When Kidnapping A Stranger Is The Right Thing To Do
Sometimes it can change an opinion, and sometimes a life
I swear I'd be onto something if I could start a travel company based solely on kidnapping the disillusioned.
In life and especially in travel, I believe the world is meant to be felt and experienced, rather than just observed from the sidelines. Otherwise, what’s the point? If no lives change in the process, what are you even doing with your time?
This is the story of my first (but not only) successful kidnapping and it happened on my 30-something-th trip to Jamaica.
My flight landed too late to drive to my final destination on the south side of the island. If you’ve ever driven on Caribbean roads you’d know it’s a stupid idea to do so at night. So, I grabbed a hotel room near the airport and resumed my journey the following morning.
After checking in, I sat alone on my veranda with a cold rum and Coke, settling back into life in the land I love.
My peaceful rum ritual was interrupted by an older, foreign gentleman who strolled over to greet me. Solo travellers are like heat-seeking drones…we sniff each other out in the wild and assemble through pure instinct.
This man’s name was Harald and he was from Norway.
I invited him to have a seat, poured him a plastic party cup of rum, and our chit-chat commenced.
Through conversation, I learned that Harald was an author. He was very well-traveled, and this was his first time in Jamaica. I also learned he was miserable AF in Montego Bay due to high-pressure street hustlers and overpriced everything.
I advised Harald that this little hotel strip in Montego Bay is a pretty lame cross-section of what Jamaica is truly about.
Then I mentioned that in the morning I’d be hitting the road to a side of the island where NO ONE bothers anyone. In jest, I said he could hitch a ride if he wanted to.
After our neighbourly visit, Harald decided to turn in for the evening. We said our good-nights and parted company.
The next morning I was up super early and eager to get moving. I’m a bush girl at heart so leaving the hustle and hype of tourist traps can’t ever come fast enough for my liking. Just as I downed my last few drops of mediocre hotel coffee and stepped outside, who do you think showed up on my doorstep?
It was Harald.
I had no clue he had taken me seriously the night before but there he stood with nothing but the clothes on his back, $50 in his pocket, and a ticket to ride the Kristi Express.
The internet says that Norwegians are very direct people who appreciate honest and straightforward communication. Well…Harald couldn’t have been more Norwegian if he had shown up wearing a Viking helmet with horns.
I was ecstatic that he had chosen to join me! I LOVE showing foreigners what I love most about real island life. The soul of Jamaica is a far cry from what millions of tourists ever experience.
Off we went with absolutely zero plans for Harald.
All I knew was that he had to be back in Montego Bay by the next afternoon. He made a brave choice joining me knowing I wasn’t volunteering to drive him back the next day. But both of us were confident we’d figure it out somehow.
Off we went, up through the hills, leaving Montego Bay in the dust. Weaving through hours of hairpin mountain roads through dense, lush greenery, I learned plenty about Harald from Norway as we drove.
I made sure to tell him that if he saw anything that stoked his fire and he wanted to stop, I’d be more than happy to oblige.
We did take a break for refreshments at some point between nowhere and nowhere. It was literally just a blue shack on the side of the road but I know from experience that a little shack is never just a little shack.
Our stop turned into an amazing cultural exchange with the locals who owned the tiny shop. Harald bought an ice-cold Red Stripe from their freezer and sipped it on island time while showing them photos of where he was from. It was a beautiful moment shared between humans.
I’ve always wondered when stopping at these obscure, out-of-the-way places if I’ll ever see those people again. Will they tell their friends the way we tell our friends about the random people they met?
After our pit stop, we hit the road again. I made a call to my local friend, Shelley, to tell him I’d kidnapped a tourist and wanted to show him a good time. Shelley knew just the ticket and went on standby with his boat.
We would take Harald out to sea.
Upon reaching the south coast we popped in at the house long enough to drop our bags, dig out our swimsuits, and jump back into the car heading straight for the seaside.
Arriving at the beach we realized that Shelley’s boat had yet to be moved from the beach into the water before we could go anywhere. Rather than standing around watching, Harald chose to jump right in with the men and get dirty.
Seven Jamaicans and one Norwegian invested their sweat and quad muscles into heaving the boat down the beach and into the surf. Then we all jumped in and set sail on the fifteen-minute journey to Pelican Bar in the Caribbean Sea.
I’m positive Harald never knew this place existed but oddly enough, for all the things he didn’t pack for his last-minute overnighter, he did bring a snorkel with him.
The next few hours were unbelievably sublime.
Harald bobbed in and out of the water snorkelling while Shelley and I swam in the warm sea under the beautiful amber glow of a dusky sky.
It was an impeccable moment in time. My heart was full and I knew I’d sleep peacefully that night. This old guy who said he’d never come back to Jamaica was having the time of his life!
Realizing we hadn’t eaten a morsel since breakfast, our next mission was food.
I wanted to introduce Harald to my favorite fried chicken spot and my favorite bartender on the South Coast. It’s a place where you’re highly likely to see random cattle strolling through the parking lot as you smoke a cigarette and shove plastic straws into your ears for no reason other than to entertain your bartender.
Does this look like a guy who’s having a miserable time in Jamaica? 😂
Dinner was fantastic and the evening was full of amazing tales of travel and life. With plenty of rum and chicken in our bellies, it was time to head back to the house.
I kindly laid out a sheet on the couch for Harald to settle in and get some sleep.
Earlier that day, I checked the bus schedule and found out there was only one charter bus per day departing the south side of the island. It would leave at 8:30 a.m.
The following morning we rose early, I drove Harald to the bus stop, loaded him aboard like I was sending my child off to college, and waved goodbye as he set off on his two-hour journey back to Montego Bay. For sure he was the only dude riding the bus wearing his clothes from yesterday with a snorkel in his pocket.
This story of Harald from Norway was like two ships passing in the night. We met, signed a deal for adventure, changed each other’s lives for a day, and then said goodbye. I mean, I’ve seen movies with less of a plot than my 24 hours spent with him.
I have never spoken to Harald again but I do know he’s alive and well because of Facebook. I wonder if he’s ever retold his side of the story.
This isn’t the first time I’ve written about strangers randomly colliding through the universal gift of travel. Remember “The Unforgettables” from this story?
I’d love to know if you’ve ever been one ship in a “two ships passing in the night” occurrence. Have you ever saved a random traveller’s day just by being generous with your spirit?
There is a similar mentality when you go camping or boating. And how do you lock a tent?
Somehow fears of strangers are put aside.
It is refreshing that basic humanity still exists if you look for it.
I have also written books and tales about strangers who cross paths and change lives and enjoy and then disappear, or stay forever. Wonderfully written. I'm a traveller, too and ..... if we didn't reach out to strangers, where would our friends come from??!!