Video.

What you need to remember here is: "Tobago, 2006", since the verbal exchange in question is barely audible. Hopefully, the body language will tip you off.

Also, I have not been involved in a full frontal collision with a pooh-truck, Rishi's camera just hates me. A big thanks to Donna who forced Andreas to repeat the scenario when Rishi arrived on scene with the camera, and thanks to Rish for capturing the thing. A big thank you also to Gabriella most gracious sister of Donna who's spent many, many hours making this video even more memorable.

Now download,you fool.

Don't hate me because I'm Trinidadian.

This seems to be circulating among Trinidadian mail accounts. I'm usually militantly anti-spam, funny or not, but I had to make an exception. I have no idea who the author is, but here it is. Usually I pride myself inposting original material since I am an original myself - an original with extremely large mammories, but this anonymous author will have to stand in for me today.

"

After digging to a depth of 100 meters last year, Russian scientists found traces of copper wire dating back 1000 years, and came to the conclusion that their ancestors already had a telephone network one thousand years ago.

So, not to be outdone, in the weeks that followed, American scientists dug
200 metres and headlines in the US papers read: "US scientists have found traces of 2000 year old optical fibres, and have concluded that their ancestors already had
advanced high-tech digital telephone 1000 years earlier than the Russians."

One week later, the Trinbagonian newspapers reported the following: "After digging as deep as 500 metres, Trini scientists have found absolutely nothing. They have concluded that 5000 years ago, their ancestors were already using wireless technology."

"

I don't know if this is funny to anyone else but a Trinidadian - I mean the Americans are always claim to be the peole of the proud and free and crispy crispy fries, but we are the Proud and Proud, always thinking that we are best. Except we're not.



Oh, I forgot, HAHA. Yes we are.

And by "we" I mean me. Scroll up again, why don't you.

Wedding Megablog (megablog IS a cool term. It is.)

There was, of course, a small matter of a wedding.

The week leading up to the wedding passed by in a flurry of dress fittings; looking very busy so the bride doesn't realise that you're trying to make funny anagrams instead of reviewing the guestlist -



- travelling up to northern trinidad for invitations, fridge magnets and wedding cakes, negotiating with caterers, decorators and manicurists.



After the visit to the manicurist, time slowed down, at least for me. I for one got two and a half centimeter long nails. I thought why not. The bride and groom were obviously going to be the main attraction, but with long manicured nails I might too have a running chance. Besides, long nails might be fun for a change. How wrong was I? Just a little bit. I waited till I got home to use the bathroom, having carefully saved all my pee for the two hours it took to get the nails in place and painted. The problem being that inch long nails are button repellant. Going to the toilet gives you the same sinking feeling a small animal trapped in steel jaws has - either you chew off your nails or you wet yourself.

Oh, I quite disagree, it's an excellent analogy.

But I found out that bathroom breaks need to be planned ahead ten minutes before you feel the urge, which is an art in itself, otherwise you'll be standing there, nails slipping everywhere, and you getting nowhere. Not to mention removing your lenses. I was optimistic about this at first, thinking that if I used the tips of the nails very gently, I could get my lenses out and still keep my brain matter intact. In the end, bro removed them for me. You've probably seen a pic or two of my brother, but you haven't seen my brother's hands. They're not so much piano hands as, say, Godzilla himself, and seeing a pair of his fingers make it for your eye makes you run off two three times screaming just a little bit before the lenses finally come out.



Donna and Daren hit their fair share of snags as well. Things weren't being finished on time no matter how quickly they worked, and when everything seemed to be wrapping up, the priest mentioned that oh, by the way, they couldn't get married in a Catholic church unless they got permission from the bishop as well - Donna being Catholic and Daren being all Hindu.

Suffice to say, it all worked out. Blood, tears sweat and the Bishop saw to it.

The day of the wedding was as hectic as any wedding day - the whole wedding party, minus the groom was running around at Donna's soon to be ex-residence trying to find earings, make-up, speeches, photographers and another twenty four hours. Somewhere along the line I got talked into doing a little something with my eyebrows, which turned into full face make-up which turned into one extremely fat eyebrow and one a bit thinner, and that general lady of the night look that I've never quite gotten used to.

