My quest, this spring morning, was to find a bird-watching guide, at Shaw Park, a relic of an old public garden, in the seaside resort town of Ocho Rios, Jamaica.  I was given the tip on the bird guide, named Percy, by a waiter at the elegant Jamaica Inn, where my clients, who are elderly, a stately English couple, with bird-watching aspirations, are staying on their annual winter sojourn to the colony. Shaw Park is featured in all Jamaica guidebooks, for expansive views, natural waterfalls and some spectacular Banyan trees. 

About a mile inland from the Ocho Rios Cruise Ship Pier, I coax my car up the crumbling Ridge road, to Shaw Parks’ gate, where I begin my research by introducing myself to the gate attendant.

Immediately, out of seemingly nowhere, perhaps from behind the brilliant pink bougainvillea hedge, I gather an audience of gardeners who are interested in why I am looking for Percy, and what I want to know about the birds.  There is much lively discussion, most of which did not include me.  The common opinion is that I either want to “eat dem” or “shoot dem”!  Alarmed, I explain, that I just want to look at the birds, ADMIRE them – but that it seems is an unacceptable explanation.  Together, my advisors now, about 6 men, decide that I must want to take pictures of the birds for a book or a magazine.  Once that was agreed, I’m told Percy is on tour with people from the cruise ship, and that I must wait, and rather than they themselves go back to work, they will all wait with we.

Together we park the car, and together we sit on the garden wall to wait.  The expansive view from Shaw Park is indeed something to see, a postcard picture impression of the Ocho Rios coastline with 2 enormous white cruise ships docked in the vast blue Caribbean Sea.  I try and fish some information about the garden out of the gardeners while we wait, names of trees and flowers, but that is not what they are interested in discussing.  Instead, they start to free associate on the subject of birds, which for my benefit, is obviously the appropriate topic to explore.  The gardeners grope for what about birds might interest me, as well as them, to discuss; this goes on for some time, until… someone hit upon the subject of bird song!  Spontaneously, every man has an opinion, and a very strong opinion, about which bird has the sweetest song.   Each man takes a turn, stands and describes just how sweet his favorite birds’ song is.  Every man declares his bird – the Mockingbird, the Nightingale, the Solitaire, the Cuckoo – then he challenges it’s song, mimicking it beautifully, playing with the word sweet, drawing it out, like a long note or chirping it repeatedly for dramatic effect.  This goes on for a very long time.  Jamaica, I am captivated and hopelessly charmed.

Percy appears and with one smile I know he is my guide.  He advises birdwatchers to visit Shaw Park after 3:30 PM, when the cruise shippers are gone, and the birds are starting to feed.  Will he take care of some sweet old white people with binoculars?  “Let them come man, let them come!” says Percy.