The time has come. No I'm not packed. I've got half my suitcase filled and another three quarters waiting to go in. I hate packing. So, I procrastinate. That, I do exceptionally well.
The last few days I've been saying goodbye.
I spent the weekend with my aunt and cousin. My cousin took me Down de Islands for a last trip and we had an absolute ball. We rang his partner-in-crime as we were heading down the road, he dropped everything, grabbed his stuff and came to join us. We all piled into my cousin's boat, went Down de Islands, picked up partner-in-crime's daughter and fiance and headed out to fish. Once again I was reminded it's called 'fishing' not 'catching'. Even though we only had one bite and didn't manage to land the fish, we had a fantastic time. Yes, there are pictures. When I get home I'll put them up.
Sunday, I spent with my aunt. She gave me back a piece of my childhood, when I would go and spend the afternoon with her, we talked and talked. Saying goodbye was so hard. I really, really did not want to leave them. My cousin has been such a support to me. He doesn't do emotional intelligence, he does that big, gruff, manly thing. But it was just what I needed. I could be exactly how I was and that was all that was necessary. He took me out and about. We teased each other, nagged each other and got very, very drunk together. I will never forget him standing behind my father's coffin, sweating in the heavy wool suit, trying not cry.
Today, my brother and SIL headed off to work. They can't make it to the airport. That was hard. I'm going to miss them so much. I'm going to miss Trinidad so much. But I miss my Boy, the Cat, my friends and Norwich dreadfully. I know it will be good to be home.
Showing posts with label Trinidad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Trinidad. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 07, 2010
Thursday, September 02, 2010
Day at the Races
The Grim Times led to my father's death and funeral and all of the chaos and confusion that surrounds these events. I did try to hop on a plane to get back to the UK a week earlier, but British Airways and I have a difference of opinion about the definition of 'amendable'. The travel agent and I will be having words upon my return.
In the meantime, I have been trying not to mope. My cousin to the rescue. He's just been fantastic. He's the one who has the boat and took me down the islands, where I ended up camping on a dock for the night. I will just say he's been very bad for my liver and lungs, but very, very good for my heart. While he's not on the oil rigs, he stays with his mother (my aunt) here in Trinidad. Basically, my cousin has been picking me up, taking me out, getting me (very) drunk and then I've crashed in his mother's spare room.
On Tuesday, Trinidad celebrated it's Independence Day. He decided he would by hook or crook, get us into the VIP stand at the Arima Racecourse, to watch the day's races. He told me I had to be smartly dressed: no jeans, t-shirts or flip flops. What a drag. So I dressed to impress. We had a blast.
We rocked up in time for the 3rd race. The stand was boiling hot, boy was I glad I wore a skimpy dress, any more cloth on my skin, I'd have melted. The balcony of the stand over-looked where the horses were walked before the race, and where they got the colours and jockeys. We tried to assess the horseflesh, look in the racing catalogue for the stats, the names and make our choices. I would go and place the bets and then, we'd make our way to the other side so we could watch the race. My cousin said he brought lots of cash with us, but in the end we bet $105.00 in total. We finished the day with $120.00, not bad for a couple of novices. It was fun. We ate, we drank, we smoked, we were merry.
One of my cousin's horses decided it didn't like the jockey and left him staring at the sky at the starting gates. Another spooked itself when the gate opened and threw a right girly strop, good thing neither of us parted with good cash for that one. The point is: my friend Gee used to work in a betting shop. She horrified me at the stories of men coming in with the Title Deeds to their houses. That's a mindset, I just don't get. To risk a huge amount of money, to risk your house on a four-legged temperamental creature, that might just be having a shitty day, I don't understand it. Actually, I don't want to understand it. I can cope with hard drinkin' and smokin' kind of men, but a man who could one day come home and say 'honey, pack up. We have to be out of here before 9 am tomorrow morning'. Nah. That's just a whole new level, I couldn't deal with.
I can't believe in a week's time I'll be back in the UK. The time here has gone so quickly. I'm going to miss my Trinidad adventures. Hopefully, there will be a few more before I leave next week.
In the meantime, I have been trying not to mope. My cousin to the rescue. He's just been fantastic. He's the one who has the boat and took me down the islands, where I ended up camping on a dock for the night. I will just say he's been very bad for my liver and lungs, but very, very good for my heart. While he's not on the oil rigs, he stays with his mother (my aunt) here in Trinidad. Basically, my cousin has been picking me up, taking me out, getting me (very) drunk and then I've crashed in his mother's spare room.
On Tuesday, Trinidad celebrated it's Independence Day. He decided he would by hook or crook, get us into the VIP stand at the Arima Racecourse, to watch the day's races. He told me I had to be smartly dressed: no jeans, t-shirts or flip flops. What a drag. So I dressed to impress. We had a blast.
We rocked up in time for the 3rd race. The stand was boiling hot, boy was I glad I wore a skimpy dress, any more cloth on my skin, I'd have melted. The balcony of the stand over-looked where the horses were walked before the race, and where they got the colours and jockeys. We tried to assess the horseflesh, look in the racing catalogue for the stats, the names and make our choices. I would go and place the bets and then, we'd make our way to the other side so we could watch the race. My cousin said he brought lots of cash with us, but in the end we bet $105.00 in total. We finished the day with $120.00, not bad for a couple of novices. It was fun. We ate, we drank, we smoked, we were merry.
One of my cousin's horses decided it didn't like the jockey and left him staring at the sky at the starting gates. Another spooked itself when the gate opened and threw a right girly strop, good thing neither of us parted with good cash for that one. The point is: my friend Gee used to work in a betting shop. She horrified me at the stories of men coming in with the Title Deeds to their houses. That's a mindset, I just don't get. To risk a huge amount of money, to risk your house on a four-legged temperamental creature, that might just be having a shitty day, I don't understand it. Actually, I don't want to understand it. I can cope with hard drinkin' and smokin' kind of men, but a man who could one day come home and say 'honey, pack up. We have to be out of here before 9 am tomorrow morning'. Nah. That's just a whole new level, I couldn't deal with.
I can't believe in a week's time I'll be back in the UK. The time here has gone so quickly. I'm going to miss my Trinidad adventures. Hopefully, there will be a few more before I leave next week.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Adventures in the Bush - Part II
I've just had breakfast, Doubles: lightly curried chickpeas squashed between two flat, fried bakes. Yum yum. And more Eine. *sigh* I'm floating on a sea of contendedness.
Where was I? Ah yes...
We left the teak field, by continuing down the 'track'. When we'd made our way out, the Government Man rang his man at the bottom of the road. The police had arrived and were swarming around, doing police things. Rather than get caught up in that circus, because we had nothing useful to add, we kept going.
The 'track' eventually became a 'road' that led through several 'villages', I suspect hamlets are a better description. We past Moruga. We had travelled so far south we could see the sea through the coconut trees. My brother and his friend agreed to part company, his friend would drop off the two field workers and we would return the Government Man. More driving. It took about an hour to get there.
Yesterday, I saw parts of rural Trinidad I'd never seen before. Rural houses are generally constructed using the same template whatever the construction material, either wood or concrete: on stilts, with a large porch out the front. The stilts help keep the living quarters cool as it allows the wind to travel around and through the building. Underneath can be used as a car park or when the children get older and marry, bricked up for more living space. Also useful in areas subject to flooding. The porch is the hub of the house, the way kitchens in temperate climes used to be. That's the place where family members gather to chat at the end of the day, to each other and their neighbours walking on the road. Entertaining takes place on the porch. The low walls of the porch are usually decked out in pots of colourful houseplants. It's a welcoming space. Gardens varied. Some had trimmed their hedges and topiaried to be the envy of Capability Brown, others were left to the chickens and pothounds.
Pothound. (n) a dog of indeterminate breed that arrives as soon as the pots rattle in the kitchen.
We dropped off the Government Man and headed off to Mayaro, via Rio Claro. It took us a couple of hours. I'm so proud of my brother, he stopped and asks for directions without prompting or muttering. I made him laugh after yet another stop by the side of the road. I told him of all of my qualities, my ability to pee in the bush, should be most prized by any man with marriage in mind. Bless him, he never complained at the many stops. In this heat it is really important to keep hydrated and my bladder is the size of a hamster's purse. I'm not proud, I'll pee anywhere: public toilets, the bush, the sea, the side of the road. Public toilets in Trinidad are an exercise in faith in your immune system. I walk with my own toilet paper.
When we got to my brother's estate. We had a brief discussion about provisions. We stopped off and picked up lunch from the local Chinese restaurant and a crate of beer from a bar. Please understand that rural does not mean uncivillised, Mayaro might not be an urban centre, but it has the important things: a market, a gas station, bars and a couple of Chinese restaurants. My brother has a food finding instinct that is amazing. His ability to find fantastic food wherever he is can only be considered a special power worthy of a superhero. He stops in places that you look and consider the efficacy of a antacids and antibiotics to find the food delicious and the staff, friendly. He really appreciates good food.