The bride however, was impeccable, as brides should be - keeping that look of perfection even while desperately trying to herd everything and everyone together by emitting small shreiks of horror every now and then. The ceremony was going to begin at three PM in the afternoon, and it wasn't until ten past that we left the house - bride, bridesmaid and maid of very very much honour meaning me then.

At quarter past three we arrived. A gorgeous Gabriella and her escort walked down the aisle first, then the sweetest wee little flower girl, then I. The wee little flower girl was three years old, and not too keen on walking - period. She inched along in front of me, stopping every now and then. "Run!" I told her. No-one was going to mess with my honorable maid of honour stride. This, of course, was the wrong thing to say, she slowed down even more. Now I had to put on my thinking cap. She was small enough to kick but too big to not to have feelings and react. Decisions Decisions.


"Allright, slooow, slooow" I said. If it was reverse psychology she wanted, then by golly she would get it - except this time she listened.



When we finally got to the altar, the bride made her much awaited and much impressive entrance.



The ceremony was as such ceremonies are - beautiful.



And long. And then it was over.



I'm sorry, did you want more about the ceremony? Because I really do try to make things as well rounded as possible, and not all about Me.



Okay. Next up is the reception. Venue: On top of San Fernando Hill, at an open-aired terrace that overlooks the city. Pictures were taken, speeches were made. Rishi, the best man, had a ten minute speech that was pretty much a killer speech. This was his third best man speech for the year, and my first maid of honour speech ever. I wanted to shine as bad as a two dollar ho wants three dollars, but that wasn't going to happen. And it didn't happen.

Calm, cool, sophisticated me hiked my hand so far up my waist it looked like I was trying to grab a boobie for comfort, and then I let it rip. I got laughs at the mention of the word "snot", and then I got laughs everywhere else as well. It would have been nice to get them in the right places though. And it would have been nice to make the audience roar, like Rishi did. Here might be a good place to mention that he only has that one gonad. ONE SINGULAR LONELY LONELY GONAD with hair enough for two. I only share because I care.



I lie though. Rishi is one of the coolest people I know and he has three balls.

After this comes Daren's touching reply, and the serving of my libations. Stewed chicken, spicy fish, noodles and vegetable rice all fit on one and the same plate and are awsome. The drinks that came with it was also awesome. I was thankful to my people, and raised my glass to them so that they would know and rejoice.

And then the first dance. The couple swaying in perfect unison, just as it should be. Donna's white gown flowing behind her much like one or two tears flowed from the audience. It was a wonderful thing.





The cake cutting followed, a predominantly American tradition, I beleive, where the bride and groom help each other to cut the cake - one holding the knife, the other the fork, and feeding each other. I'm not sure what it represents, but I think it has something to do with sharing food and duties with the one you love for the rest of you life. It's sweet, like cake. The rest of us got none.



Bouquet throwing! I didn't get this either.



But it doesn't mean that I won't be next to marry.



Sometimes I try to think about this not so much.

The afterparty was excellent. Rishi, maestro of the moonshine, was good enough to forsake festivities and stand behind the bar the whole evening, mixing drinks and keeping people drunk enough to dance. Some danced of their own accord, some should not have done so. But everyone had a great time, and for this, Donna and Daren were happy.



I think we all were, in fact.

Port-Of-Spain By Night

Trinidad Beaching

We visited Maracas yesterday, a beach/bay that opens up like a beeeeauuutiful brassiere after a thirty minute drive through the northern mountain range. The roads through the mountain range are winding and like Tobago's mountain area, offer mountain walls on one side of the road, and steep "we're going to die" drops on the other. But the area is a must-see, as is the view from the look out some five kilometers before Maracas.



Make sure to take many pictures of yourself while at the look-out so as to get that true "Kodak moment with white boy in the way" look.



Ten minutes away, as mentioned, is Maracas bay, which is as tropical island as you get. Idyllic, and complete with swooshing palm trees, crashing waves, extensive stretches of sand, and fear not, a couple of beer stands.



And what beach-outing is complete without burying one of your friends in the sand, doing so with smiles that suggest malicious intent?



Not to actual mention malicious intent- involving the passing of gas in the buried person's face?



