TRAVELING IN STYLE : FIREFLY AND GOLDENEYE : They Were Very Different Men, But Ian “James Bond” Fleming and Noel “Private Lives” Coward Were Friends and Neighbors in Jamaica--and They Both Knew How to Live

IN THE DECADES AFTER WORLD WAR II, THE GLITTERATI CLAIMED Jamaica. Drawn by the blazing sun, soft breezes and relatively relaxed moral atmosphere, hordes of movie stars, royals and literary lights descended on the island every winter. Among the luminaries, none glittered more brightly than two seemingly ill-matched British neighbors on the island’s scenic northern shore.

At his mountaintop idyll called Firefly, the openly gay actor, playwright and composer Noel Coward, close chum of the Queen Mother and said to be the highest-paid writer of his time, held hilarious court over pitchers of dry martinis. Meanwhile, about three miles down the coast, in a bungalow he had christened Goldeneye, Ian Fleming was busy scuba-diving, polishing his service revolver and creating the hetero-macho superspy James Bond.

This unlikely pair were not only close neighbors but close friends, too. They visited back and forth often, and when Fleming was married in the tiny nearby town of Port Maria, Coward and his longtime companion, Graham Payne, were the witnesses. Typically, Coward tied the shoes onto the back of his own car by mistake, and ended the afternoon helping Fleming bury the ghastly green wedding cake in the garden at Goldeneye.

Today, the popular image of Jamaica--reggae, Rastafarianism, fortress-like honeymoon resorts and Kingston’s crime-ridden urban sprawl--has little connection with such careless high-jinks. And Coward-style society, to the extent that it still exists, has long since decamped for more exclusive Caribbean isles.

But as I found in recently visiting their haunts, the natural charm that seduced the Master and the Commander, as Coward and Fleming were known respectively to their friends, is still around.

When Ian Fleming, then a member of the British naval intelligence service, first flew into Kingston in 1944 to attend a spy conference, he arrived smack in the middle of a rainy season so intense that toadstools literally sprang up in his leather shoes overnight. Unlike the Commander, I arrived in Kingston to brilliant sunshine. But in homage to his damp initial sojourn I decided to begin my trip by driving across the island’s mountainous center about 25 miles northeast to Port Antonio, birthplace of the Jamaican tourist industry--and the rainiest spot on the north coast.

The mountains that cover Jamaica’s interior are probably quite beautiful, but I can’t testify to that since I glimpsed them only out of the corner of my eye. My attention was focused instead on the hairpin curves, road-hogging trucks and peek-a-boo pavement that elevate driving on the island to the level of a video combat game.

It wasn’t until I dead-ended at the Caribbean and turned right toward Port Antonio that I began to enjoy the scenery, a curious and compelling mix of beauty and chaos. As the road wove from jungle to coastline, it passed stands of coconut palms, banana plantations with the still-growing fruit wrapped in blue plastic bags, giant breadfruit trees encased in thick vines. The brilliant red-orange flowers of flame trees splashed vivid color everywhere, and food stands appeared seemingly at random, each displaying a neat row of soft drinks or Red Stripe beer, with hand-painted signs advertising jerk chicken, jerk pork and jerk sausage.

There were people everywhere--walking on the road, bicycling on the road, standing beside the road, sitting in groups by the road. It quickly became clear that in the “country” outside Kingston, the road functions not only as a medium for travel, but also as a kind of communal gathering place. I also began to understand that, in a country with unemployment running as high as 30% to 40%, young Jamaicans have developed hanging out into an art form.

After a short stop to view one of the many waterfalls that plunge spectacularly down to the coast, I drove on and soon pulled into the central square of Port Antonio. In the late 19th Century this square was the center of the world banana trade. Then, around the beginning of this century, canny Yankee sea captains, anxious to fill their empty boats on the trips to the island to pick up bananas, lured winter-weary Americans with pictures of sunny Port Antonio, thus launching Jamaica’s tourist trade.

These days , the epicenter of tourism has relocated farther down the coast to Montego Bay, and Port Antonio is rather sleepy. The square itself is home to a row of small, cement-walled shops painted coral, sky blue, peach or light green, and the large adjacent covered market offers the full range of Caribbean roots, fruits and sundries. Along the dusty side streets, bougainvillea and hibiscus spill haphazardly over fences enclosing tiny yards, and rows of stucco buildings are regularly interrupted with gingerbread Victorians built during the banana boom days.