We headed back to the estate house and I ate straight away. I then smoked and said hello to the dogs and donkeys. The donkeys always make their way towards me. I don't know why they're so fond of me, I don't feed them. I just lavish them with lots of affection. Perhaps, donkeys need love too? We then crashed for an hour. Getting up at stupid o'clock had taken it's toll.
My brother, after a cup of coffee, put on his overalls and went out to see to the estate. I grabbed a beer, swung in the hammock and listened to the parrots quarrelling in the trees. Late afternoon, they fly back to their homes in twos and threes squawking as they go, a parrot is by no means a quiet bird. I can't tell you the feeling of bliss, contentment even.
Promptly broken by my brother demanding I go with him into The Bush. So I did. He'd collected tiny teak seedlings in their little black bags, ready to be planted out in the field. He asked me to put them out on some newspaper and fluff them up, as they'd been squashed in the two buckets. I then had the joy of explaining to my prim and proper brother what a 'fluffer' was. I'm happy to say that the seedlings were fully erect when I'd finished! :-)
We packed up and headed off to the beach. I'd been looking forward to the swim for hours and hours. Bliss. Real bliss. The water was fantastic, the beer cold, the company excellent. I had a fantastic day. The kind of day that lives on. I realised after I started blogging, that yesterday we made a circuit round the island, we headed south to San Fernando, east to Mayaro, and then north and west to get home again. No wonder my brother is knackered today.
Where was I? Ah yes...
We left the teak field, by continuing down the 'track'. When we'd made our way out, the Government Man rang his man at the bottom of the road. The police had arrived and were swarming around, doing police things. Rather than get caught up in that circus, because we had nothing useful to add, we kept going.
The 'track' eventually became a 'road' that led through several 'villages', I suspect hamlets are a better description. We past Moruga. We had travelled so far south we could see the sea through the coconut trees. My brother and his friend agreed to part company, his friend would drop off the two field workers and we would return the Government Man. More driving. It took about an hour to get there.
Yesterday, I saw parts of rural Trinidad I'd never seen before. Rural houses are generally constructed using the same template whatever the construction material, either wood or concrete: on stilts, with a large porch out the front. The stilts help keep the living quarters cool as it allows the wind to travel around and through the building. Underneath can be used as a car park or when the children get older and marry, bricked up for more living space. Also useful in areas subject to flooding. The porch is the hub of the house, the way kitchens in temperate climes used to be. That's the place where family members gather to chat at the end of the day, to each other and their neighbours walking on the road. Entertaining takes place on the porch. The low walls of the porch are usually decked out in pots of colourful houseplants. It's a welcoming space. Gardens varied. Some had trimmed their hedges and topiaried to be the envy of Capability Brown, others were left to the chickens and pothounds.
Pothound. (n) a dog of indeterminate breed that arrives as soon as the pots rattle in the kitchen.
We dropped off the Government Man and headed off to Mayaro, via Rio Claro. It took us a couple of hours. I'm so proud of my brother, he stopped and asks for directions without prompting or muttering. I made him laugh after yet another stop by the side of the road. I told him of all of my qualities, my ability to pee in the bush, should be most prized by any man with marriage in mind. Bless him, he never complained at the many stops. In this heat it is really important to keep hydrated and my bladder is the size of a hamster's purse. I'm not proud, I'll pee anywhere: public toilets, the bush, the sea, the side of the road. Public toilets in Trinidad are an exercise in faith in your immune system. I walk with my own toilet paper.
When we got to my brother's estate. We had a brief discussion about provisions. We stopped off and picked up lunch from the local Chinese restaurant and a crate of beer from a bar. Please understand that rural does not mean uncivillised, Mayaro might not be an urban centre, but it has the important things: a market, a gas station, bars and a couple of Chinese restaurants. My brother has a food finding instinct that is amazing. His ability to find fantastic food wherever he is can only be considered a special power worthy of a superhero. He stops in places that you look and consider the efficacy of a antacids and antibiotics to find the food delicious and the staff, friendly. He really appreciates good food.
We headed back to the estate house and I ate straight away. I then smoked and said hello to the dogs and donkeys. The donkeys always make their way towards me. I don't know why they're so fond of me, I don't feed them. I just lavish them with lots of affection. Perhaps, donkeys need love too? We then crashed for an hour. Getting up at stupid o'clock had taken it's toll.
My brother, after a cup of coffee, put on his overalls and went out to see to the estate. I grabbed a beer, swung in the hammock and listened to the parrots quarrelling in the trees. Late afternoon, they fly back to their homes in twos and threes squawking as they go, a parrot is by no means a quiet bird. I can't tell you the feeling of bliss, contentment even.
Promptly broken by my brother demanding I go with him into The Bush. So I did. He'd collected tiny teak seedlings in their little black bags, ready to be planted out in the field. He asked me to put them out on some newspaper and fluff them up, as they'd been squashed in the two buckets. I then had the joy of explaining to my prim and proper brother what a 'fluffer' was. I'm happy to say that the seedlings were fully erect when I'd finished! :-)
We packed up and headed off to the beach. I'd been looking forward to the swim for hours and hours. Bliss. Real bliss. The water was fantastic, the beer cold, the company excellent. I had a fantastic day. The kind of day that lives on. I realised after I started blogging, that yesterday we made a circuit round the island, we headed south to San Fernando, east to Mayaro, and then north and west to get home again. No wonder my brother is knackered today.
Adventures in The Bush
Long time readers will know of my well-earned reputation as a woman who loves being horizontal. Dawn comes and goes before I willingly leave the warmth and comfort of my bed. I am not an early riser.
Yesterday, I went on an Adventure with my brother to look at a teak field. Very exciting in more ways than one; except I had to be up at 3.55. That's AM, as in the morning. As in it's fucking dark outside. As I stood by the gate, waiting for my brother to reverse out his gold landrover I thought to myself: at that time of the morning, the virtuous and villans are safely tucked up in bed. I was wrong.
Firstly, let me introduce you to the trusty steed: the gold Landrover. My brother has 3 and this is the star of his fleet. It is the youngest, a sprightly 23 years old and has been modified so that the back will tip up and dump it's load at your feet. It has all modcons - a cranky airconditioning and an old car radio. It is very comfortable and as proved yesterday morning as we hurtled towards San Fernando, will do 110 km/ph.
Secondly, this island paradise I grew up in, has one major problem: the crime. Violent crime is trully apalling. Life here is incredibly cheap. There have been over 356 murders and the year isn't done yet. Unfortunately, the police have a success rate of less than 10%. The legal system is tied up in knots and it's not unknown for the accused to be in remand without trial for over 7 years. The virtuous live behind bars, high walls in gated communities when they can. They sleep uneasily and drive everywhere, not only because of the heat.
Driving around the Queen's Park Savannah, I realised I was indeed mistaken. The virtuous were walking and jogging round in the dark. Do bear in mind that it was 4.40 (am). There they were in their athletic gear, sweating their committment to fitness and good health. I found that almost as traumatic as being up that early in the morning.
At that time of the morning, everything is dark. The night chorus of frogs haven't given way to the roosters and birds. The waning moon looked over her sleeping subjects, secure that she still had at least another hour and a half before she gave way to the sun.
My brother was to meet a friend and some government workers to look at a field of teak, that he would harvest. The friend travelled separately with his right-hand man in a HiLux. Shockingly, he only managed to catch us up at the San Fernando junction. Given that Landrovers are not known for their speed, this is not surprising. But at that time of the morning, the roads were clear and it was safe for my brother to put his foot down.
We stopped and waited for the Government Man. I smoked and drank the coffee as Dawn chased the moon from the sky. Everything in nature in the tropics seems to be extreme. The sky as we approached the San Fernando junction was dark, with a bright ribbon of light. Twenty minutes later, everything is bathed in sunshine. The birds are up, as are the dogs and day begins.
The Government Man was on time. And off we went. We drove for another hour to meet the two field workers. Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the jungle.
There were a group of workers milling around our turnoff. One of them flagged us down. There was a body. The police had been called. They were waiting. Did we want to see?
The poor man had been bound hand and foot, and a bullet forever silenced his thoughts. There was blood on the ground where he had been dragged and dumped. No, I didn't see and neither did any of us. I have seen the dead: my mother and stepfather, I had nothing to gain by rubbernecking. We went on.