Or turning the buried party into a hermaphrodite, and then taking advantage of this strange new development for erotic purposes?



The other male in the pack will often show his displeasure at the misuse of his woman's new appendage by running around to to the lower half of her and emmitting gas in the face of the competing male, thereby punishing the competing male's nostrils.



And there you have it, traditional trinidadian beaching, in a nutshell. Death defying car trips, potential coconut-in-the-head related casualites, and sadomasochistic rituals involving flatulence and sand. What more can one want?

Tobago Megablog!

Tobago is about fifty kilometers north east of Trinidad: a twenty-five minute flight, but one that gave Andreas the usual heebie-jeebies nonetheless.After ten minutes he was sweating profusely, scrambling for anything to relieve his profuse sweating. The mp3 player would have been good to use to drown out the drone of the propellers, or as Andreas calls them “Bringers of DEATH (and some forms of) PLAGUE!” – but it was, unfortunately, in the overhead compartment, and the seatbelt signs were on. After about ten minutes, the seatbelt sign was switched off.

BLING!

"Oh! Look honey!"I say. "Seatbelt signs are off. You can get the-"

BLING!

"...seatbelt back on again."

Andreas slumped back into his seat. This is the thing with traveling over short distances, or at least traveling with the Trinidad-Tobago shuttle. Half of the journey is take off, the other half is landing. The seatbelt sign being switched off is more of a formality to mark the twenty seconds of ‘actual’ cruise time. Or just for the private amusement of the pilots. Switching the seatbelts sign for as short a period of time as that is like saying "BLING! You could go to the bathroom... (BLING!)... thebathroominyour PANTS!"

The Resort

Ten minutes later, we were in Tobago, and checked in shortly after at the Rainbow Resort, highly recommended to anyone staying in Tobago. It’s not much of a looker from the outside, all concrete and aquamarine, with a car rental agency in the front yard, but the staff is excellent, the pool adequate, the rooms air-conditioned and fully equipped with kitchen, two bathrooms in the bigger suites, and cable television. The ‘apartments’ look like regular apartments, and provide that home away from home feeling. Five people can live comfortably in a three bedroom apartment for approximately 90 USD per night.

Ants, Crazy Ants.

The only thing one might not appreciate is that one has to share the habitat with crazy ants, which are, as the name implies, very interesting creatures, and quite enjoyable to look at. They run around with no specific goal, sometimes carrying a crumb or a dead recyclable friend on their backs. You can’t really get away from these, no matter where you go, so you either accept their existence, or find yourself a very tall palm tree from which too look down on them and proceed to pelt any approaching crazy ants with coconuts. Spotting them might be a problem, because of their size, as is aiming, since they follow no discernable path, but just appear to be trying to get as far away from themselves as possible. One may notice the same behavior in drunken Germans on speed and with an unparalleled lust for marching into each other, hard.

The Beach



We hit the beach – Store Bay - almost immediately. Store Bay is one of the more popular beaches in Tobago, it is near to the airport and hotels, and clean. It is only three minutes away from Rainbow resort, or pretty much any resort at Crown Point. One of the more annoying things about Tobago, however, is getting from the roadside and down the steps to the beach. From a distance of about 200 meters away, various men approach you, trying to sell boat trips, rent out beach chairs, or telling you how nice your eyes are.

Here’s a pointer, even if you beat everything else off with a short but sharp stick - which is not recommended - then the boat trip in the glass bottomed boat is a must. Compare prices between the different boats if you will, prices tend to fluctuate, having risen from 25 TT dollars (4 USD) to 70 TT (12 USD) in the past ten years. People usually try to give you a "special" deal though- which usually turns out to be the exact price of the boat trip anyhow. I recommend a boat called “Pleasure Girl”, whose tour guide is warm and friendly, even though not even locals understand what he is saying at any given time.

Reef Tours

"Pleasure Girl", like the other boats, takes you to Buccoo Reef. Not the parts with a more colorful display of coral, but with interesting fish in abundance. If something nips you mercilessly, its tiny tiny fish telling you that you’re too close to their eggs. Nasty little buggers, but when the army you’re spawning is a stake, it seems integral to take the enemy’s epidermal cells hostage.

