Montego Bay, Jamaica & Sam Sharpe

Yesterday found me in Jamaica for the first time. We ported in Falmouth.

I started my morning off practicing guitar and drafting an email and letter to our Senators and House of Representatives, in regard to events following the current administration of our Executive Branch. It was penned rather angry, so I am revising it this morning and maintaining any warranted sharp corners to my words. I would hope that if you are upset as I am, you would do the same. Speak your mind to your representatives. Not everyone in history has had that luxury. Allow me the privilege of sharing one such person with you:

Sam Sharpe.

Sam Sharpe was a slave in Montego Bay, Jamaica. He was enslaved on both the Croydon Plantation as well as in St. James. He was owned by Samuel Sharpe, Esquire a local attorney.

Sam Sharpe was a man of exceptional intelligence and was a baptist lay preacher. He believed all men were created equal in the image of God, and therefore, slavery was wrong. He preached about the injustices of slavery and read the works of abolitionists.

In 1831, Sharpe organized a passive resistance movement against slavery in St. James, Trelawny, and Westmoreland by demanding pay for work done. Set to begin during Christmas 1831, the strike turned into an armed rebellion. The uprising was savagely suppressed by the English. Hundreds of enslaved people were caught, tried, and executed in Montego Bay Market Place on May 23rd 1832, where I stood yesterday.

However, the widespread nature and seriousness of the rebellion convinced the British Government that the time had come to end the enslavement of African People. This took place on August 1st 1834. Sam Sharpe did not die in vain. He was hung where I stood.

This was the beginning of a long and continuing fight for freedom by Jamaicans. They received their independence from the British in 1962, at the cost of massive inflation to their new national currency: what was once 40 to 1 US Dollar, is now 250 to 1 approximately. This was the cost of their emancipation.

May we all truly cherish that which rights we have to speak our mind without the cost of our own life.

WHO IS MIKE VITALE?

I am a storyteller, songwriter, singer, music producer, traveling musician, Jungian dream analyst, all-around curious fellow (Spiritual, Mathematical Historical, Scientific), Taoist, and much much more, based out of Los Angeles, California. I’m constantly releasing new music, in all sorts of different genres. You can listen to me below, on Spotify:

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Philipsburg, Sint Maartin

At this time last year, I was worried that I would be evicted from my apartment, have my car repossessed, lose all my belongings, amongst many ebbs and flows of dwellings in the confines of my own head—speaking of which, and most importantly: I was worried that I didn’t belong—that I don’t have community, and perhaps, truly, I don’t. I can only try to connect with others, and it is extremely difficult to support others, when just barely getting by financially, oneself—despite managing having done so for years and years, especially when so many people around me seem to function on a quid-pro-quo-type-of relationship (whether that be truth or a fiction of abstraction).

Feelings are very hard at times, like being between a rock and a hard place—or an immovable object against an unstoppable force.

Just because you have them, doesn’t make them true. We don’t have to believe everything we think. They’re feelings: by their very nature, they are irrational. They come and go, and even in the most basic sense, come from the oldest portion of wherever our consciousness comes from in the first place.

Regardless: I am very thankful to be so far removed from how I felt last year. I am thankful that a booking agent is not holding ransom, thousands of dollars that I had already earned with hard work and effort and years of experience.

I am happy to be playing my music for people and to be telling stories about my life, and other people’s lives, through song— and even between the songs, to people I just met, on a cruise ship, voyaging to places I’ve never been.

Today we were back in Antigua and yesterday we were in Philipsburg, Sint Maarten. I bought a Celia Cruz shirt today, because she makes me very happy, and I can think of no better way to say thank you to her and her friends in the band and their collective creative efforts from the magic that is music, by wearing her face on my chest, next to my heart.

Cheers to this year ending, so much better than how it began. May 2026 be a wealth of experiences and opportunities. Thank you for reading this, and for being in my life.

WHO IS MIKE VITALE?