It would be an exaggeration to call what we travelled on, a track. This is where having a Landrover comes into it's own. There's such a satisfying thunk as the diff-lock is engaged and it becomes a four-wheel drive, rover of land. And yes, we roved. The rainy season had turned parts of the track into a mud hole, a hippo would have longed to wallow in. My brother, with years of skill and trust in his vehicle, negotiated his way through the mire without incident. Though, there was always the winch to pull us out if we got really stuck. Eventually, we got to the field of teak.
Teak is a beautiful tree. It's leaves are the classic 'leaf shape' but bigger, much bigger. They are about two feet long and around eighteen inches across. Huge. And lots of them. The trunks are ramrod straight, grey and brown speckled bark. At the moment, they've just finished flowering and look like they've got frondy hats. Come the dry season, the fronds will fall and deposit the seeds around. Into the bush we went. A very hot walk. I was in jeans and my trainers, my brother's floppy hat on my head. I'd dosed up on the mosquito lotion before I'd got out of the Landrover and boy am I glad I did. The little bastards were zooming around looking for lunch.
Of course I ended up on my arse. I stepped on a tree root and gracelessly slid down a muddy bank. Ouch. Nothing but my pride hurt. My brother helped me up and we walked on. I still can't believe how many species of moth and butterfly I saw yesterday. It makes me realised how impoverished our selection has become in the UK. Moths that pretended to be fallen leaves, black butterflies that looked like they'd been dipped in mint choc-chip icecream. Butterflies with wings larger than my hands, dark on the outside, flashing royal blue as they zig-zagged through the trees. I want to learn more.
Consider this the first installment. I need to have a break and attend to my dad and yes, I need more Eine.
Yesterday, I went on an Adventure with my brother to look at a teak field. Very exciting in more ways than one; except I had to be up at 3.55. That's AM, as in the morning. As in it's fucking dark outside. As I stood by the gate, waiting for my brother to reverse out his gold landrover I thought to myself: at that time of the morning, the virtuous and villans are safely tucked up in bed. I was wrong.
Firstly, let me introduce you to the trusty steed: the gold Landrover. My brother has 3 and this is the star of his fleet. It is the youngest, a sprightly 23 years old and has been modified so that the back will tip up and dump it's load at your feet. It has all modcons - a cranky airconditioning and an old car radio. It is very comfortable and as proved yesterday morning as we hurtled towards San Fernando, will do 110 km/ph.
Secondly, this island paradise I grew up in, has one major problem: the crime. Violent crime is trully apalling. Life here is incredibly cheap. There have been over 356 murders and the year isn't done yet. Unfortunately, the police have a success rate of less than 10%. The legal system is tied up in knots and it's not unknown for the accused to be in remand without trial for over 7 years. The virtuous live behind bars, high walls in gated communities when they can. They sleep uneasily and drive everywhere, not only because of the heat.
Driving around the Queen's Park Savannah, I realised I was indeed mistaken. The virtuous were walking and jogging round in the dark. Do bear in mind that it was 4.40 (am). There they were in their athletic gear, sweating their committment to fitness and good health. I found that almost as traumatic as being up that early in the morning.
At that time of the morning, everything is dark. The night chorus of frogs haven't given way to the roosters and birds. The waning moon looked over her sleeping subjects, secure that she still had at least another hour and a half before she gave way to the sun.
My brother was to meet a friend and some government workers to look at a field of teak, that he would harvest. The friend travelled separately with his right-hand man in a HiLux. Shockingly, he only managed to catch us up at the San Fernando junction. Given that Landrovers are not known for their speed, this is not surprising. But at that time of the morning, the roads were clear and it was safe for my brother to put his foot down.
We stopped and waited for the Government Man. I smoked and drank the coffee as Dawn chased the moon from the sky. Everything in nature in the tropics seems to be extreme. The sky as we approached the San Fernando junction was dark, with a bright ribbon of light. Twenty minutes later, everything is bathed in sunshine. The birds are up, as are the dogs and day begins.
The Government Man was on time. And off we went. We drove for another hour to meet the two field workers. Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the jungle.
There were a group of workers milling around our turnoff. One of them flagged us down. There was a body. The police had been called. They were waiting. Did we want to see?
The poor man had been bound hand and foot, and a bullet forever silenced his thoughts. There was blood on the ground where he had been dragged and dumped. No, I didn't see and neither did any of us. I have seen the dead: my mother and stepfather, I had nothing to gain by rubbernecking. We went on.
It would be an exaggeration to call what we travelled on, a track. This is where having a Landrover comes into it's own. There's such a satisfying thunk as the diff-lock is engaged and it becomes a four-wheel drive, rover of land. And yes, we roved. The rainy season had turned parts of the track into a mud hole, a hippo would have longed to wallow in. My brother, with years of skill and trust in his vehicle, negotiated his way through the mire without incident. Though, there was always the winch to pull us out if we got really stuck. Eventually, we got to the field of teak.
Teak is a beautiful tree. It's leaves are the classic 'leaf shape' but bigger, much bigger. They are about two feet long and around eighteen inches across. Huge. And lots of them. The trunks are ramrod straight, grey and brown speckled bark. At the moment, they've just finished flowering and look like they've got frondy hats. Come the dry season, the fronds will fall and deposit the seeds around. Into the bush we went. A very hot walk. I was in jeans and my trainers, my brother's floppy hat on my head. I'd dosed up on the mosquito lotion before I'd got out of the Landrover and boy am I glad I did. The little bastards were zooming around looking for lunch.
Of course I ended up on my arse. I stepped on a tree root and gracelessly slid down a muddy bank. Ouch. Nothing but my pride hurt. My brother helped me up and we walked on. I still can't believe how many species of moth and butterfly I saw yesterday. It makes me realised how impoverished our selection has become in the UK. Moths that pretended to be fallen leaves, black butterflies that looked like they'd been dipped in mint choc-chip icecream. Butterflies with wings larger than my hands, dark on the outside, flashing royal blue as they zig-zagged through the trees. I want to learn more.
Consider this the first installment. I need to have a break and attend to my dad and yes, I need more Eine.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Mango, Mango, Mango, Mango, Mangooooo
Yesterday, my brother and SIL took us all to the Mango Festival hosted by the University of the West Indies Agriculture Field Office. I didn't have any expectations one way or another, so I was happy with the experience.
My niece was fighting off a cold and could hardly speak, so after we parked up I offered her a piggy-back. At 5, she's a heavy little thing and it's hot. But it meant she wasn't getting pushed past, or walk.
There were stalls promoting mango products: cosmetics, foods, preserves & chutneys and stationery. There wasn't very much to see in all honesty. There was also a stall promoting the benefits of wheatgrass which I avoided like an STD. As I've got older, my disbelief in 'wonder' ingredients and alternative treatments like wheatgrass, coconut oil, green tea has fallen disproportionately. Anything that promotes 'natural' products gets more than a sceptical look.
Natural is not better than man-made people. It's not automatically more healthy. Honestly, it isn't. Consider products with 'natural herbs' for instance. They particularly annoy me. Belladonna and foxglove are very natural and are very, very dangerous. Should your organic back be getting up at this point. I'm not of a mind to get into a massive debate about the massive issue. All I'm saying is that in all cases Buyer Beware. I do believe we should be using cleaning products that do the job and are gentle on mother Earth. I do believe we should scrub vegetables and fruit before consuming. Responsible consumerism should be practised at all times and a label stating 'natural' should be carefully examined and the efficacy of the product should be scrutinised.
I digress.
Mangos are my favouritest fruit ever. Especially, when my brother has picked it off his tree in the backyard. I love that if you have a bowl of mangos in the kitchen, the smell permeates. Buying mangos in the UK has ultimately been an expensive and depressing experience. In the main they just don't smell and taste as fantastic as the homegrown.
My brother's garden is beautiful and edible. He has mango trees, lime trees, a kumquat, five-fingers (which I detest), avocado trees, passion fruit vines; there are a variety of herbs, ginger lillies and chilli peppers, as well as vines for leafy salads. Tasty and beautiful. In The Bush, he also grows aubergines, several varieties of bananas, mangos, oranges, lemons, grapefruits...the list goes on. He used to grow watermelons, but that apparently, was a bit of a disaster.
As for the local cuisine. I am working hard not to return to the UK in September with an arse the size of Brazil, but they are not making it easy for me. My brother's MIL is in charge of cooking and I have yet to try something she prepared and for me to go 'bleugh'. That woman can cook!
Om nom nom.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Mush
Describes perfectly the state of my brain.
Had a fantastic time in The Bush. Lots of mosquitos and interesting wildlife. A praying mantis stood guard on the wall over my bed. Obviously thought my virtue needed protecting. Could have saved her the bother. My virtue is a dim and distant memory. Thank goodness.
My brother has two donkeys on his estate. Proton and Ashmini. They are so funny. Every time I went to have a smoke, they'd come and join me, snuffling my arms and fingers. I'd crouch down on the driveway and hear their gentle clop-clop and then there would be a tickle on the back of my neck. They never bit me, but did they did try to eat my dress a couple of times.