The next stop is the Nylon Pool, which has a bed of broken coral chipped into the size of sand grains. Nothing too remarkable about this, except that it’s in the middle of the ocean, and not more than 1. 3 meters deeps. I’m not sure where the boundaries off, but luckily, mom asked us to watch her so she didn’t float into the depths. We watched her float off for a while, swam back to the boat, got goggles, a drink of water, and a quick word with the tour guide, and when we spotted mom again, she was still floating with a smile on her face some twenty metres away, so I assume that the ‘pool’ is pretty large. An interesting bit of trivia is that there’s a legend that says that you look ten years younger after having bathed in the pool, and that kissing the one you love means that you will stay together forever. All in all, the tour takes about two and a half hours, and is well worth the money, regardless the cost.

Dining and Wining.





Café Coco is a must. It’s not one of those romantic sea-side restaurants; it’s a romantic non-sea side restaurant, with a 200 TTD (34USD) lobster platter. It’s surrounded by artificial waterfalls, and lush greenery, has wonderful service, and a warm yellow lighting, with marblesque Greek inspired statues hidden away here and there. Excellent well rounded menu, great staff, and speedy service. You can get away with an excellent dinner for two for about 60 USD. Otherwise, there are many roadside restaurants that provide local lunches from about 4 USD, which will leave you very satisfied and very self conscious about putting on that bathing suit again. Tip: Swimming after a meal does not cause cramps, but actually relieves them. I think. I tried that method, and look ma, no pace maker.

Tours on land

A taxi driver will take you around Tobago for about 500 TTD (under a 100 USD). We went on a whole day tour around the central/ southern areas of Tobago. Central Tobago is surprisingly hilly, compared to the southernmost part of the island. Andreas took some great shots of ravines and valleys; I opted to stay in the car because of the great altitudes. No matter how flat the ground of the plateau one is standing on is, I KNOW that the land will suddenly slant and send me hurtling down the mountain side.





Touring the island may not be for those with fears of heights, but does offer breathtaking views of the beautiful bays and beaches, of which Englishman’s bay is said to be the most beautiful, since there are no resorts or tourist facilities around (no restuaraunts, bathrooms). That's right. You can now pee in the water and not feel so bad.



There are however, houses and shacks in the most unlikely of places – clinging to slopes and in the middle of the forests. When I say clinging to slopes, I mean clinging to slopes. You may often look downwards into the valley you are passing over to see a rooftop sticking over the edge of the road, or see a house hovering over the steep incline supported only by concrete pillars on the side over the precipice. While these houses hanging over their respective 40 meter or so drops probably have wonderful views, a mudslide or a light earthquake would probably change this view into something considerable nastier: trees whooshing by and coconut wielding tourists aiming for you as you fly by, mistaking your desperate waving for the mysterious antics of the crazy ant.


(rooftop visible in left hand corner, treetop sticking up next to it)

Visiting the different forts is a treat, these are planted over cliff walls, placed there to guard the seas and cannonball any potential enemies. These were put out of use decades of not centuries ago, but a beautiful remnants.




Some tourists, of course, choose to misuse these artefacts.

While up at any major tourist attraction, you may be greeted by a troubadour or two, who make up songs about you on the spot, commenting your great beauty as in my case, or dad’s big belly, as in dad’s case. Whether the troubadour’s song is welcomed or not, it is good to show your ‘appreciation’ with a few dollars. Twenty TTD or 4USD is usually enough, fifty TTD if there’s a few of you. It’s not too much. Tobago is a very tourist oriented country, and as one stand at Store Bay says in shaky writing – "It’s nice to be nice".

And Tobago is indeed nice. We left today, after one last dip at Store Bay. The waves were exceptionally high, the largest being about one and a half meters in height, as experienced first hand. I had spotted my brother sitting on the beach and had waded in nearer to the beach to wave to him. Mid-wave, I heard an all too familiar whooshing behind me, and turned around just to see a wave loom high above me where I sat in the water. I didn’t have time to close my mouth before it hit me, dragging me under the surface and pelting my legs in unspeakably vulgar directions. A small consolation is that when my ass did resurface - complete with a wedgy up to my uterus - it was a lovely shade of golden brown, the result of four days in the sun. All in all though, it was an interesting end to a most interesting vacation.