I am a storyteller, songwriter, singer, music producer, traveling musician, Jungian dream analyst, all-around curious fellow (Spiritual, Mathematical Historical, Scientific), Taoist, and much much more, based out of Los Angeles, California. I’m constantly releasing new music, in all sorts of different genres. You can listen to me below, on Spotify:

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Willemstad, Curaçao

Curaçao is beautiful. Sometimes people call this the C in the ABC islands, above South America.

It’s inhabitants are transplants from all over the world, including Europe, South America, and Asia—but most predominantly West Africa and the Bight of Benin due to Transatlantic Slave Trading. These good folks created a language based off of their many and numerous captures, Papiamentu, a creole based on Portuguese and Spanish.

The indigenous inhabitants were primarily Arawakan-speaking Caquetio people from what is now Venezuela. 

Truth be told, I hear Dutch, English, Papiamentu, and Spanish reverberating from the narrow alleys of rainbow colored dwellings built by the Dutch, hundreds of years ago. Built by the Dutch—but painted by Curaçaoënaars.

I see T-Shirts all over the place that say Curaçao: Est. 1499. It probably involved a flag (a Spanish flag). I’m sure the Caquetio had little use for flags, unfortunately.

Sammuel, one of the friends I made aboard the Koningsdam, is from Curaçao and was kind enough to take us around the island this morning for a bit, before I lost myself, searching for treasure, whether it photos or clothing or food or whatever else I could sponge up with my senses.

I think Aly went to an Ostrich farm. That would have been rad; I’ve never been to one. Maybe next time.

My favorite shot from today, involved this man feeding a big hunk of bread to pigeons. Let me know which one you like best.

The people are lovely here. I’m coming back, if not soon—then maybe a bit later.

WHO IS MIKE VITALE?

I am a storyteller, songwriter, singer, music producer, traveling musician, Jungian dream analyst, all-around curious fellow (Spiritual, Mathematical Historical, Scientific), Taoist, and much much more, based out of Los Angeles, California. I’m constantly releasing new music, in all sorts of different genres. You can listen to me below, on Spotify:

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Dominica and Saint Kitts

There is an island where tour guides named Sugar, tell you about a spot where the Caribbean Ocean and the Atlantic Ocean converge on one another. It’s a beautiful spot (I took photos). However, it’s even more gorgeous when one is not worried about being left behind by the cruise vessel one is working on, because two over stimulated musicians are running late and stayed a bit too long.

My friend Paulie and I took a cab out to a remote beach on the edge of Saint Kitts. It was beautiful. I was full of gin—and bathed like a Sun God, surrounded by scantly clad women throwing tiny pickles at me. All of this is true, aside from the pickles (that’s a line from the movie Real Genius in which Chris Knight is recounting a dream).

The fact of the matter is that in terms of posting photos and recounting traveling stories to anyone who is even remotely interested, I feel a bit behind, just like I did that day, trying not to rush a good time.

We got back to the ship with one of the navigators, wagging their head in deep disappointment and disapproval. She told us she would leave without us it ever happened again—and that we were lucky because one of the passengers had been injured, and they stayed behind to retrieve the injured passenger (not for us).

She looked like she meant it. She probably did. Not planning on testing her resolve.

The passengers have been so lovely to me. You can drop a pin (and hear it) at a lot of these shows I’m playing. What an honor, to be heard—to be given the opportunity to express myself and play my songs and entertain folks and make some new acquaintances that will hopefully develop into friendship.

Celia Cruz’s voice dances around in my head, daily. I stayed in and practiced today, and got to where I can sing the lyrics and play the montuno on “Toro Mata.”

Toro mata y, toro Mata. Toro mata, rumbambero y toro mata, toro, torito…

WHO IS MIKE VITALE?

I am a storyteller, songwriter, singer, music producer, traveling musician, Jungian dream analyst, all-around curious fellow (Spiritual, Mathematical Historical, Scientific), Taoist, and much much more, based out of Los Angeles, California. I’m constantly releasing new music, in all sorts of different genres. You can listen to me below, on Spotify:

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