There's a beach nearby and we'd pile into the landrover and go for a swim. My arms are brown, my legs less so. I suppose that's simply because I tend to keep them covered either in a long dress or jeans. I'm not a huge fan of sea swimming, but the water was so calm and warm, it was fantastic.
On Sunday, after my brother had a morning session in The Bush, pruning, cutting down vines and picking fruit, we tidied up the house to get ready to head back into town. We started on the Carib beers and that continued at the beach, back at the house and on the journey home (though my brother switched to soft drinks). I felt decidedly toxic yesterday. My brother says I out drank him. A surprise to me, but apparently true. With the heat, a Carib is just perfect, and slips down so easily and drinking steadily through the day, I didn't even really feel tipsy, much less drunk. It's too easy, so I will be laying off the Carib for the next few days, my liver really needs a break. Poor thing.
Had a fantastic time in The Bush. Lots of mosquitos and interesting wildlife. A praying mantis stood guard on the wall over my bed. Obviously thought my virtue needed protecting. Could have saved her the bother. My virtue is a dim and distant memory. Thank goodness.
My brother has two donkeys on his estate. Proton and Ashmini. They are so funny. Every time I went to have a smoke, they'd come and join me, snuffling my arms and fingers. I'd crouch down on the driveway and hear their gentle clop-clop and then there would be a tickle on the back of my neck. They never bit me, but did they did try to eat my dress a couple of times.
There's a beach nearby and we'd pile into the landrover and go for a swim. My arms are brown, my legs less so. I suppose that's simply because I tend to keep them covered either in a long dress or jeans. I'm not a huge fan of sea swimming, but the water was so calm and warm, it was fantastic.
On Sunday, after my brother had a morning session in The Bush, pruning, cutting down vines and picking fruit, we tidied up the house to get ready to head back into town. We started on the Carib beers and that continued at the beach, back at the house and on the journey home (though my brother switched to soft drinks). I felt decidedly toxic yesterday. My brother says I out drank him. A surprise to me, but apparently true. With the heat, a Carib is just perfect, and slips down so easily and drinking steadily through the day, I didn't even really feel tipsy, much less drunk. It's too easy, so I will be laying off the Carib for the next few days, my liver really needs a break. Poor thing.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Off to the Bush
I'm clutching my cup of coffee, trying to get my act together. I watched the rain falling on the distant hills as I had my first smoke. I can smell it in the air. Tropical rain is something different to the polite British drizzle. Because of the topography, and the fact we live in a valley. It's possible to stand outside, to hear and see the rain falling, rushing towards you, before the first drops hit your head. I love this time of year, even though it means less sunshine.
I've got to pack. We're off to my brother's little piece of Heaven. We're off to The Bush.
I've no internet, so do try and behave while I'm gone.
I've got to pack. We're off to my brother's little piece of Heaven. We're off to The Bush.
I've no internet, so do try and behave while I'm gone.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Rainy Season
It's interesting being back in Trinidad in a different season. From June to December is the official rainy season. After an intensely dry season which saw the hills ablaze with forest fires, the rainy season brings with it relief and more misery. Relief in that the earth and plants are crying out for rain, but without the vegetation to hold the soil, the rain washes away the precious topsoil (which tends not to be very deep in the tropics anyway) and there is the real risk of mud slides.
Small, still puddles of water are breeding grounds for mosquitos. And my goodness they are vicious. In April, I could get away with a casual slathering after each shower, now if I don't re-apply every 2 hours, I look like a dot-to-dot picture. Very unattractive and itchy to say the least. Of course there's also the risk of a nasty tropical disease called dengue.
It's still mango season and I've got my eye on several large avocados growing in my brother's garden. I'm told we're off to The Bush on Friday, which I'm really, really looking forward to. Unfortunately, the rural mosquitos are 10 times more assertive than their urban cousins and they will bite through clothes, hats and even hair. A trip into the rain forest will mean a head to foot dousing in repellant.
I've got a huge pile of reading next to my bed. Nothing lascivious this time, it's all about permaculture. My brother has approved my plans of World Domination and when I step into The Bush, I'm hoping to see his work with new eyes. I'm off to read, talk amongst yourselves while I'm gone.
Small, still puddles of water are breeding grounds for mosquitos. And my goodness they are vicious. In April, I could get away with a casual slathering after each shower, now if I don't re-apply every 2 hours, I look like a dot-to-dot picture. Very unattractive and itchy to say the least. Of course there's also the risk of a nasty tropical disease called dengue.
It's still mango season and I've got my eye on several large avocados growing in my brother's garden. I'm told we're off to The Bush on Friday, which I'm really, really looking forward to. Unfortunately, the rural mosquitos are 10 times more assertive than their urban cousins and they will bite through clothes, hats and even hair. A trip into the rain forest will mean a head to foot dousing in repellant.
I've got a huge pile of reading next to my bed. Nothing lascivious this time, it's all about permaculture. My brother has approved my plans of World Domination and when I step into The Bush, I'm hoping to see his work with new eyes. I'm off to read, talk amongst yourselves while I'm gone.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Going to the Dark Side
One of the goals I set myself this summer was to become fit and strong. I wasn't particularly worried about my weight, even though it's been fluctuating, I figured if I was fitter and more active, it would settle down. Of course, once I got the phone call (last week, bloody hell), it kind of screwed my plans a bit.
Until I remembered my SIL was a yoga convert. I did ante-natal yoga and quite liked it, but my leanings tended to be more martial arts rather than yoga. But I've been putting off joining a class, procrastinating doing my exercise dvds and ignoring the olympic sized swimming pool just up the road. I bought a skipping rope which was duly packed and when I arrived I made the mistake of telling my SIL.
She took me for a walk round the neighbourhood on Thursday. Bearing in mind, Trinidad has steep hills, I'm deeply unfit and I smoke, I revelled in the fact that when we finished I did not require the attention of a paramedic, nor did I resort to Father #1's oxygen (though it was a close call).
Now you, my long term readers will know, my morning routine is fairly well fixed. Until I've had my first smoke and cup of coffee, I'm not coherent. I can't even think about getting dressed or leaving the house until I've had my second round. Forget eating. I was just thinking about my second cup of coffee when my SIL announced the yoga class started in 15 minutes. I managed to collect my brain cells and got changed into suitable gear (leggings and a big shirt) and we got there in time. Then for the next couple of hours I puffed, panted and groaned through my poses.
Apparently, I am 'awakening' my muscles.
We were doing Hatha yoga and the teacher leading the class was fantastic. The other students were supportive and helpful. I didn't feel like the new, clueless kid. I even managed a handstand! Me! Yes, you did read right. So, the idea is I'll do classes 3 times a week while I'm here, build up my strength and stamina and when I get back to the Land of Cold and Damp, I'll keep up the good work.
Yeah right.
But, I've got to start somewhere and if I don't do it now, then when?
Until I remembered my SIL was a yoga convert. I did ante-natal yoga and quite liked it, but my leanings tended to be more martial arts rather than yoga. But I've been putting off joining a class, procrastinating doing my exercise dvds and ignoring the olympic sized swimming pool just up the road. I bought a skipping rope which was duly packed and when I arrived I made the mistake of telling my SIL.
She took me for a walk round the neighbourhood on Thursday. Bearing in mind, Trinidad has steep hills, I'm deeply unfit and I smoke, I revelled in the fact that when we finished I did not require the attention of a paramedic, nor did I resort to Father #1's oxygen (though it was a close call).
Now you, my long term readers will know, my morning routine is fairly well fixed. Until I've had my first smoke and cup of coffee, I'm not coherent. I can't even think about getting dressed or leaving the house until I've had my second round. Forget eating. I was just thinking about my second cup of coffee when my SIL announced the yoga class started in 15 minutes. I managed to collect my brain cells and got changed into suitable gear (leggings and a big shirt) and we got there in time. Then for the next couple of hours I puffed, panted and groaned through my poses.
Apparently, I am 'awakening' my muscles.
We were doing Hatha yoga and the teacher leading the class was fantastic. The other students were supportive and helpful. I didn't feel like the new, clueless kid. I even managed a handstand! Me! Yes, you did read right. So, the idea is I'll do classes 3 times a week while I'm here, build up my strength and stamina and when I get back to the Land of Cold and Damp, I'll keep up the good work.
Yeah right.
But, I've got to start somewhere and if I don't do it now, then when?