And now for the perks: "before and after tanning" pictures of the Andmeister and me.

Me, Before and After. And yes, I only have that ONE camera expression.


Andreas, Before and After.

tomato, tom-ah-to.

Today me, the boy, and the brother went up to central Trinidad to the Caroni Swamp.

Venue: Caroni Swamp.
Mission: to see birds.

Trinidad is known for its status as a home for the Scarlet Ibis which flocks homewards to the swamps at around five o clock in the evening. You can see them one by one, as slim and straight as arrows, with long beaks and equally as long wings, or in groups which more resemble clouds of red dust than birds, it's pretty gnarly to see. The two hours of floating through the mangrove is worth the 10 USD it costs. Plus, if you're lucky, you get to taste a bit of Trinidadian culture as well. I know I've blogged once before about some Trinidadians claiming they know things even though they don't really know anything, but to tell you the truth, seven years of being away from the island means that i don't really know that much either, which would prove my initial claim right there. But having a few Trinidadians nestled between the real 'tourists' gives an interesting insight as well.

Trinidadian tour taker : "Where we could see the birds resting?"

Trinidadian tour guide : "There's only two places the birds go: to roost and to nest"

Trinidadian tour taker: "But I want to see where the birds rest!"

Trinidadian Tour Guide: "But they either roost or nest: this is nesting season, and we can't go and see them now. They need privacy to nest."

tour taker: "But lemme tell you, I have only been on this tour once before, nuh, but once is enough for me to know that they also rest!"

Tour Guide: "You mean roost?"

tour taker: "No, I mean rest!"

Pause.

Tour Guide : "Okay, well they either rest or nest then. And this is nesting season. We can't go and see them."

tour taker: "Well I've seen them resting."

Tour Guide: "Roosting. And they're not roosting now."

tour taker: "Resting."

The Tour guide sighed. "Well, ANYHOW, we can't go and see them."

I'm not sure who felt that they walked away the winner of this conversation, but it was entertaining while it lasted. As was the rest of the tour.

Here's the entrance to the swamp aka mangrove aka bird sanctuary.


Fallen trees were everywhere in the mangrove. Most of these had improvised and sprouted other roots into the water.


This little number I like to call "Bird on Stick".


Sunset over the swamp, and a collection of birds that would have made Alfred Hitchcock proud.


Birdwatchingtower, last in use in the twenties. Would have also made A. Hitchcock proud.


Afterwards, my two male companions bonded, as if to mark what a special experience they had shared.


For more creamy goodness and wedding updates, you'll have to wait a few days, my precioussess. it's off to Tobago with us tommorow.

And you will be...where?

Holy Mother of Menses.

Few situations demand or deserve an OMG but Oh My God do parents never get less embarassing. You just never get used to that sort of thing. There she is, Mom, after I've just come out of the bathroom, dad standing a few feet away from her- back turned and chopping vegetables. Mom stares at me for a good few seconds before she sums up the courage to say what she meant to say.

Mom: "As you know, our plumbing is not the best one."

Me: "Yes?" (loooong pause and staring)

"So you might want to be careful about what you flush down the toilet." (she glances nervously at dad's back, during another long pause.)

"Yes?"

"If you are using a tampon, please wrap it up and throw it in the bin. I'm not saying you have, but I have, and I don't think you should."

"Right. I don't even have the menses. I'm not going to have the menses until after we leave."

"You can flush down SNOT paper, TOILET paper, or if you do the numbers ONE or TWO, but not TAMPONS." she says, emphasising the words she thinks will magically kickstart the monthly flow ahead of time.

"Mom."

"And don't throw pads."

"Right."

Dad's back remained turned during the whole conversation, but I could tell he was silently agreeing and happy that the message had been passed on. Despite the fact that mom has put up notices in both the upstairs and downstairs bathroom, saying "Girls ONLY! Please do not flush your tampons. We have had to call the plumber TWICE. Wrap them up in toilet paper and throw them in the BIN."

The fact that it was mom herself who had done this twice was not mentioned.

