Issue link: http://digital.canadawide.com/i/201279
L adonna Findlater and I walk among the weathered headstones and tombs surrounding the austere ramparts of William Knibb Memorial Baptist Church. This cemetery would be fit for a Gothic thriller if it wasn't for the reggae music floating on a soft Caribbean breeze from a nearby house, which is festooned in the black, yellow and green of the Jamaican flag. Here, in 1838, on the steps of this church in historic Falmouth, the crusading minister and abolitionist William Knibb shouted to a euphoric crowd gathered on the grounds: "The monster is dead!" His emphatic declaration heralded the end of slavery and the emancipation of Jamaica's black population. Today the churchyard is peaceful and quiet. Findlater, my vivacious, impeccably attired young tour guide, knows her history. Falmouth, 37 kilometres east of Montego Bay, is where slaves were freed and ships docked to fill their holds with sugar cane at what was once the busiest port in the Caribbean. It's a town that had running water before the city of New York did. It's also a living museum of classic Georgian architecture, a symmetrical style that proliferated throughout colonial Great Britain between roughly 1720 and 1840; characterized by meticulously planned town squares and fountains, two-storey stone manors and civic buildings detailed with elaborate cornices and decorative moldings. Falmouth is also the capital of Trelawny parish, at one time the most productive district on the island for sugar cane. Today, it's better known as the birthplace of sprinting superstar Usain Bolt (legend has it that there's something special in the yams grown here that produces sprinting sensations like Bolt). I have come to Jamaica's north coast to explore a fascinating past, when sugar cane was king and Falmouth was the cultural and economic powerhouse of the Caribbean. The town's Georgian buildings are in various states of restoration, thanks to the ongoing efforts of the Falmouth Heritage Renewal society. After leaving the Baptist church, Findlater and I wander together along bustling streets. Two young men pass by and share an inside joke with my guide. "Friends salute me because they think I look like a police officer," she says. p28-37_Jamaica.indd 31 We pause across from Franco's Nice Time Bar, whose whitewashed exterior is punctuated by rickety wooden shutters on the windows. The dark interior has seats for a dozen or so souls. "It's the oldest bar in town. Upstairs there was a special room where sailors would go to sober up," Findlater says. Farther on, we pause outside the old military base, Fort Balcarres. An interpretive sign explains the fort's function to protect Falmouth "from Spanish and drunks." Next stop is the commanding courthouse. Though it's a replica of an original 1815 structure that was destroyed by fire in the 1920s, with its impressive four columns above the grand entranceway and mustardyellow-and-white paint job, it remains the pride of Falmouth. "The courthouse was the centre of Falmouth society," Findlater says as we climb the stairs for a view over the port. It still is. A trio of lawyers congregate on the steps, engaged in heated conversation, before Findlater distracts them from serious business. "Yeah mon," one of them says to Findlater and I, deploying that characteristic, laid-back, gender-neutral Jamaican greeting. They chat in colourful Jamaican patois, to which my ear is slowly becoming accustomed. When the lawyers step back into the courthouse, Findlater reverts to an idiom I can understand. Standing here in the early 1800s, one would have gazed out upon a harbour crowded with ships provisioning for the return voyage to the Old World. In modern times, a different kind of mariner is arriving – cruise shippers. In 2012, Royal Caribbean Cruise Lines commenced docking at Falmouth after the completion of a U.S.$220-million joint venture with the Port Authority of Jamaica to build a cruise ship terminal, complete with shops and boutiques meant to emulate the Georgian style of the town's architecture. Today, a massive ship is in port and has just unleashed its complement of thousands on the duty-free zone and the less polished streets of Falmouth beyond the gates. Vendors and touts are doing brisk trade. Opinions on the arrival of such behemoth cruise ships in tiny Falmouth vary, but there's no doubt the approximately 10,000 passengers per week are having a significant impact on the town's renaissance and its efforts to leverage history into tourism. Early in the afternoon, I leave Findlater and the bustle of Falmouth, chauffeured by my friendly fixer from the Jamaica Tourist Board, Wayne Sterling. He sings along cheerfully to some synth-heavy dancehall music playing on the radio, exuding that gregarious Jamaican charm, rhythm and confidence. We're headed for Good Hope Plantation. Plantations are as integral to the history, landscape and culture of Trelawny as Falmouth is to the country's former colonial might. At the height of the plantation era, the parish was home to more than 80 great houses, each one a hilltop jewel in the plantation owner's crown. Today they are at once symbols of a troubled slaving past and lovely pastoral monuments to a different time. GOING PL ACES >> w i n t e r 2 0 1 3 31 13-10-16 9:27 AM