Friday, July 09, 2010
Arrival
The Great Ursus, his lovely and Boy saw me off at Norwich Bus Station at 00:30 Wednesday morning. National Express is certainly an experience. The coach trip was as expected: endless, uncomfortable and occasionally entertaining. My advice to you, should you ever need to travel by coach is to book. Several people rocked up to the stops at stupid o'clock and got in the driver's face because they hadn't booked tickets, or enough seats for their party and decided that the fact that the coach was booked solid and he didn't have the seats for them was his fault. I don't see their logic, but what do I know? Apparently, theirs was a trip of a life-time and they wouldn't make their flight. Quite. At 3 am, he was far more professional and polite than I would have been. But given that I'd been awake since 6.30 the previous morning, I was cold and uncomfortable, perhaps it's not surprising. Gatwick was Gatwick. Filled with hurrying passengers, stressed staff and security with no sense of humour. I filled up on Eine, got to my flight and tried to sleep as much as possible.
Trinidad is in the depths of it's Rainy Season. The dry, dusty hills ravaged by bush fires are now all green. It's slightly cooler, but the humidity is high, so I'm not convinced it's more comfortable. The greenery is amazing; a month of rain and everything is in flower.
It's as if I was only here last week.
Trinidad is in the depths of it's Rainy Season. The dry, dusty hills ravaged by bush fires are now all green. It's slightly cooler, but the humidity is high, so I'm not convinced it's more comfortable. The greenery is amazing; a month of rain and everything is in flower.
It's as if I was only here last week.
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
Doing Today, What Should Have Been Done 3 Months Ago
If only procrastination were an Olympic sport. I'd win the gold medal.
I have to get back to Trinidad. I'm being delivered to the bus station at half past midnight tonight, by the Great Ursus and his Lovely. Blessings upon their heads for their stalwart support and love.
There are at least 3 piles of paper in my house that I've been ignoring. I have to find 2 pieces of paper. If I don't find them the British government is likely to get very, very stroppy with with me. I've been ignoring the job for some time now. But as I can't take 3 piles of paper with me to Trinidad, if I don't do the job now, it isn't going to get done until September when I get back. By which time there will be a new pile of paper to ignore.
Administration is an interesting dilema for me. If it's not mine, I can do it, no problem. Indeed, many of my monthly paychecks in the past have required me to be organised and efficient in the moving of paper around. When it comes to my own personal admin....forget it. I create piles around the house, ignore, procrastinate, I just don't do it. Thanks to the joys of direct debit, I've now avoided red letters from utilities companies going 'pay us, pay us now'. I tell everyone I can 'if it's important, e-mail me, DO NOT POST'. In the main, this works very well. Unfortunately, the British government doesn't understand this. Most bureaucracies aren't known for being understanding. Hell, if I had to push that much paper around, frankly, I wouldn't understand either.
So here I am blogging, when indeed I should be collecting the 3 piles, turn them into 1 mahusive pile and start going through the hundreds of sheets of paper just looking for 2. Well, as soon as I type the last full stop, I'm going to have a bath, get dressed, make myself another cup of coffee, have a smoke and then collect my piles of paper.
It sure as hell beats packing and it's keeping me from wondering what waits for me when I land. Perhaps there are better survival strategies, but I've just realised that maybe, this one isn't too bad after all.
I have to get back to Trinidad. I'm being delivered to the bus station at half past midnight tonight, by the Great Ursus and his Lovely. Blessings upon their heads for their stalwart support and love.
There are at least 3 piles of paper in my house that I've been ignoring. I have to find 2 pieces of paper. If I don't find them the British government is likely to get very, very stroppy with with me. I've been ignoring the job for some time now. But as I can't take 3 piles of paper with me to Trinidad, if I don't do the job now, it isn't going to get done until September when I get back. By which time there will be a new pile of paper to ignore.
Administration is an interesting dilema for me. If it's not mine, I can do it, no problem. Indeed, many of my monthly paychecks in the past have required me to be organised and efficient in the moving of paper around. When it comes to my own personal admin....forget it. I create piles around the house, ignore, procrastinate, I just don't do it. Thanks to the joys of direct debit, I've now avoided red letters from utilities companies going 'pay us, pay us now'. I tell everyone I can 'if it's important, e-mail me, DO NOT POST'. In the main, this works very well. Unfortunately, the British government doesn't understand this. Most bureaucracies aren't known for being understanding. Hell, if I had to push that much paper around, frankly, I wouldn't understand either.
So here I am blogging, when indeed I should be collecting the 3 piles, turn them into 1 mahusive pile and start going through the hundreds of sheets of paper just looking for 2. Well, as soon as I type the last full stop, I'm going to have a bath, get dressed, make myself another cup of coffee, have a smoke and then collect my piles of paper.
It sure as hell beats packing and it's keeping me from wondering what waits for me when I land. Perhaps there are better survival strategies, but I've just realised that maybe, this one isn't too bad after all.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Yipeee!
I crawled out of bed at the crack of Dawn to read on the BA website that UK airspace is open again. Woo hoo!
Thank you to all the deities that were prayed to.
We're going to celebrate by going to The Bush to feed mosquitos.
Yay!
Thank you to all the deities that were prayed to.
We're going to celebrate by going to The Bush to feed mosquitos.
Yay!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Stress!
I've run out of optimism today. The English airports are still shut. It's Tuesday. We're supposed to fly out Sunday and yes, we have time, but as each day goes by it becomes more and more worrying.
My Father #1 says what we need is the weather to change. The ash is hanging around thanks to a high weather system hanging around. I never thought I'd see the day when I'd be praying for bad weather. A low pressure system will change the way the winds flow and move the ash off England and into the Atlantic.
Boy's school has been fantastic. They've e-mail through revision work and have been in e-mail contact with him about his coursework due this morning and the end of the week. He's been cracking on with it, with no nagging from me. He did have an IT blip, but an e-mail got their IT department to sort it out.
The stress of this is seeing me outside more often puffing away. I'm continuing to write and am getting nowhere at the moment. I'm going to curl up with a crap book and sulk.
Please pray to your favourite deity to get the weather to change. I want to come home now.
My Father #1 says what we need is the weather to change. The ash is hanging around thanks to a high weather system hanging around. I never thought I'd see the day when I'd be praying for bad weather. A low pressure system will change the way the winds flow and move the ash off England and into the Atlantic.
Boy's school has been fantastic. They've e-mail through revision work and have been in e-mail contact with him about his coursework due this morning and the end of the week. He's been cracking on with it, with no nagging from me. He did have an IT blip, but an e-mail got their IT department to sort it out.
The stress of this is seeing me outside more often puffing away. I'm continuing to write and am getting nowhere at the moment. I'm going to curl up with a crap book and sulk.
Please pray to your favourite deity to get the weather to change. I want to come home now.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Opportunities
This has been one of the situations where I believe I am one lucky woman. Boy and I are continue to chill in Trinidad. UK airports are still being cagey about flights and I am grateful we are not one of the many thousands camped in airports around the world. We are comfortable and happy hanging out with my family.
It does mean Boy will miss a week of school. But bless him, he's been cracking on with his revision and got his coursework sorted while we've been here. In the next 4 or 5 weeks he'll begin his exams and thus, move into the next stage of his education. It's no bad thing that he's had 3 weeks of doing very little. Hopefully, he'll hit the ground running upon our return...or rather... given he is a teenager...he'll hit the ground in a slouching slope.
I've been cracking on with my writing and now have quite a promising project. Time will tell whether it will turn into the novel it can be, but we'll see. Up until now, the majority of my work has been short stories. I liken the difference between writing a short story and a novel to dating and marriage. A short story is like a date, you go out, hang around for a while and then it's done. A novel on the other hand, is a long-term committment that you need to be prepared for rough times as well as the good. My problem is I haven't come up with a project I'm willing to commit the years needed to see it through to the bitter end. So we'll see.
Being here means extra opportunities to soak in the sun, see more relatives - I seem to be related, one way or another to most people in Trinidad, eat more fantastic local fare (hello cornflakes upon my return) and annoy my brother and his family. The only downside is I'm fast running out of cigarette papers and yes, I can smoke ready-mades, I just don't enjoy them. A fact which has my brother crowing. We'll see if I can stretch out what I've got left. No Dave, you needn't remind me it's an opportunity to quit. I'm not ready yet.
It does mean Boy will miss a week of school. But bless him, he's been cracking on with his revision and got his coursework sorted while we've been here. In the next 4 or 5 weeks he'll begin his exams and thus, move into the next stage of his education. It's no bad thing that he's had 3 weeks of doing very little. Hopefully, he'll hit the ground running upon our return...or rather... given he is a teenager...he'll hit the ground in a slouching slope.
I've been cracking on with my writing and now have quite a promising project. Time will tell whether it will turn into the novel it can be, but we'll see. Up until now, the majority of my work has been short stories. I liken the difference between writing a short story and a novel to dating and marriage. A short story is like a date, you go out, hang around for a while and then it's done. A novel on the other hand, is a long-term committment that you need to be prepared for rough times as well as the good. My problem is I haven't come up with a project I'm willing to commit the years needed to see it through to the bitter end. So we'll see.