As I wandered about, I was slightly puzzled by the repeated offer to “Go rafting, Mon.” Inquiring, I learned that this refers to an activity popularized by Errol Flynn when he was the celebrity-in-residence around here--raft trips down the nearby Rio Grande river. Coward and Fleming regularly took the trip, too. In fact, the villain in Fleming’s novel “From Russia with Love” is named after his favorite raftsman, Red Grant.

It is still possible to take a trip down the Rio Grande in long, curious bamboo rafts. The guide stands up front and poles, while one or two passengers relax in seats at the back. Time passes quickly, particularly since every time you pull over for a rest, vendors selling Red Stripe immediately appear.

A FEW DAYS LATER, I DROVE 30 MILES NORTH TO THE TOWN OF ORACABESSA. It was near here, in 1948, that Fleming located a 14-acre strip of land that met his three absolute requirements for a Jamaican hideaway: a cliff, a hidden cove with beach and complete privacy from the road. Here, then, the Commander built Goldeneye, named after a covert operation he had directed during the war. The house was basically one giant room, its glassless windows open to the air, with a couple of small bedrooms appended. Eschewing such luxuries as bathtubs, Fleming installed only cold showers.

Every year until his death in 1964, Fleming came here for two months--January and February. And every year during his stay he banged out another James Bond thriller on the typewriter at the triangular desk in his tiny bedroom. These books sold more than 40 million copies even before his death, and Spartan Goldeneye became one of the best-known vacation retreats in the world.

Today all that is visible of Goldeneye to the public is several hundred yards of high, wire fence punctuated by stone gateposts along the coast highway. The property is owned and used as a personal residence by Chris Blackwell, proprietor of Island Records, promoter of reggae artist Bob Marley, and one of Jamaica’s richest men. Blackwell, whose mother, Blanche, was a close friend of both Fleming and Coward, provides a continuing link between the two celebrities: Last year, her son also took over management of Coward’s nearby house, Firefly, which had badly deteriorated since Graham Payne donated the property to the Jamaica National Heritage Trust in 1976, three years after Coward died.

The three-mile road between Goldeneye and Firefly has probably changed little since that afternoon decades ago when Coward and Payne, scouting about for a good spot to paint, followed a whim and turned onto the road. The two came here in the spring of 1948 as part of a vacation Coward had taken to recuperate from the bad reviews the American production of his play “Tonight at 8:30” had gotten. Having rented Goldeneye from his friend Fleming, Coward proceeded to complain volubly about the cook’s “inedible” food, the “barbaric” furniture and the “hideous” design. Ever afterward, he called the place “Goldeneye, Nose and Throat” because, he said, he thought it bore a remarkable resemblance to a suburban health clinic.

In reality, though, Coward was enchanted by Goldeneye and by Jamaica, and built his own retreat in 1956. When I reached the driveway marked “Firefly,” the pavement smoothed out and the ever-present bougainvillea and hibiscus at the side of the road began to show signs of careful pruning. I rounded the last curve to find myself beholding a view that even Coward, despite his legendary ability to turn a phrase, confessed himself unable to do justice to in words. A smoothly manicured lawn drops suddenly away to reveal the Caribbean, stretching to the horizon; to the left and right, the coastline curves gracefully away for about 30 miles in each direction; as a backdrop, ranks of green-clad mountains undulate gently toward Kingston and the higher peaks of the distant Blue Mountains.

When Coward and Payne reached this four-acre plateau, they got out of their car and spent the afternoon painting. At dusk, they broke out a flask of powerful martinis, and as they toasted the view, thousands of fireflies appeared to light up the night like magic. This moment provided the name for the house, which Coward built here as a refuge from his growing fame.

Today, after extensive renovations by Blackwell, the house has reopened for public tours and is just as it was on the day in 1965 when the Queen Mother dropped by for a celebrated luncheon. Really just a simple white stucco bungalow, it nevertheless approaches the Platonic ideal of a vacation hideaway.

I wandered through the ground-floor studio, out onto a terrace with a spectacular view of the northernmost point of Jamaica (“A favorite place to gather for cocktails,” pointed out Firefly general manager Toni Allen, though that seemed to be true of all three of the house’s terraces) and then back to the open-sided dining room. Up a short flight of stairs is the “music room,” with its two grand pianos situated for duets and its windows facing the ocean. On one side of the room, down a few steps, is a galley kitchen; on the other side, stairs ascend to the study, inspiration for Coward’s song “A Room With a View.”

