Hiking in Jamaica

The other side of Jamaica includes forests, mountains and limestone valleys. There is more to Jamaica than just miles of white sandy beaches. On this adventure tour we will hike the only UNESCO World Heritage Site on the island – the Blue and John Crow Mountains. We will watch the sunrise from the peak (2,300 m or 7,500 ft.).

This adventure tour is part of my Daydream Black History Tours around the around the world. They combine the best of adventure, travel and history – all from our unique Black perspective. The trips are a daydream right now. Let’s see if we can turn them into reality.

On the Jamaica tour we will also hike in the footsteps of the Maroons. The escaped slaves hid in their stronghold in the Cockpit Country. We will follow them into the challenging karst limestone hills and valleys.

In between hikes, there will time to relax on the beach, go on a river safari in the mangrove swamps, and to explore the museums and art galleries in Kingston, the island’s capital.

Tour Highlights

  • Hiking the forests of the Blue Mountains.
  • Hiking the limestone hills and valley of the Cockpit Country.
  • Boat safari on the Black River to see the crocodiles in the mangrove swamps. Beach.
  • Explore the culture and history of Kingston.

Daily Itinerary

Day 1 – Arrive in Montego Bay

Day 2 – Troy Trail hike

Day 3 – Quick Step Trail hike

Day 4 – Quick Step Trail hike

Day 5 – Black River safari and beach

Day 6 – Kingston culture tour (museum, plantation Great House, art gallery, Emancipation Park)

Day 7 – Blue Mountains hike

Day 8 – Blue Mountains Peak sun rise hike

Day 9 – Kingston culture tour and return to Montego Bay

Day 10 – Depart from Montego Bay

Facts File

  • 10 day land tour.
  • Minimum 4 and maximum 16 participants.
  • All meals and accommodation included.
  • All hikes lead by experienced and certified local guides.
  • Start and end in Montego Bay, Jamaica.
  • Comfort level – must be able to hike for about six hours each day.
  • Accommodation – comfortable hotels, guest house and lodge.
  • Departure – August 2018.

Who wants to come with me on this daydream trip? Let’s see if we can make it real.

Black History Walks Toronto

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10 Daydream Trips for Active Black Folks

As the summer sinks to the horizon my thoughts naturally turn inwards. Many happy hours will drift by as I daydream – of adventure in faraway places.

My bucket list of adventures all have some connection to Black History. Here is the initial list. I will put together a detailed itinerary of each adventure in subsequent blog posts.

I want to check off some of the things on the list – and I don’t want to do so alone. Are there any Black adventurers out there who want to join me? I promise you these trips are a once-in-a-life time experience.

  1. Hiking in Jamaica. There is more to Jamaica than sandy beaches and warm seas. Let’s hike the Blue Mountain and the Cockpit Country Trails. They were the only access into Maroon country. Controlling the mountain trails ensured that the Maroons escaped from slavery.

2. Across the Alps with Hannibal and the Elephants. Tunisian general Hannibal was annoyed with the Romans. To settle who would rule the Mediterranean Hannibal attacked Rome. On this trip we will travel his route from Tunisia, across to Spain, Portugal and end at the gates of Rome. Hannibal feat was so audacious that he is still a legend 2,000 years later.

3. From China to Mozambique. In 1405 the great Chinese explorer Zheng He sailed from Shanghai to Dar es Salaam. He brought back two giraffes for the Ming Emperor. We will tour the stops on his route including Somalia, Kenya and Tanzania.

4. Scotland by Train. Recreate the journey of Frederick Douglass as he lectured on the anti-slavery circuit in Scotland in 1843. On this adventure we will visit the places where he spoke from big cities like Edinburgh and Glasgow to his sightseeing trips to Scottish castles and country houses.

5. South American Trek. Simon Bolivar liberated the slaves when he freed South America from Spanish rule in 1830. Let’s hike and ride in his footsteps as he took his army across the Andes to freedom. Stops include Venezuela, Colombia and Ecuador.