One thing that you do get used to in Trinidad, however, is the heckling that I've mentioned before. As a woman who is not exceptionally ugly, you get comments on your skin, your eyes, your lips, people hiss "Famileeee" after you, which, apprantly, is not a reference to the relationship you have walking with you, but a come-on. I'm not sure how, but it is.

Being heckled as a man is an entirely different thing. Andreas was relatively traumatized by two sixteen year old school girls who called after him as we passed the corner where they were waiting for taxis.

"Come back nuh. We waiting here for you to talk to we!"

Oh the brazen hussies.

Andreas wasn't planning on doing anything of the sorts, but speeded up instead. On the way back, we had to pass the same corner again. We stood on top of the hill peering down unto the corner to check if they were still there, which they were.

And opted for an extra ten minute walk in the 36 degree noon sun to avoid being "complimented" again. I laughed all the way home. So did everyone else when I told them, which is as close as Trinidadians come to saying "Stupid whitey."

The Ceremony - Part One

The Hindu ceremony was held on the balcony of the groom's home. Only the closest family members were there to witness it, which is quite unlike the 'full-length' Hindu ceremony. The full-length one is a three day process, during which prayers are said, clothes are changed to signify the different stages of the marriage process, and food is passed out in plenty to the people milling in and out.

The part for which we and the bride arrived consisted mainly of a description of the vows, which describe the roles of the two individuals to be wed. The man is a God, and the woman his Godess. Behind every good man, there is a better woman. The woman should always stand on the man's left side, the man should always be patient with his wife. Prayer and devotion are what bind the marriage together.



Note the similarity between Donna and that Liv Tyler in "Lord of the Rings". The woman's ears do not always grow pointy during the ceremony, this is optional. After the prayers follow the burning of a plate of food. Unfortunately, this plate of food was set to rest right next to a small palm tree, which did not catch fire but was interesting to observe.



I do not know the symbolism of the burning plate, but food plays a big role in the Hindu ceremony. The wife, for example, is given a small bag of peas to always store in her cupboard to ensure that her household will never be without food.



The burning of the food is not the only reflection of the rich symbolism - there is also the smearing of the divide in the bride's parted hair to symbolise her status as a married woman, and this powder is to be worn every day until the groom is gone. Not wearing it, means that the groom's life span will be marked as over, or that his lifespan will be shortened. There is also the tying of the knot which binds the clothing, and the bodies and souls of the couple, which is carried out by a close, usually breathtakingly beautiful, albeit terrified friend of the bride. I knew just about as much about the ceremony as Donna did, but with Daren whispering in her ear and the pundit laughing at me when I looked lost, things went smoothly anyway.



I don't think I've gotten everything in the perfect order, and I've probably missed out on half, but then the ceremony ended and they were married. There was no "Will you take this woman" business, which is not what the movies will make it out to be anyway. The whole ceremony seemed to be just a confirmation of what Daren and Donna both knew already- that they are meant to be together for the rest of their lives. And in the end, that's all that matters.



Next up : The Catholic Church.

Driving Miss Andreas.

We headed up to Port of Spain yesterday to try on the dresses for the wedding. I would if I could upload, but for some reason, Andreas is a shitty photographer and my head looks like it makes up a third of my body. At least I hope Andreas is a shitty photographer so that I can hang on to my new street-heckle provided self esteem.

One thing I do know about Andreas is that commuting from the south to the north of Trinidad is not his cup of tea. The thing about the Trinidad Highway is that to avoid accidents, it is integral to maintain a 120 km per hour minimum despite the 80km per hour allowed.

Mom, I think put it best. When I told her about Andreas' noticeable silence in the car she laughed out loud, which is the closest mom comes to actually calling someone "pussy".

"Nonono, explain to him that you have to drive at least 120 - 150 km/hr! if you're going to drive 80 km/hr, then you might as well just turn around and go home."

The thing about Trinidadian traffic is that it is in fact organised chaos. Going down the four lane highway means seeing a car ballet of sorts, ripping and weaving past each other at 120-150 km/hr. It's a beautiful process, despite the risk of having to deal with societal hazards who try to follow the 80 km limit.

Here's some shots from the road leading north, the northern mountain range looming in the distance.

