Had an unexpectedly lovely day yesterday in Lluidasvale, unexpected in a couple of ways.
First, I thought we were going somewhere completely different, and more importantly-somewhere closer to Kingston, which would have meant a two hour trip in total. Zip in, have a look around, zip out, and back to the real world and the real work. Second, being a work trip, I envisioned a tedious two hours, trudging through a hot noisy factory of sweaty people and greasy machines, with me scarcely able to hear myself as I took notes for my writing project (yes writing project - but that's another story).
I couldn't have been more mistaken.
Lluidasvale (or The Vale of Lluidas) is a beautiful valley 1200 feet above sea level nestled right in the middle of some of Jamaica's most imposing mountain terrain (Juan De Bolas Mountains, Spur Tree Hill, Cockpit Country etc.) You get there by heading to Ewarton (from Kingston), turning left at the Square, (by the play field in front of the church), and heading up the hill along that narrow winding road. Perhaps about ten minutes and past twenty or so pedestrians, (plus three stray dogs, four overloaded taxis coming in the opposite direction and a truck that you have to pull over to the side of the road to let pass), the landscape changes somewhat. The rocky hillside that accompanied you on your right, and the valley that sloped away on your left now give way to a more balanced presentation of fields flanking the narrow road. To either side is now copious foliage, mostly running rampant and untamed, but now and again giving ground to small plots of sugar cane or coffee. Bamboo clusters occasionally reach their feathery fronds after you as you drive by, and it is after a sharp corner punctuated by one such giant clump that it happens. Someone in the Big Office flips the slow motion switch and your head swings slowly to the right, your eyes register the unfolding panorama, your body gasps in amazement, and Lluidasvale breathes into view.
I did not expect
Acres of canefield spread below, their neat rectangles taking over somewhere at the foot of the hill on which you now stand (because of course you stopped the car and came out to see if it could really be as beautiful as it is), running away from the mess of tall grass and trees and limestone caves somewhere below your feet, and moving in orderly manner toward the ad hoc groups of buildings in the distance, and the mountains beyond.
I did not expect
My next five hours - a fabulous stretch of time well spent. From a wonder-filled entrance through the wrought iron gates of the property, to the minutes stolen in order to photograph silly angles of buildings and bits of ruins with my now-essential blackberry phone (that's also another story), to the tour of the property careening through the cane-fields in a once-white mini-bus, splashing through puddles, attempting impeachable slopes carpeted with dried cane leaves and secured with underlying troughs of soft red mud: Trekking up those same slopes to gawk and snap at hints of history half-hidden in new, untamed, unappreciative bushes:
I did not expect
Relaxing into a well seasoned lunch of curry goat and rice an peas made perfect by the sticky-in-your-teeth brownies which back it up after and that rum cream, ooh maan that rum cream that slides around your tongue sharp with the portent of the rum and its dangers, but smooth with the promise of hallelujah on the way to that hell.
I did not expect
The factory as it was - a juxtaposition of new and old, heat and cold, tradition and innovation evidenced at every turn. The new stills, shiny in their copper arrogance high above the factory floor. The spread of bottles, forced and filled from their shiny virgin state through the twists, touches, turns injections and inspections that transform them into miniature treasures, sought after for their ability to subdue those inner fears and release the Kraken. The columns of casks - their dull brown a shade and state that belies their long colourful international bourbon history, steeping in the haze of alcohol vapour that cradles them in their bunker, and calls to you with its cool siren scent and touch as you enter to gawk at the order in the dark.
I did not expect
The longing as I left, to return soon with camera - real camera (don't tell my blackberry I wrote that), and pen and paper and time. Time to find the caves and explore, time to challenge the lake and find the fish and swim perhaps to the island in the middle. Time to meet the people and seek the stories in detail and time to write - yes time to write, the long and the short of it real and the dreamed of it, the hard and the heart of it.
Lluidasvale. I did not expect you, but I'm glad I met you, and I expect that I shall return. Soon.
