Jamaica, Many Years Later
Jamaica is one of the many countries I’ve lived in over the course of my life. It’s rare that I maintain a relationship with a place where my stay was either cut short voluntarily or due to forces beyond my control. I thoroughly enjoyed my first six months in Jamaica—immersing myself in its culture, history, and literature, and meeting many kind people. But when the time came to leave, I did so without looking back—and never returned. Recently, a friend and former patient who splits his time between Jamaica and Miami invited me to spend the weekend at his beach house on the north coast of Jamaica.
During the short flight from Miami to Kingston, I felt no nostalgia—no sentimental pull to my former life in the city. Kingston now seemed shrouded in the fog of time. My friend picked me up at the airport, and we drove through the quiet night, past dimly lit suburbs, toward one of his homes nestled in the mountains surrounding the city. After a restful sleep, we enjoyed a beautiful view over breakfast—ackee and saltfish, washed down with fresh coconut water. Jamaica has changed dramatically. I didn’t recognize a single landmark. The narrow roads I remembered are now six-lane highways, and the city teems with new automobiles.
We exited at Linstead, a town known for its market, then took the back roads to Montego Bay. I was delighted by how green the island remains, yet strangely unfazed by the unfamiliarity. At times, I felt I was in South Africa. It was a wonderful sensation—visiting a country that once was home, yet now felt entirely new. A reminder of the passage of time: things change, and if we don’t change with them, we risk becoming outmoded, outpaced, outdated—ancient. What a lovely day in Jamaica.
What a Wonderful Day in Silver Sands, Jamaica – Among Friends
Today has been truly special here in Silver Sands, Jamaica. The atmosphere is filled with warmth, and the genuine friendliness of Jamaicans is something I continue to admire. Despite the often large gaps in socio-economic status, the people here consistently express a heartfelt and welcoming spirit. I'm staying at the home of a Jamaican friend, and today we celebrated the birthday of a gentleman in our group who is of Jamaican origin. Our host graciously organized a lovely gathering in his honor. After breakfast, many of us headed to the beach to enjoy the refreshing breeze and the calm waters. Despite today being a public holiday in Jamaica, the beach was pleasantly uncrowded. Guests began arriving in the mid-afternoon, while two chefs were hard at work in the kitchen preparing a feast of traditional Jamaican dishes — which everyone thoroughly enjoyed. The day offered not only delicious food and beautiful weather but also the joy of new connections. I met a fascinating couple — he from Lebanon, she from Moldova — who met in Cyprus during a UN mission. I also had the pleasure of speaking with a charming farmer from Jamaica’s interior and his talented daughter, a newsreader for a local radio station, along with many other delightful Jamaicans. As if guided by fate, a dear friend with whom I had lost contact for decades learned I was nearby and came to find me. To my astonishment, she now lives directly across from the house where I'm staying. As the Brazilian poet Thiago de Mello once wrote, “Coincidences are not what they seem to be.” Thank you, Jamaica.
I’m spending a long holiday weekend at a friend’s home in Silver Sands, along Jamaica’s tranquil northern coast. He invited a small group of friends and family, and once the initial formalities faded, conversations began to flow naturally. The sea breeze softened the sun’s heat, and the kitchen team kept us well nourished. Among the guests was a tall, confident young man and his friendly wife. Today, we had a chance to speak. JA, a corporate trainer, asked what I was reading. I shared that I was immersed in The Ideological Brain by Leor Zmigrod and explained some of her experiments—how behaviors that seem irrational to society can be quite rational to the individual. We spoke of cognitive flexibility and intellectual openness. Curious, I asked what he did “for his crust”—an Australian way of asking about work. Though I know little about corporate systems, JA explained organizational dynamics with impressive clarity. He then surprised me by drawing comparisons between corporate behavior and healthcare systems, including the small clinic where I consult in the Everglades. In just a moment, he made a distinction that stayed with me: leaders deal with individual human issues before they escalate; managers step in when those issues start affecting the system. I immediately thought of a situation at our clinic: a counselor still working remotely since COVID, only visiting once a month. Our CEO, from the local community, tried encouraging her return. When that failed, the COO—culturally distant from the community—was tasked with resolving the disruption. Our talk touched on management, mindfulness, spirituality, and the emotional distance many feel from their aspirations. It reminded me how nourishing a true exchange of ideas can be—especially when carried on a breeze from the sea. Grateful. Humble. Content.
