Praiano On A Prayer
Some days dawn, grey and grim. And no I don't mean every day in London. Nope sunny Positano can have a bad day too. Saturday was such a one. Angry clouds and spitting sky did not make for holiday bonhomie. So I did what I would never have done in Kingston. I went for a walk, then I got on a bus. As I waited for the bus I had flashbacks.
Not wake up sweaty, trembling, on the verge of an anxiety attack flashback. Just a "man I remember when I used to wait forty-five minutes for the bus", then get on and it would be full, then find a place to lean until a seat frees up kind of reverie reminiscent of almost twenty years ago in my pre-car owning days. Even London where I am a firm supporter and active cheerleader for mass transit doesn't have the same earthiness to its public transportation that I have found in Jamaica and Italy.
On the way to Praiano just to see what's there was to see more of what was Positano, high cliffs, narrow winding roads, endless kilometers of unbroken white lines and dizzying views not for the faint hearted. These drivers are my heroes. There is no grinding of gears as they engage their transmissions for precipitious climbs and nose-bleed inducing descents. They drive with an equanimity which is unshaken by nerveless drivers overtaking on hairpin corners while myself and fellow passengers look at each other, look back at the road behind us and the car ahead to make sure that our eyes really saw what our brains are saying that some crazy fool just came around the bus as if we are on a flat stretch of highway.
My only meal for the day was 66 cubic litres of Peroni and perhaps it was just as well. I was as mellow as I had ever been.
The drive there and back was more exciting than the contents of the village but I am glad I did it. I had another reminder that Jamaica's reach far extends its grasp. Seven years ago on my first visit, my hosts took me up a mountain into a national park and I bumped into someone who had recently been there. Then it was all about Bob Marley. Now I cannot open my mouth before they remind me of Usain Bolt or call us the country of runners. I didn't have a problem with Bob and I certainly don't have one with Bolt. I just love being reminded that we are not as far apart as we like to pretend we are, music, physical achievement, awesome views and beer that tastes just like Red Stripe are just a few of the things that unite us.