Being here means extra opportunities to soak in the sun, see more relatives - I seem to be related, one way or another to most people in Trinidad, eat more fantastic local fare (hello cornflakes upon my return) and annoy my brother and his family. The only downside is I'm fast running out of cigarette papers and yes, I can smoke ready-mades, I just don't enjoy them. A fact which has my brother crowing. We'll see if I can stretch out what I've got left. No Dave, you needn't remind me it's an opportunity to quit. I'm not ready yet.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Grounded
So much for best laid plans. Thanks to the Icelandic eruption, the UK skies are currently filled with volcanic ash. All UK air traffic is grounded. To any people grounded and grumbling, flying through a volcanic ash cloud leads to 'oh shit, the engines have shut down' shortly followed by 'mayday, mayday...we're all going to diiiiiee', a long plummet and a short stop. The two aircraft who flew through the ash in Jakarta in 1982 were bloody lucky, I don't really fancy the experience myself. As you may remember I'm not a huge fan of fair ground rides. Plummetting would really ruin my day.
Having said all of that, here we are in Trinidad, probably for at least another couple of days extra. I'm very lucky. I'm staying with my family who are showing some reluctance to let us go anyway. I'm thinking of the people who are in hotels, airports etc. I don't have an employer breathing down my neck. Boy does have school and he may end up missing a day, but it's not life-threatening. So, we'll chill out a bit longer, continue to eat fantastic local fare, hug my Niece and Nephew, hang out with the rellies. Oh the hardship.
It rained yesterday. Today, we've got up to an overcast sky and damp ground. It's a very welcome sight. This has been one of the hardest Dry Seasons in years and the earth is desperate for the moisture. As it has been a gentle rain, rather than a downpour, it will soften the scorched soil and then absorb the rain, rather than run straight off the land and into the rivers. I love tropical rain. I can sit outside and watch it fall from the sky for hours.
All in all, I'm a happy bunny. The break has been fantastic for me. It's been an injection of energy that I've desperately needed. I'm looking forward to getting back to Norwich and stuck into World Domination. That I have to wait a couple of days extra is neither here nor there.
Having said all of that, here we are in Trinidad, probably for at least another couple of days extra. I'm very lucky. I'm staying with my family who are showing some reluctance to let us go anyway. I'm thinking of the people who are in hotels, airports etc. I don't have an employer breathing down my neck. Boy does have school and he may end up missing a day, but it's not life-threatening. So, we'll chill out a bit longer, continue to eat fantastic local fare, hug my Niece and Nephew, hang out with the rellies. Oh the hardship.
It rained yesterday. Today, we've got up to an overcast sky and damp ground. It's a very welcome sight. This has been one of the hardest Dry Seasons in years and the earth is desperate for the moisture. As it has been a gentle rain, rather than a downpour, it will soften the scorched soil and then absorb the rain, rather than run straight off the land and into the rivers. I love tropical rain. I can sit outside and watch it fall from the sky for hours.
All in all, I'm a happy bunny. The break has been fantastic for me. It's been an injection of energy that I've desperately needed. I'm looking forward to getting back to Norwich and stuck into World Domination. That I have to wait a couple of days extra is neither here nor there.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Monday in the Tropics
It's Monday morning. Nephew has gone off to school, SIL and Brother are off to work. Boy and I are kicking about. After a fairly busy few days it's no bad thing. I don't know about Boy, but the chance to get my breath back is welcome.
We went to my Brother's estate in Mayaro. It's fantastic out there, rural Trinidad in all it's dry and dusty magnificence. This has been a hard dry season. There have been bush fires burning for days, they fill the valleys with ash and thick blue smoke that plays havoc with sinuses. Even the mozzies have been scarce, though I haven't missed their presence particularly. They love foreign flesh. Despite the dry conditions, we still saw lots of local wildlife ranging from tarantulas to tocans, wild parrots and woodpeckers. My brother took me for a quick walk in the bush to inspect a tract of land being cleared for planting. He grows hardwoods. He and I are opposites in many ways. He has a work ethic that would have many Protestants hanging their heads in shame. Whereas I can do nothing happily for days on end. He will sit down for the two minutes required to plan his To Do List and then he's up and doing. I'm so proud of what he and SIL have achieved. They've worked so hard to build the life they have today.
On Saturday morning, SIL took us to a shopping mall. Joy is a shoe shop. I have small feet. In the UK, I'm a 3.5 which is technically a children's size, which makes shopping for grown up shoes a bit of a nightmare. I went a bit mad and bought 4 pairs of shoes. I must admit, I'm thinking of going back for a few more. Fortunately, I have space in my luggage.
In the evening, we headed up to the Beach House on the North Coast. A word of warning, don't play cards with my family, they will end up wiping the floor with you. Boy and I had our arses handed to us with a cherry on top. Yesterday, after breakfast we headed down to the beach. The tropical sun, in a few days has given me the colour that I worked all summer in my garden. I'm slathering up well with sunscreen.
These are our last few days here and we still have quite a few people to catch up with. Two weeks just isn't long enough. It's been so good for us to be here. Three years is far too long to be away.
We went to my Brother's estate in Mayaro. It's fantastic out there, rural Trinidad in all it's dry and dusty magnificence. This has been a hard dry season. There have been bush fires burning for days, they fill the valleys with ash and thick blue smoke that plays havoc with sinuses. Even the mozzies have been scarce, though I haven't missed their presence particularly. They love foreign flesh. Despite the dry conditions, we still saw lots of local wildlife ranging from tarantulas to tocans, wild parrots and woodpeckers. My brother took me for a quick walk in the bush to inspect a tract of land being cleared for planting. He grows hardwoods. He and I are opposites in many ways. He has a work ethic that would have many Protestants hanging their heads in shame. Whereas I can do nothing happily for days on end. He will sit down for the two minutes required to plan his To Do List and then he's up and doing. I'm so proud of what he and SIL have achieved. They've worked so hard to build the life they have today.
On Saturday morning, SIL took us to a shopping mall. Joy is a shoe shop. I have small feet. In the UK, I'm a 3.5 which is technically a children's size, which makes shopping for grown up shoes a bit of a nightmare. I went a bit mad and bought 4 pairs of shoes. I must admit, I'm thinking of going back for a few more. Fortunately, I have space in my luggage.
In the evening, we headed up to the Beach House on the North Coast. A word of warning, don't play cards with my family, they will end up wiping the floor with you. Boy and I had our arses handed to us with a cherry on top. Yesterday, after breakfast we headed down to the beach. The tropical sun, in a few days has given me the colour that I worked all summer in my garden. I'm slathering up well with sunscreen.
These are our last few days here and we still have quite a few people to catch up with. Two weeks just isn't long enough. It's been so good for us to be here. Three years is far too long to be away.
Tuesday, April 06, 2010
Ah Feelin Hot, Hot, Hot
If you are reading this huddled around fire, wrapped up under layers of clothing, my apologies. Perhaps you should come back in two weeks time.
The average temp in Trinidad at the moment, the height of the Dry Season, it's 36'C. I'm writing this wearing a skimpy top and a pair of denim shorts, with my hair tied up, off the back of my neck. I do wish my family would have fed the mosquitos before we arrived. They smelt foreign blood and said 'Om nom nom'. I could play connect the dots on my legs and make a Picasso painting. Today, I was smarter and slathered on the repellant. It's certainly repelling me.
The last few days have been spent on the move. On Sunday evening we went to the Blue Range reunion. Blue Range was the area my brother grew up. As I arrived 10 years later, I missed most of their escapades. But the old crew, now all middle aged with familial and economic responsibilities, got to relive the good ole days. The way they grew up, with the only rule of Be Home by Dark, is a fond and distant memory. They talked about roaming around the neighbourhood, picking fruit from trees, making toys from sticks and playing pranks on each other could never be recreated now. It's a victim of a more health and safety culture. It's a wonder any of them survived. They drank water from outside taps, ate fruit straight from the tree they picked by climbing up unsupervised and without safety gear. They entertained and fought without adult supervision and being told to 'play nice'. They learnt to sort their own problems out, to shrug off their hurts and to have fun.
I had a fantastic time. I was able to sit away from most of the crowd, but I still had company and was able to chat and dance and drink to my heart's content. The bar was free. I had 2 rum punches to start with and then moved on to the rum and cokes. The barman had a very light hand to start with at the end of the evening, one of my brother's partners in crime was returning to me with a drink that looked like weak tea. I swear there was only a teaspoon of coke. Needless to say, I did my usual drunk texting when I got home. When will I learn?