Saudade
I clearly remember being four years old. At the end of a hectic day filled with play and food, the guests would begin to say their goodbyes—and I would feel as though my world had suddenly come to an end. A wave of sadness would wash over me, sometimes even bringing me to tears. That feeling never left me. I carried those afternoons with me through the years, and much later, I found a name for that emotion: saudade. I was staying in a flat on Pont Street in London when, one quiet afternoon, the radio began to play a song—Sodade, sung in Cabo Verdian Creole by Cesária Évora. It was while preparing tea that I first heard the word saudade—and felt its meaning. Si bô 'screvê-me, m' ta 'screvê-be Si bô 'squecê-me, m' ta 'squecê-be Até dia qui bô voltà If you write to me, I'll write back If you forget me, I'll forget you too Until the day you return The memory of past pleasures touches us with a tender kind of grief—like what we feel for departed friends. Such memories, and the feelings they evoke, seem to haunt the imagination. This, I once thought, was the best definition of saudade. But I now add my own: Saudade is the ache for something you’ve never truly had—but deeply miss all the same. This weekend, I’ve been staying at a friend’s house. Over the holiday, we welcomed a string of visitors. And now, as the sun sets over the western sea, the guests begin to leave—one by one. The little boy tucked his smile into his pram. The Moldavian woman with her charming accent joined her Lebanese husband at the gate. And suddenly, though others remained in the house, I felt alone. That four-year-old boy stirred within me, lifted his head in my heart, and whispered: "What will happen to me now that my playmates have gone home?"
All Departures Are Sad
Today was the day we left our beach refuge and returned to the capital. Thanks to the new Chinese-built roads, the journey was swift. Still, as I stood at the doorstep of the beach house before departing, I felt genuinely sad—I didn’t want to return to Miami. It’s a natural reaction after spending a few days in good company and being so well cared for. Several people had sought my counsel during this stay, and I noticed a common thread: a lack of mindfulness. It made my conversations with them more focused. I encouraged them to learn about meditation—preferably Vipassana. I shared how Israeli historian Yuval Noah Harari, one of today’s most influential public intellectuals, spends two hours each day meditating and dedicates a full month every year to Vipassana practice in India. I, too, try to incorporate regular periods of Vipassana into my life—for the sake of my mind, body, and spirit. This is a developing country, yet the imprint of American culture is unmistakable, especially in the spread of fast food—even though, interestingly, it tastes somewhat different here (not my observation, but one often repeated). What struck me most, however, was the genuine warmth of the people. Unlike in Cuba, where locals often anticipate small gifts from visitors, here there are no such expectations. I’ve been treated with generosity—driven around, cared for, and given a truly rich experience. Every traveler’s path is different, and I know I am among the particularly fortunate. Grateful. Humble. Compassionate. Iran has been on my mind.
How a Short Vacation Can Change Your Perspective on a Culture, a Country, and Its People I spent five days in Jamaica, staying at a friend’s beachside vacation home on the north coast. It was nothing short of life-changing—transforming my thoughts, attitudes, and even behaviors. I'm proud to admit that I had some misconceptions, and I’m willing to confess them openly. What I encountered was a profound sense of warmth and friendliness from every Jamaican I met. It’s easy to form impressions based on the behavior of immigrants from less-developed countries who settle in America or Europe. These individuals are often burdened by the struggle to adjust to a new environment and status, sometimes unable to fully express the natural warmth and authenticity of their native cultures. But in Jamaica, I found people who were genuinely open-hearted. Their kindness wasn’t transactional, unlike the often desperate friendliness seen in countries facing significant economic hardship, like Cuba. I spoke with Jamaicans from various socioeconomic backgrounds, and none of them blamed their country or dreamed of escape to America. Instead, what stood out was the sincerity in their interactions—so different from the superficial exchanges I often encounter in Miami among locals and immigrants. The hospitality I experienced reminded me of a kind I had long forgotten during my many years of exile from my own country, Australia. There were no polemics, no talk of today’s erratic world leaders, no shallow political chatter rooted in intellectual or cognitive rigidity—just genuine connection. I came to love Jamaica. The warmth I received will stay with me for months, and when it fades, I will surely return to replenish it.