6. From Angola to Italy. In 1643 Miguel de Castro, an Angolan ambassador, made an epic voyage from Luanda to the Vatican. He was sent by Queen Nzinga to renegotiate the terms of the trade deal between Angola and Portugal. On this journey we will stop along his route including Brazil and Portugal.

7. Cycling the Caribbean. How long will it take to cycle around each island in the Caribbean? On this trip let’s enjoy the cultural and language diversity of the Caribbean as we cycle around the islands that speak English, French, Spanish and Dutch. What’s your pick for the islands?

8. Hiking the Underground Railroad. Let’s follow in the footsteps of Harriet Tubman as she trekked from slavery in the USA to freedom in Canada in the 1850s. We will start at her birth place in Maryland, make stops in Washington, Boston and New York. We will end near Niagara Falls where she lived for twenty years.

9. From Egypt to Switzerland. Let’s follow the route of Saint Maurice, an African saint. We will start in Luxor, Egypt where he was born in 250 C.E. Then we will tour the places where he served as a general in the Roman army in France, Sardinia and Switzerland. Saint Maurice is the patron saint of soldiers and there are many churches and places named after him in Europe.

10. To Timbuktu. The great Arab traveller Ibn Battuta spent 30 years travelling the world in 1325. Let’s follow his African tours. The first leg will be from Morocco to Timbuktu, a fabled city of wealth, trade and learning. The second leg will be from Cairo down the East African coast to Zanzibar.

Let me know if you want to join me on making these daydream trips real. And let’s check the first one off the bucket list within a year. By September 2018. Which do you want to do first?

Black History Walks in Toronto

Black, Male, and in the Woods

It was one of those summer days when the wind refused to move, the clouds were on strike and the sun had the sky to itself.

Sunlight shimmered off the river and the horizon. Sun-heat baked the grass, the cars and our information tent. An endless flow of people came and asked where they were exactly, were the hiking trails marked and where were the picnic areas in the park.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him.

He was as lovely as a moonbeam. And as rare as snow in summer. He hung around waiting for the crowd to ebb so that we could talk. The man was Black, handsome, and as tall and solid as a basketball player.

With a single glance I knew that I was excited by his hiking pole. The one in his hand.

He lived in the area and knew the park like the smile of his mother. Every week he hiked a different trail. Today it was just a simple stroll up the old ski hill to sit in the shade of his favourite tree and play with his new phone.

Alone.

Each of us was surprised to see the other. He mentioned that he liked to be active and outside. He was tired of meeting people who always wanted to go out to dinner or go shopping downtown. He did not canoe or kayak, but he loved skiing.

Over 300 people passed through the information booth that day in Rouge National Urban Park. He was the first Black visitor we had seen. By the end of the day about five more would pass by.

I offered him a map of the park. He refused it. He said a phone number was better.

Another surge of people invaded the booth, impatiently waiting to ask more questions, collect more maps or ask about the fox, mink and beaver furs on the display table. Children wanted more crayons and colouring sheets. My summer job was to serve them. And I did, while watching my perfect research subject disappearing along the river.

I longed to have an in depth interview with him about his experience as a Black man in the woods. Where did he hike, did he belong to any outdoors club, how does race, space and gender affect his perception of the wilderness? He was the informant that got away.

50 Places; A Black History Travel Guide of London

Black Youth and Nature

“I’m allergic to nature and it’s allergic to me,” said the Black teenaged girl as we started to hike the trail. I led the group of eight youth, one mother and two youth workers up the hill. We were in Rouge National Urban Park.

“Nature is good for you, if you give a chance,” I said.

“No it’s not. There are too many bugs. It’s stinky out here. It smells like manure.”

“That’s gross. She wants us to walk through cow pooh,” said another girl. “I don’t want to go. Let’s turn back. You said we could.”

“How many birds can you name?” I said.

Eight voices shouted out names. Arms waved in the air to get my attention. Even though I was standing right in front of them. The youth yelled robin, pigeon, blackbird and gull. Then someone piped up with the downy woodpecker and the great blue heron.

I caught my breath. Not from the uphill walk, but from these unexpected answers. Birding is not something that is associated with the Black and brown communities, especially with a group of youth living downtown in apartment towers.