Yesterday, I crawled out of bed at 6.30 (that's am, apparently there are two 6 o'clocks in the day, I'm not impressed). I was not feeling very well. I had a smoke, a coffee and a couple of large glasses of water. I went back to bed for an hour and a half. When I got up, my brother offered a trip to the beach which I accepted. I figured it was kill or cure. I'm glad we did. It was great to see my family's old beach house. The Rock is still there in all it's glory. Boy and I slathered up and hit the beach for a couple of hours. We still are a whiter shade of pale, so we need to be very careful in the intense sunshine. Getting sun burnt here will not be any fun what so ever.
Last night, there was more socialising. Fantastic food, good company. I did not drink. I could not face it.
Thankfully, my Brother and SIL have to work, so Boy and I have a day of rest. I have a sore throat which I'm not impressed with, you know how good I am at being sick; and I'm still feeling washed out by the travelling. It's great hanging out with my Dad, Niece and Nephew today; we are just chilling. We will be off to Mayaro, to my brother's estate in the rural south of Trinidad for a few days. Bush, as they say here. Proper rainforest. Though there's not much rain at the moment. There has been a 55 day gap between rainfalls and everything is tinder dry. The hills behind my brother's house are burning night and day.
Right, my 4 year old Niece has completely run out of patience with me blogging. I'm off to compare nail polish.
The average temp in Trinidad at the moment, the height of the Dry Season, it's 36'C. I'm writing this wearing a skimpy top and a pair of denim shorts, with my hair tied up, off the back of my neck. I do wish my family would have fed the mosquitos before we arrived. They smelt foreign blood and said 'Om nom nom'. I could play connect the dots on my legs and make a Picasso painting. Today, I was smarter and slathered on the repellant. It's certainly repelling me.
The last few days have been spent on the move. On Sunday evening we went to the Blue Range reunion. Blue Range was the area my brother grew up. As I arrived 10 years later, I missed most of their escapades. But the old crew, now all middle aged with familial and economic responsibilities, got to relive the good ole days. The way they grew up, with the only rule of Be Home by Dark, is a fond and distant memory. They talked about roaming around the neighbourhood, picking fruit from trees, making toys from sticks and playing pranks on each other could never be recreated now. It's a victim of a more health and safety culture. It's a wonder any of them survived. They drank water from outside taps, ate fruit straight from the tree they picked by climbing up unsupervised and without safety gear. They entertained and fought without adult supervision and being told to 'play nice'. They learnt to sort their own problems out, to shrug off their hurts and to have fun.
I had a fantastic time. I was able to sit away from most of the crowd, but I still had company and was able to chat and dance and drink to my heart's content. The bar was free. I had 2 rum punches to start with and then moved on to the rum and cokes. The barman had a very light hand to start with at the end of the evening, one of my brother's partners in crime was returning to me with a drink that looked like weak tea. I swear there was only a teaspoon of coke. Needless to say, I did my usual drunk texting when I got home. When will I learn?
Yesterday, I crawled out of bed at 6.30 (that's am, apparently there are two 6 o'clocks in the day, I'm not impressed). I was not feeling very well. I had a smoke, a coffee and a couple of large glasses of water. I went back to bed for an hour and a half. When I got up, my brother offered a trip to the beach which I accepted. I figured it was kill or cure. I'm glad we did. It was great to see my family's old beach house. The Rock is still there in all it's glory. Boy and I slathered up and hit the beach for a couple of hours. We still are a whiter shade of pale, so we need to be very careful in the intense sunshine. Getting sun burnt here will not be any fun what so ever.
Last night, there was more socialising. Fantastic food, good company. I did not drink. I could not face it.
Thankfully, my Brother and SIL have to work, so Boy and I have a day of rest. I have a sore throat which I'm not impressed with, you know how good I am at being sick; and I'm still feeling washed out by the travelling. It's great hanging out with my Dad, Niece and Nephew today; we are just chilling. We will be off to Mayaro, to my brother's estate in the rural south of Trinidad for a few days. Bush, as they say here. Proper rainforest. Though there's not much rain at the moment. There has been a 55 day gap between rainfalls and everything is tinder dry. The hills behind my brother's house are burning night and day.
Right, my 4 year old Niece has completely run out of patience with me blogging. I'm off to compare nail polish.
Sunday, April 04, 2010
Rambling Roses
My apologies for slow blog day. Boy and I are now back in Trinidad for two weeks. I've been doing my impression of a Stress Bunny, while Boy has been doing his impression of Calm in the Middle of Tornado. He's very good at it.
Our journey began at midnight Saturday morning. We took a National Express coach down to London Gatwick. Next time, I'll find another way to travel down. It took 6 hours to get from Norwich to LGW. For those not native to British shores or conversant with English geography. It's a 2 and a half hour drive. It was cold, the seats were hard and every time I managed to find a comfortable enough position to doze off in, we'd stop. My impression of a pretzel for 6 hours means upon my return I will be visiting the osteopath.
Once we got to Gatwick and the right terminal. Note to Self: read the damn instructions. We booked ourselves in and then I had my final fag. I'd brought some nicotteine lozenges in case of emergency melt-down. Of course, once we'd left the house I started remembering the things I forgot to pack. Duty Free became a slightly more expensive experience than I had intended. The perfume shop was disappointing. I was strict with myself and only packed 2 fragrances. It was a battle to choose which, in the end I settled on Dior Addict 2 and my favourite, favourite Tom Ford Black Orchid: Voile de Fleur.
Flying British Airways is a far more pleasant experience than XL.Com ever was. The check-in is now all automated, which really did throw me. Thankfully, Boy is a child of the Digital Age and can follow on-screen instructions. The seats were a damn sight more comfortable than the coach and reclined further than 2 degrees. The flight left on time and no one was surprised. The food was more than edible, the service chirpy and prompt.
When we were in the airport, in Costas I was waiting for the Polish Barrista to deliver my cappuccino and made a comment to a guy waiting next to me. He had a nice smile and a very North London accent. We exchanged witty banter and parted upon receipt of hot caffinated beverages. On the plane, we laughed when we sat down next to each other. He and his wife and two girls were going to St Lucia. After take off, he swapped seats with his eldest girl and she and I became fast friends. I napped most of the flight. Whenever I woke up, her bright blue eyes would light up and she chatted ten to the dozen. Bless her heart, she was terrified when it came to the landing. Long time readers will remember it's not my favourite part of flying anyway. Having to talk her down was great, it took her mind off of things and I could pretend to be big and brave. Unfortunately, we won't be coming back on the same flight together. This is one of the joys of journeying, you make instant friends, without the usual societal constraints.
When we got to Piarco Internation, Port of Spain, I'd had quite enough. I was tired, grumpy and when the end was in sight: gasping for a fag. Trinidadian officialdom has two speeds: dead slow and stop. If you make the mistake of complaining about the dead slow, they automatically switch to stop. We all know that patience is not one of my virtues, but I gritted my teeth and common sense prevailed.
I can't impart the joy of clearing the exit and lighting up. That head rush was salivatingly fantastic.
It is so good to be with my father, my brother and his family. Three years is much too long. Much too long. Nephew is now taller than me and Niece is just soooo unbelievable cute. I have got the anti-smoking lecture (which I was dreading), but they're now just letting me get on with it. They are so chuffed to see Boy. He gets to be the oldest child around, as he's usually the youngest, he revels in the experience. Nephew thinks he's so cool with all his piercings.
Given we had 24 hours of travelling, I don't feel too bad. The temperature is 35'C and it's bliss. Being warm without piles of clothing, it's a luxury. This is the first time my legs have seen sunshine in over 6 months. I'm being teased for their incredible whiteness. It's good to be in shorts.
Anyway, I hope you are have a great Easter. I won't be able to put any pictures up until I get home, but I will bore you to death with my holiday snaps. I promise.
Our journey began at midnight Saturday morning. We took a National Express coach down to London Gatwick. Next time, I'll find another way to travel down. It took 6 hours to get from Norwich to LGW. For those not native to British shores or conversant with English geography. It's a 2 and a half hour drive. It was cold, the seats were hard and every time I managed to find a comfortable enough position to doze off in, we'd stop. My impression of a pretzel for 6 hours means upon my return I will be visiting the osteopath.
Once we got to Gatwick and the right terminal. Note to Self: read the damn instructions. We booked ourselves in and then I had my final fag. I'd brought some nicotteine lozenges in case of emergency melt-down. Of course, once we'd left the house I started remembering the things I forgot to pack. Duty Free became a slightly more expensive experience than I had intended. The perfume shop was disappointing. I was strict with myself and only packed 2 fragrances. It was a battle to choose which, in the end I settled on Dior Addict 2 and my favourite, favourite Tom Ford Black Orchid: Voile de Fleur.
