I’m following a man named Fire through the jungle. He stops where a small footpath branches off the main trail and points out a Pimento tree, which I know as allspice. For Jamaicans, the tree’s unripe berries are a fundamental element in jerk sauces. A proper jerk preparation also cooks over Pimento wood for additional seasoning.
Legalized It
Fire tells me he has lived outside the formal system for 37 years. At age 18 he embraced an off‑the‑grid DIY lifestyle and began homesteading in the remote outback near Negril. He grows his own ital food, cooks over an open fire, and collects rain to irrigate his crops.
As we start switchbacking up the mountainside, he explains that possession of up to two ounces of cannabis has been decriminalized in Jamaica since the 2015 amendment to the Dangerous Drugs Act. By March 2019 the island hosted three fully licensed cannabis retailers: Kaya Herb House in Ocho Rios, Epican outside Kingston, and Island Strains in Montego Bay—just minutes from the airport.
Legal flower averages about US $10 per gram, a premium compared with the informal market. Access requires either proof of medical eligibility from your home country or a quick Jamaican medical recommendation. Fifteen years ago scoring cannabis often meant a hurried beach exchange; today the process is relaxed and open, especially in Negril where “sacramental use” retailers and on‑site consumption lounges operate in a grey‑area space.
My favorite spot sits on a cliffside beside Rick’s Cafe, offering the legendary sunset view, live music, and a place to enjoy a spliff without the crowds. Alternatively, you can make a cannabis‑friendly connection with locals or ask your accommodation host for a trusted referral.
Cannabis and Cuisine
Fire identifies as a Rastafari practitioner, an Afro‑centric faith that emerged in Jamaica in the 1930s and rejects centralized authority, allowing diverse interpretations of scripture and custom. While beliefs vary, a large majority of Rastafarians regard cannabis as a sacrament, valuing its medicinal properties and its role in deepening spiritual connection.
Fire and his friends do not sell cannabis; they freely share a portion of their harvest. He rolls a spliff the size of a small carrot and passes it to me. Local custom calls for each person to smoke their own, so I puff intermittently while we discuss everything from the meaning of life to how a potential US‑Venezuela conflict might affect Jamaican fuel prices.
He advises leaving the stress of late‑stage capitalism behind and embracing self‑sufficiency. Looking out over the jungle and catching a whiff of his simmering curry sauce on a light breeze, it’s hard to argue—though the tranquility belies the hard work required to sustain this off‑grid oasis.
Food and weed bring people together like few other experiences can. Lunch consists of yam, plantains, pumpkin, and TVP (texturized vegetable protein) seasoned with wild herbs such as Jamaican thyme, bird pepper, and wild basil. The depth of flavor in the produce mirrors the vitality of the ganja we share.
This intersection of food and cannabis is also where you’ll find Zimbali Culinary Retreats, a weed‑friendly eco‑retreat and small farm that focuses on immersive cooking experiences.
My walking tour to Fire’s home began at Zimbali, where I stayed three nights before heading to the coast. On the final evening my wife, Elise McDonough, collaborated with the retreat’s kitchen staff to prepare a five‑course cannabis‑infused dinner. The team has earned TripAdvisor’s top‑rated restaurant award in Jamaica.
While Zimbali does not regularly serve cannabis‑infused meals, they readily provide rolling papers, an ashtray, and a hammock for guests who wish to light up. In the near future the retreat will host a legal cultivation site called “Yardie Farma,” launching with 12,000 sq ft of greenhouse space and two acres of sun‑grown cannabis.
Guests can join regular farm tours to see coconut, sorrel, soursop, jackfruit, turmeric, breadfruit, pineapple and more, or opt into the “cooking school” dinner where Chef Alicia demonstrates how to turn farm‑fresh ingredients into classic dishes such as salt fish, jerk shrimp, pumpkin soup, and coconut curry. After dinner, Zimbali offers an evening of traditional African drumming, with Fire often keeping the beat.
‘The Humboldt County of Jamaica’
Cannabis cultivation in Jamaica predates the Rastafari movement. After the 1838 slave rebellion, plantation owners imported indentured servants from East India, who brought seeds of a medicinal plant they called “ganja”—the Sanskrit word for hemp or hemp resin. Eighty years later Jamaica claimed one of the oldest cannabis traditions west of Morocco.
Ask anyone where the most herb‑friendly part of modern Jamaica lies and they’ll likely point to Negril. Until the 1960s the area was geographically isolated, its beaches pristine and undeveloped. A local once described Little Bay to me as “the Humboldt County of Jamaica”—a beautiful, rugged landscape where growing cannabis is woven into daily life.
That image contrasts sharply with the endless line of tourist hotels that now fringe Negril’s famous seven‑mile beach. Yet just a short distance down the coast lies a sleepy town where you can still experience how things used to be. Little Bay remains a place where the plant is widely celebrated and generates significant revenue, rivaling only tourism.
Like Humboldt County, California, legalization has brought both opportunity and concern to Little Bay. The end of criminalization opens legal revenue streams, but there are well‑founded fears of corporate takeover that could sideline small‑scale growers.
High Season
The shuttle from Zimbali to Little Bay takes about twenty‑five minutes, much of it over bumpy backroads en route to Coral Cove. The modest resort stretches across five oceanside acres, caps at 45 guests, and even in peak season offers plenty of space to enjoy a stunning Caribbean coastline that includes a protected eddy ideal for swimming, snorkeling, and sea kayaking. Protective footwear is advised to guard against sharp coral and sea urchins.
Coral Cove has welcomed cannabis consumers since opening nearly twenty years ago. Today it maintains a pair of small on‑site greenhouses that produce a variety of strains in cooperation with the Bobo Shanti Rastafari sect, which holds a government‑affirmed religious‑use right to cultivate. Plans are underway to develop the site into a hub for cannabis research and community outreach.
The friendly staff can arrange coastal tours, deep‑sea fishing trips, or day‑excursions to Negril and other popular destinations.
Blue Hole
Just a mile or so down the road from Coral Cove lies Blue Hole, a locally owned oasis centered around a 35‑foot‑deep mineral spring at the base of a large natural karst limestone cavern.
Visitors can jump from the ledge if they dare or watch locals perform acrobatic somersault dives. The water is refreshingly cool even on the hottest day, and its naturally occurring minerals are said to deliver therapeutic benefits. The complex also features a spring‑fed pool, a bar, a ping‑pong table, and a steady reggae soundtrack.
Entry costs just US $10, the site stays open late, and overnight accommodations are available for those who wish to linger and soak in the views. Owner Wabu is deeply embedded in the local cannabis scene and can guide hikers to jungle cultivators or simply invite you to relax poolside with a spliff and make new friends.
Crashing Waves
On our final night at Coral Cove before returning to “Babylon,” my wife and I asked a nearby family‑run eatery for authentic Jamaican food. Before dinner we were offered a joint while sipping cold Red Stripes; after the meal we enjoyed steaming mugs of weed tea steeped from male‑plant leaves, providing therapeutic effects without an intense high.
Between those herbal aperitifs and digestifs we savored a classic Jamaican plate: fresh‑caught pan‑fried snapper served whole in an escovitch sauce with sautéed peppers, tomatoes, plantains, and a medley of root vegetables, all cooked over a modest wood fire.
Seated at a rustic wooden table beside a small, friendly bar in true tropical style—close enough to the ocean to hear the waves crash when the reggae station switched from roots to dancehall—we once again found that sweet spot where food, cannabis, and culture converge.
I wish I were sitting there right now.