Another girl explained that they had seen the birds on their nature walks in High Park and along the Humber River. She gave me a detailed description of the birds and their habitat.

We reached the wetland. The group forgot about the boggy smell, as I pointed to a yellow warbler and five swallows fliting about in the shrubs. The group was not impressed with the large pond, until I told them to look for the turtles. Quietly.

They found the frogs. About the size of a thumb nail, the mini amphibians fascinated the group, for a full minute. That is a very long time for a group of thirteen year olds.

The gaggle went ahead on the trail, looking for deer in the woods. They spoke in whispers.

As I walked along with the mother, we swapped stories. She had her three children enrolled in outdoor activities most nights after school. She wanted them to be comfortable exploring the city beyond their neighbourhood.  What pushed her was her sister’s children. In their early twenties, these children spent most days shut in their rooms. No job. No school. No friends.

The mother and her husband did not want that for their own children. I wondered if her niece and nephew were depressed. The mother’s accent was Somali. A civil war, refugees fleeing guns, bombs and starvation. It was enough to give anyone post-traumatic stress.

The mother always loved walking. It cleared her head when things were upset.

“Are there any snakes here?”

“Yes. Only one that is poisonous and you won’t find it where we are.”

“We have lots in Lebanon. They are this huge and they bite. They can kill you.” He was the only male in the group. Short and dark, he looked more southern Indian than Arab. Three of the younger girls towered over him. The only person shorter was the red-haired, freckled-face white girl. She was doing the splits. On the trail.

“Are your dreadlocks real or braids? How do you know so much about nature? We went in a circle, didn’t we?”

“They are real. You have a good sense of direction. You would make a great hike leader,” I said. The Black girl shrugged her shoulders. At thirteen, she was already taller and stronger than me. She was muscled like a sprinter.

“My legs are tired. I don’t want to walk anymore.”

She sat down at the trailhead, her giraffe-length legs stretched out in front. Waving the rest of the group ahead, I told the straggler to get up and hold my arm. We walked arm in arm for a bit. She dragged her feet. And her mouth.

Ahead of us, the rest of the youth and youth workers decided to have a race down the hill. The straggler flung away my arm and sprinted after the rest of the group. Her mother and I bent over with laughter.

At the end of the hike, I asked the group for feedback.

“It wasn’t as boring as I thought it would be,” said the girl who was allergic to nature.

“When we come back next time will we see the deer?” said the straggler.

Heartbeats in Africa: A Memoir of Travel and Love

She Called Me Sister

“Let’s walk together, we are sisters.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” I said. The words came out before my manners did. It was a good thing that my skin was too dark for the blushing to be visible.

I had scanned the puddle of hikers at the subway station who were waiting for the hike to start. As usual there was one Black person present. Me. The woman was perched on a ledge, her face hidden by over-sized sunglasses. A baseball cap covered her brown hair which was streaked with blonde highlights. Streaks of white sunscreen ran down her tanned neck and hands. I assumed she was Greek or Italian. She took off the sunglasses and stared at me.

“I am from Curacao. You have heard about the Dutch Caribbean I presume?”

“Of course. So your first language is Dutch or Papiamento? I could not place your accent.”

“You probably heard the German. Most people do. My husband is German. I lived there for 30 years you know. I had to learn the language as none of his family spoke Dutch. I learned English in Germany. I am Angelina.”

We shook hands. She wore a white cotton glove on her left hand and its partner dangled in her palm.

“Do you hike with this group often?”

“Yes I do. It’s free. You must give me your number. It’s nice to hike with a sister.”

“What got you into hiking?”

“I was always athletic because my father was too. He ran marathons all his life until he died. He did it in style you know, he went to bed one night and never woke up. I did triathlons when I was younger. These days I just like the hiking. I used to sail you know. My husband and I spent hours sailing the boat in Africa, Europe and the Caribbean.”

“What kind of boat was it? I used to sail too.”