Flying British Airways is a far more pleasant experience than XL.Com ever was. The check-in is now all automated, which really did throw me. Thankfully, Boy is a child of the Digital Age and can follow on-screen instructions. The seats were a damn sight more comfortable than the coach and reclined further than 2 degrees. The flight left on time and no one was surprised. The food was more than edible, the service chirpy and prompt.
When we were in the airport, in Costas I was waiting for the Polish Barrista to deliver my cappuccino and made a comment to a guy waiting next to me. He had a nice smile and a very North London accent. We exchanged witty banter and parted upon receipt of hot caffinated beverages. On the plane, we laughed when we sat down next to each other. He and his wife and two girls were going to St Lucia. After take off, he swapped seats with his eldest girl and she and I became fast friends. I napped most of the flight. Whenever I woke up, her bright blue eyes would light up and she chatted ten to the dozen. Bless her heart, she was terrified when it came to the landing. Long time readers will remember it's not my favourite part of flying anyway. Having to talk her down was great, it took her mind off of things and I could pretend to be big and brave. Unfortunately, we won't be coming back on the same flight together. This is one of the joys of journeying, you make instant friends, without the usual societal constraints.
When we got to Piarco Internation, Port of Spain, I'd had quite enough. I was tired, grumpy and when the end was in sight: gasping for a fag. Trinidadian officialdom has two speeds: dead slow and stop. If you make the mistake of complaining about the dead slow, they automatically switch to stop. We all know that patience is not one of my virtues, but I gritted my teeth and common sense prevailed.
I can't impart the joy of clearing the exit and lighting up. That head rush was salivatingly fantastic.
It is so good to be with my father, my brother and his family. Three years is much too long. Much too long. Nephew is now taller than me and Niece is just soooo unbelievable cute. I have got the anti-smoking lecture (which I was dreading), but they're now just letting me get on with it. They are so chuffed to see Boy. He gets to be the oldest child around, as he's usually the youngest, he revels in the experience. Nephew thinks he's so cool with all his piercings.
Given we had 24 hours of travelling, I don't feel too bad. The temperature is 35'C and it's bliss. Being warm without piles of clothing, it's a luxury. This is the first time my legs have seen sunshine in over 6 months. I'm being teased for their incredible whiteness. It's good to be in shorts.
Anyway, I hope you are have a great Easter. I won't be able to put any pictures up until I get home, but I will bore you to death with my holiday snaps. I promise.
Friday, March 05, 2010
Homesick
I was born in Trinidad, in the West Indies. I have chosen to make my home in Norwich, England. I don't regret this decision, despite living so far from my family. The tickets have been booked. On the 3rd of April, Boy and I will fly out from Gatwick and in 10 hours, delays etc notwithstanding, I will be home again. It's been 3 years since I've been, and I ache for it.
The Trinidad I knew when I was growing up, no longer exists. It's a harder, more dangerous place to be. But I ache for the warmth of the sun, the sound of crickets and gekkos in the house, the softness of the evenings, the effervesce of the people. Everything is so much brighter, louder there.
The part of me that is a Trini, for most of the time, is unseen. I lost the accent very quickly when I moved here. When I'm in the UK, I'm considered a bit exotic, a little bit different. Over there, I'm nothing special. Over there, I can disappear into the woodwork. No one asks me where I'm from, how long I've been here, the heritage of my parents.
I'm cooking a Trini meal for some friends on Sunday. This morning I did the shopping. On the menu: avocados, salad, stewed chicken, rice 'n' peas Roses style, plantains and pigeon peas. I had to go to 5 different shops to get all the ingredients. My final stop Waitrose. I just needed some Lea & Perrings, avocados, limes and alcohol. When I rocked up to the checkout, the very prim and proper middle aged woman in front of me, took one look at the contents of my shopping trolley, sniffed and pressed her lips into a thin line. I didn't think 4 cans of cider, 2 bottles of red, 1 bottle of white and a bottle of Trinidadian rum excessive for one o'clock in the afternoon. But hey, what do I know?
This afternoon, I seasoned the chicken. Lots of garlic, onions, ginger, chilli (without the seeds), thyme, chives and coriander, lime juice and the Lea & Perrings. Note to self: get a large mixing bowl. I washed my hands 3 times, there are some mistakes that don't get repeated: rubbing eyes after chopping chilli, being the main one. I put the chicken into the bottom of the fridge and then I sniffed the air.
It smelt of home: La Seiva Road. I could see my Dad potter about with my lovely niece; my nephew laughing, as he does from his belly. The grandma from my brother's wife side, chatting with the maid as they cook the meals for the day. My brother heading off to work in his brown overalls and trainers, his gorgeous wife whirling around to follow him. I nearly cried.
The Trinidad I knew when I was growing up, no longer exists. It's a harder, more dangerous place to be. But I ache for the warmth of the sun, the sound of crickets and gekkos in the house, the softness of the evenings, the effervesce of the people. Everything is so much brighter, louder there.
The part of me that is a Trini, for most of the time, is unseen. I lost the accent very quickly when I moved here. When I'm in the UK, I'm considered a bit exotic, a little bit different. Over there, I'm nothing special. Over there, I can disappear into the woodwork. No one asks me where I'm from, how long I've been here, the heritage of my parents.
I'm cooking a Trini meal for some friends on Sunday. This morning I did the shopping. On the menu: avocados, salad, stewed chicken, rice 'n' peas Roses style, plantains and pigeon peas. I had to go to 5 different shops to get all the ingredients. My final stop Waitrose. I just needed some Lea & Perrings, avocados, limes and alcohol. When I rocked up to the checkout, the very prim and proper middle aged woman in front of me, took one look at the contents of my shopping trolley, sniffed and pressed her lips into a thin line. I didn't think 4 cans of cider, 2 bottles of red, 1 bottle of white and a bottle of Trinidadian rum excessive for one o'clock in the afternoon. But hey, what do I know?
This afternoon, I seasoned the chicken. Lots of garlic, onions, ginger, chilli (without the seeds), thyme, chives and coriander, lime juice and the Lea & Perrings. Note to self: get a large mixing bowl. I washed my hands 3 times, there are some mistakes that don't get repeated: rubbing eyes after chopping chilli, being the main one. I put the chicken into the bottom of the fridge and then I sniffed the air.
It smelt of home: La Seiva Road. I could see my Dad potter about with my lovely niece; my nephew laughing, as he does from his belly. The grandma from my brother's wife side, chatting with the maid as they cook the meals for the day. My brother heading off to work in his brown overalls and trainers, his gorgeous wife whirling around to follow him. I nearly cried.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Leavin on a Jet Plane
No doubt my Viking will tell me off, but I hardly think that one of you blog readers would raid my flat while I'm gone. If for some reason you are tempted, I have got people guarding the most precious cat, but I really would appreciate it if you could water the plants for me, inside and out. Pushing the hoover round will earn you lots of brownie points, as would doing the large pile of laundry I have quite got round to doing yet. Many thanks goes to Britswitch for keeping the cat company and to Gee's boys.
One of the many joys of going out with a policeman is the hours of home security advice. For some reason leaving my front door key under the flower pot by said door is verboten. I now shut my windows when I go out, despite the fact that I live in a first floor flat and my elderly neighbours (with whom I share the window cleaner) are perpetually vigilant. So you see, good sense is rubbing off on me, just very slowly. I still leave my front door open so the cat can sit on the doorstep and glare at the postman.
The other joy is a fuzzy, half-awake conversation while we're both in bed at 7.30 in the morning. Not very strange there you say, hardly worthy of a mention. However, it is when you consider, he's just done a full-night's work, I'm wishing him sweet dreams, he's saying he hopes I slept well, and I'm about to get up to face the day.
Anyway, I'd better get on I've got 17 To Dos that should have been done yesterday, that will have to be done before the end of business today. I'm not sure how much internet access I'll have, so things may go queit for awhile. I'll miss you, will try and send a post card.
One of the many joys of going out with a policeman is the hours of home security advice. For some reason leaving my front door key under the flower pot by said door is verboten. I now shut my windows when I go out, despite the fact that I live in a first floor flat and my elderly neighbours (with whom I share the window cleaner) are perpetually vigilant. So you see, good sense is rubbing off on me, just very slowly. I still leave my front door open so the cat can sit on the doorstep and glare at the postman.
The other joy is a fuzzy, half-awake conversation while we're both in bed at 7.30 in the morning. Not very strange there you say, hardly worthy of a mention. However, it is when you consider, he's just done a full-night's work, I'm wishing him sweet dreams, he's saying he hopes I slept well, and I'm about to get up to face the day.
Anyway, I'd better get on I've got 17 To Dos that should have been done yesterday, that will have to be done before the end of business today. I'm not sure how much internet access I'll have, so things may go queit for awhile. I'll miss you, will try and send a post card.
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