Colin Farrel is an asshole, apparently.

My skin does not dry out here.

My hair doesn't dry up and frizz into one undistinguishable lump.

My self esteem is quickly being up from the comments I hear in the street.

There's not one corner you turn and don't hear a "Ey! Niceness!" or "Ey, Spanish women reeeeal pretty'. No more hoodie and sneaking along corridoors for me, not here.

The heckling is not limited to me though. Today, a street vendor mistook Andreas for a skinny Colin Farrel - 'Eeeey! Coe-Linn Farell! look! Is Coe-Linn Farell!" he shouted excitedly. The vendor probably spent the rest of the day wondering why Hollywood stars are such asses, not turning around even once to smile or to ask about the prices of rubber slippers.

Sweden - Trinidad and then some.

Oh, how I would love to elaborate. How I would love to slide in the occasional belly-ache laugh every now and then, but I find that I have neither the time nor the energy. A 70% humidity takes care of that, and the 35 degree heat takes care of the rest. You know - 35 degree heat - what you're not experiencing and what I am. Just thought I would try to make myself very clear on that point.

How are the plans of purchasing a poncho coming along...? That cup of tea warming your frozen bones anything? Hmm?

To make a long story short, out trip to trinidad was comprised of several strokes of good luck. To explain why, I'll need to give you a bit of background.

In my infitnite and also abyssmal wisdom, I decided to buy tickets to the Caribbean ahead of time. The earlier, the better, the cheaper. We planned it so that we would leave two weeks before the Donna - Daren wedding, leaving us with one week of pure, undisturbed beaching in Tobago.

BUT

when the wedding was moved up one week, and a Hindu wedding ceremony added the week before that to boot, we were trapped. We had to try to get from Tobago to Trinidad, with a 14 hr stopover in Barbados (before heading off to Tobago) as quickly as possible. We were stressed to the point of sweating, sweating like the common man does. According to our itinerary, we'd be arriving in Tobago a mere two hours before the Hindu ceremony two thousand miles away started in Trinidad.

BUT

1. On arriving at Heathrow, we found ourselves behind a queue of people who all walked away with frowns on their faces. After lining up behind two families (who took fifteen minutes each) we found out why. The flight to Barbados (the stop-over before Tobago) had been re-routed to Trinidad. Hence, we would be forced to arrive at our final detination (Trinidad) ahead of time, skipping the whole trying to get a ticket to Tobago on a sunday morning hassle. Oh what a shame. We were the only happy faces the check-in desk attendant had seen that morning, so when we asked if our baggage could please be re-routed to Trinidad as well, she pulled a few twenty minute strings and finally got it done - but with a big maybe. If our bags had already been sent off, we would have to fly to barbados with our own money and pick up our bags.


2. On arriving at the gate, we were bumped to First class. Oh the agony. Free champange,full menus, and personal television screens for ten hours. Fully reclineable seats. Mercy, mercy Us.

3. On arriving in Trinidad, we got our baggage after - oh the humanity - a whole ten minute wait.

4. On passing through customs, our 250 gram excess of tobacco did not present a problem.

5. A taxi was ready to take us to out final destination to seconds after we stepped out of the airport.

6. The Hindu ceremony the next day had been postponed five hours, giving us time to sleep in the next morning, which would take care of any jetlag we had.

I don't know if I beleive in karma, but I know that we must have done something right in our lives to have ridden that amazing wave of good luck. At the risk of sounding super-sappy with enough sugar on top to make a diabetic undiabetic and then diabetic again - maybe it's just me and And treating each other right that got us were we were during those hours in transit.

Or just pure dumb luck.
Either way : how's that Poncho coming along...?

Summer days, make me feel fine.

Just a note to say that the homepage will be temporarily down the next couple of days(24-72 hours). There are servers to be switched, and more importantly, bags to be packed.

In 30 hours me and the pseudo-hubby will be heading off on our grand Caribbean Spree: First Barbados, then Tobago, then Trinidad. What you will want to ask yourself now, is what will you be doing? Hmmm? All dreary-like now that the reality of school and work have kicked in?

Too bad.

Photodiary will be up and running from he 4th of September.
Adios, suckeros!