“It was a yacht. I had to give it up because of the divorce. I didn’t used to be like this you know. I can’t tell you how much money I lost because of bad financial decisions. It was over a million. I don’t want to talk about it, it’s still too painful even though it was years ago. If only I hadn’t been so…”

“We all make mistakes. It’s part of life…”

“Really? Have you ever had a million dollars your bank account? Do you know what it’s like to work hard all your life and then lose everything? Everything. My son helps me out. I don’t know how I could manage without him.”

“Does he hike too?”

“One loves it. The other one has no time for it. I miss my boys.”

“Do you see them often?”

“Of course not. They live in Germany. I am going to get it all back you know. I am working on plans to live the life I used to have. It will take a while but I am going to get it back.”

We hiked deep in the ravine. The hot air swaddled us like a blanket. Rivulets of sweat dripped down my head, my back and my legs.  That was the first hour of the hike. We had three more to go.

The leader stopped us for a water break. I took a different type of break and then made sure I kept a good distance from Angelina. I could not tell if her story was fantasy or reality.

Black History Walks Toronto

Camping in the City

Camping in Toronto seems a bit of an oxymoron. After all the whole point of sleeping in a tent is to get away from city life. Yet, camping at Rouge Park seems to combine the best of both worlds.

It’s far away enough for a nature break, but close enough to get that latte. And maybe even have pizza delivered to your tent door.

I strolled along the stream at the north edge of the camp-ground. Water gurgled over the cataracts neutralizing the buzz from the nearby highway. It felt like I was deep in the woods. No deer greeted me that day, though many live in Rouge National Urban Park, the vast wilderness sanctuary in the city.

camping in the city

Turning away from the peaceful stream I headed towards the main gate of the camp-ground. Trees lined the route. And tents and camper-vans too. Then I spotted it. Not a rare bird. Nor a coyote.

It was a satellite dish.

It was planted right in front of a camper-van, up turned to the sky, picking up films, crime shows and the shopping channel.

I smothered my inner Grinch. A camper-van is not my idea of camping in the woods. Still, a flush toilet is better than digging your own shit hole in the ground. A soft bed with fitted sheets is better than a sleeping bag on the ground. Even one with an air mattress. Yet…

It reminded me of the debate about technology access at campsites. Some purists fumed at electrical outlets at the sites. Internet access is surely an abomination to them. On this one, I think they are right.

The whole idea of camping is to disconnect from city life, and reconnect to nature. Sitting on a warm rock, surrounded by fresh air, trees and a river, is bliss for me. For others it is heaven only if the comforts of home are there, including a satellite dish. On which to watch nature shows…

I suppose camper-vans get people into the woods. The Pokémon Go craze got people outside, walking and exploring around, capturing imaginary monsters living in the area. It’s not my idea of things to do on a walk, but it got them off the couch.

The more facilities there are for camper-vans, the more infrastructure is needed to support them. The very woods people came to enjoy, is manicured and paved, to fit human needs. It counters the idea that humans are part of nature and not masters of it.

camping in the city, river

Back at the parking lot, two guys unloaded a canoe. I followed them to the river. As they paddled down towards the lake, my thoughts drifted to my own canoe trips and the long summer days of doing nothing but splashing along a bay or across a lake.

My cell phone pinged. It was an e-mail telling me that five strangers wanted to be by friends on the Internet.

50 Places: A Black History Travel Guide of London

A Hike in the Forest

Sunlight spilled in the forest, highlighting the trees craning their necks to reach the golden god.

Songs flirted in the air, the melody sung by a rose-breasted grosbec, the rhythm set by a woodpecker. More voices joined the chorus, warbling a lullaby of life.

I stopped, spread my arms wide, raised my head to the sky. I wanted to dance, to celebrate the joy of life.

Common sense won. A Black woman shaking her backside, and dreadlocks, to her own inner music in the woods, could be a runaway. From the asylum. Or a voodoo priestess awakening the ancient spirits. In either case, she was up to no good.

Damn the double–consciousness. This sense of ‘always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others.’ Limiting one’s activity to fit convention. Just in case…

A shadow flickered in the corner of my eye. My smile was as wide as the ocean as a deer pranced by. I bowed my head and thanked the ancient ones for this gift of life.

Heartbeats in Africa: A Memoir of Travel and Love