A view it definitely has. The entire front side of the room is open to the air, with a green awning overhead and a wide bench serving as a kind of informal window seat. Directly outside, that incomparable vista unfolds--the azure and turquoise sea traced with the small white lines of waves and, plunked down right in the center is a small round island (where the real James Bond, an ornithologist, wrote “Birds of the Western Caribbean”).

As I sat here and gazed out, chatting with Allen and sipping the inevitable Red Stripe, it was easy to imagine that I was back in the swim of high society that eddied around the place during the ‘50s and ‘60s. Allen’s chat was peppered with the names of famous people who have more recently strolled the grounds or appeared for the midnight concerts that occur on nights with a full moon all year round (an eclectic and glamorous mix, from Bono to Grace Jones to “a high chieftain of the Arawak tribe from Venezuela,” as well as the cream of Jamaica society).

Not far from where we sat, a simple marble slab marks Coward’s grave. I couldn’t help feeling that his spirit would be happy to hear the easy, animated talk of celebrities, of comings and goings, of plans for cocktail parties, concerts and weddings. And then, from a tape recorder hidden somewhere nearby, came the Master’s voice, crooning the song inspired by this very corner of the house: “A room with a view and you/And no one to worry us./No one to hurry us through/This dream we’ve found. . . .”

GUIDEBOOK: Jamaica Hello

Prices: All prices are approximate, subject to seasonal change, and computed at the rate of 30 Jamaican dollars to the U.S. dollar. Prices are quoted in U.S. dollars. Hotel prices are for a double room in high season (winter months) for one night. Restaurant prices are for dinner for two, food only.

Getting there: American Airlines offers several daily connecting flights from Los Angeles to Kingston via Miami or New York, and one daily connecting flight from Ontario to Kingston via Miami.

Where to stay: Those who want to sample glamorous Jamaican life a la Noel Coward have a number of options on the island’s north shore--as long as they’re willing to dress for dinner. Here are two: Trident Villas, Route A-4, Port Antonio, telephone (809) 993-2602; reservations (800) 237-3237. Very elegant, with peacocks strutting majestically among private villas a few feet from the ocean. Rates: $350-$850. Jamaica Inn, Route A-3, Ocho Rios, tel. (809)974-2514; reservations (800) 243-9420. An old-fashioned resort, a favorite of Winston Churchill and Claudette Colbert, with a private sand beach, suites with huge outdoor rooms overlooking the ocean and an air of posh gentility. No children under 14 allowed. Rates: $385-$800.

For less princely tastes: DeMontevin Lodge, 21 Ft. George St., Port Antonio, tel. (809) 993-2604. Simple rooms and a dining room serving good Jamaican food in a Victorian confection of a building. Rates: $60-$70. Bonnie View Hotel, Richmond Hill, Port Antonio, tel. (809) 993-2752. Acceptable rooms, relaxed atmosphere and spectacular views. Meals are served on a whitewashed terrace overlooking Navy Island, once Errol Flynn’s private retreat. Rates: $90-$96. Hibiscus Lodge, 87 Main St., Ocho Rios, tel. (809) 974-2676; reservations (800) 526-2422. A low-key but comfortable hotel perched on the edge of a cliff, with verandas facing the ocean in every room. Good food in the Almond Tree Restaurant. Rates: $70-$88.

Where to eat: As in many tropical vacation destinations, the best food is generally found either on the street or in small local restaurants. Try Atlantis Club and Restaurant, 1 Harbour St., Port Antonio (no phone), serving such Jamaican specialties as grilled crayfish and chicken fricassee with coconut-flavored rice and beans, $30; or Mom’s Restaurant, 7 Eveyln St., Ocho Rios, tel. (809) 974-2811. A windowless place with five tables, serving curry goat, steamed vegetables and fresh limeade; $7.50. To sample the island’s famous jerk meats, visit the jerk pits next to the beach at Boston Bay, a few miles east of Port Antonio on Route A-4.

Visiting Firefly: Noel Coward’s home is located off Route A-3, about 22 miles east of Ocho Rios. Guided tours are offered daily from 8:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. Admission: $10. For information about special events, such as the midnight concerts, call (809) 997-7201.

For more information: Jamaica Tourist Board, 3440 Wilshire Blvd., Suite 1207, Los Angeles, 90010; (213) 384-1123.