I traveled to Jamaica over Christmas break to investigate a guesthouse as the potential venue for a warm-in-winter writing workshop. I expected the location of Treasure Beach to be picturesque, and Calabash House to be the same. I did not, however, expect to fall in love with the place.
We landed in Montego Bay several hours late because of air travel delays, and the rental car dealer warned, “I do not advise you to make the journey to Treasure Beach at night. It is dark, very dark, and winding.” We booked a hotel with a surprisingly good restaurant and bar, ate curry, drank rum punch, and motored to the south of the island in the morning.
Waiting turned out to be wise: the drive, even in daylight, was treacherous, but the scenery exquisite. Photo ops rewarded hairpin turns and stomach-lurching ledges. When we arrived at Calabash House, our cook, the lovely Suzette, and her assistant Euonie, fixed us sandwiches, even though lunch had not been part of our two-meal-a-day agreement. Elizabeth Seltzer, the owner and host, made sure we were taken care of, though by no means pestered or hovered over.
The town of Treasure Beach has much to be enjoyed and explored: a reggae club, a stylish spa, shops (including Elizabeth’s wonderful on-site Mermaid Art Gallery) and restaurants. It is not a shopping mecca, mind you, but it has commerce and nightlife. Our first evening there we walked down the road to the club, South Jammin’, and bounced to a band featuring drummer Joe Isaacs, who played with the legendary Jackie Mittoo way back at the dawn of reggae. On New Year’s Eve, a concert at Jack Sprat’s required the mediation of traffic police. Glowing miniature hot air balloons, close to a hundred of them, were released gracefully into the sky to usher in 2010.
The grounds of Calabash House are not grand, but are sweet and impeccable, groomed daily by staff member, Michael. Anyone lucky enough to stay there walks the twenty or so steps to the shore amid a delightful array of butterflies and flowers. I did not have sphygmomanometer handy, but would bet my blood pressure lowered by significant degrees every time I took the garden path. There’s a hammock to inhabit at the beach’s edge, in case a body becomes too relaxed.
And then there’s the water. Our group had at least three reluctant ocean swimmers who were nonetheless coerced by the bathing pleasures of Treasure Beach. The sea is calm and clear, varying shades of blue-green, and a temperature neither too warm nor too cold. Jusssst right. It refreshes you from the 80-85 degree heat; I swam and was renewed by my dips into the ocean a minimum of 2 hours a day.
The rooms at Calabash House are large and artful, graced by themed wall mosaics created by the owner herself. I wanted to lurk through the house and photograph each one, but refrained. At some point I realized the journey to Treasure Beach was about being there, not simply photographing it, and subsequently decided this was a wonderful place to conduct a writing workshop, a place to be.
Anyone interested? We would build into the workshop package 7 nights of lodging, van transportation to and from the airport so you wouldn’t have to make that wild drive, 12-14 meals, a nightly literary salon for those who are so inclined, and a boat excursion up the Black River and to the Pelican Bar. (The bar is pictured in the photo, and is only boat accessible.)
We are thinking about Presidents Week 2011, Feb. 19-26, or an earlier week in January. If you relish the thought of a writing retreat in the warm embrace of the Caribbean, let’s talk.
