You Can Take the Girl Out of the City . . .
I have a friend that lives on the top of a mountain just outside Montego Bay. She has this big beautiful old house that has a lot of history, including one of the rooms used to be a fairly famous observatory in the 50s for the astronomer that lived there at the time.
In addition to the main house she lives in, there’s this adorable little guesthouse that sits on the property. The first time I saw it, she was in the middle of a renovation, and I fell in love. I wanted to ask her if I could rent it, but the roads to get up here are, well . . . terrifying.
(Dudes, really, there are places where there’s width for only one vehicle and if you approach oncoming car, one of you has to back up until it’s wide enough to pass — all with a steep cliff dropping down to Gods-knows-where on one side.)
Instead, I told my friend that it would be a great place for a solo writer’s retreat. After she finished renovating, she rented it out for a while, but she recently put it up on Airbnb. Once she did, she reminded me of what I said, and suggested that I try it out.
So here I am. And you know what, I remember why I don’t live in the country.
Don’t get me wrong — I still love this place. The guest house is beautiful. And the surrounding area? I’m higher than most of the trees in this area, and it’s lush greenery and tropical plants everywhere. And it’s cool up here, a refreshing change from the muggy heat we’ve been experiencing for months at sea level. I bet there might even be fog covering me up in the morning. What’s not to love?
Well, that to start with.
I’m sitting on the veranda, watching the survival-of-the-fittest life struggle between lizards, moths, ants and a couple of flying bugs I don’t even recognize. (I’m rooting for the lizards.) And a few minutes ago, I heard the call of what I hope was a toad (if it was, it was HUGE) outside the bathroom window. I’m just thankful that we’re an island full of mongoose (mongeese?) so that I don’t have to worry about a snake slithering up to my bare ankles.
Oh my God, I think I just saw a bat whizz past my head!!
I know that for someone like me, who is bug- and reptile-averse, nighttime is the worst. The sounds of nature get louder, lights attract things that go elsewhere during the day. And it’s dark — you just can’t see shit until it’s right up on you. In the morning, I’ll get up and be so thankful that I’m in this beautiful, natural wonderland.
But for now I’m just wondering how many of these creatures are going to try to join me in bed later after slipping through the non-screened, louvered windows all over this house.
God, I really hope that sound is just a toad.
