My first adventure training session

Last year was full of firsts for me.  There’s the big, obvious one – first time living in Trinidad after many, many, many years.  Then there came my first tropical half marathon and right after that, my first taste of a triathlon.  Following on the heels of the triathlon, just a few days before Christmas, I had the good fortune to be invited to an annual birthday celebration run with some focussed, hardcore, beasts of athletes – a mountain run.  Nervous, not knowing anyone but the race organizers and having absolutely no idea how I was going to get down from this mountain up which I was preparing to run, I dutifully showed up for my first, major mountain run.  Grin.  Needless to say I’m alive!  I made it! And I’m going to do it again!!!!

That day I met some interesting people.  As the newbie, there were some questions for me. First came the usual ones: What’s your name?  Where are you from?  What do you do? What made you move back to Trinidad? Then came the interesting, conversation-openers:  What other sports do you do? How long have you been running? What kind of running do you do? In this manner I was introduced to Phillip.

I soon learned that Phillip runs a fitness studio.  Not a gym, mind you – this was what interested me.  You see I hate gyms.  I can’t stand sweating in a room with a bunch of other people; inhaling their musk and grime while all trying to pedal, or leap around, or lug heavy things all in the name of working out.  I’m an outdoorsy person.  I’d much rather run 13 miles in the streaming rain, or swim 100 laps under the sparkling sun.  At the time of the mountain run, I was midway through my crossfit trial.  Not at a gym, but still indoors, crossfit is a radical training session that would make anyone stronger in a flash.  Thing is….  I still smelled sweat and odours around me.  Then Philip said the magic words.  “Well our training is like that, but outside.  We do adventure training with real-use actions that will make you stronger in a more useful way.” Wowee!  I knew I had to give this a shot.  A few minutes later I had even more reason to love this group of people – they were going to take me back down the hill!!!!  Ahem, my first ride in the trunk of a car (that didn’t really matter though, it was a SUV!).  Whee!

So last night was my first training session with this adventure group.  I was dutifully picked up and taken to the meeting place to gather with everyone as we signed in, and awaited instructions for the location and content of the night’s training.  Yes!  It’s night training and you never know where you’re going to end up apparently.  This mystery, coupled with the fact that you have to gear up with hydration packs (you absolutely must have your hands free at all times) hand protection gloves and head lamps, makes for the nerves to start twitching.  Then the ropes were handed out.  Oh-My-Gawd. Ropes!!

Before I go any further I should make it very clear that this group isn’t for beginner athletes.  You have to be at a certain, measured level before you are allowed to train with them.  Because of the training you undergo, this selection process really is a safety precaution.

Next thing I know, we’re being shuttled to the start location and I hear a general gasp as everyone realizes that we have a security detail with us on this session.  Yes people.  You read correctly.  We had a SECURITY DETAIL for our training session.  Seconds after offloading, I found myself on the streets of the city doing army drills, my clothes covered with smells and dust, my nose and lips millimetres from the ground.  My muscles were then forced to rip as one drill lead into another.  Crawling and leaping over bodies I soon had the same done to me.  Yes, within instants of meeting this group I’ve been trundled into the trunk of a car and had numerous people between my legs.  Ohhh yeah. Excitement! Heh.

Ripping down the city streets at night, with all of our gear, people stopped to stare at us.  The comments flew in:  ‘Wheeeyyyy, who allyuh coming to mash up?  Move out de way, move out de way, look de squad comin! Doh mess wid dem! Doh mess wid dem!’ Then the action started.  We went to places that I never dreamed I would ever allow myself into.  There I was, racing down steps, jumping over refuse, to get to the banks of a ravine.  Shoes wet, and skidding on slimy goo, we did more drills and leapt up the ravine proceeding to rope-assisted vertical ascents, hill scrambles and rock-face climbs.  Utter pleasure! And I only got 2 scrapes and 1 cut!

Can’t wait for the next session!

Trini men and their sad, sad lyrics!

So Trini men got no game when it comes to the ladies.  Arrite, arrite… I’ll soften that up a bit.  Trini men SEEM to have no game when it comes to the ladies.  Let me explain what I’m talking about.

A friend of mine posted on facebook today that she doesn’t appreciate being called ‘chubby cheeks’ by men on the street in an attempt to gain her attention.  Ah yes, it was harmless and there were obviously no untoward advances looming with those words but, seriously… that was the majority of the attention-grabbing utterance which was supposed to entice a beautiful, young woman to glance in a certain direction (and what? Fall in love???). Sigh.  Even with a verb, a conjunction or two, or a preposition and object added to beef up this utterance, there is no way that the act of saying this line could have any positive effect on any discerning woman.

One week recently, there was a three day period where I experienced two of the worst, and possibly most disturbing, chat-up lines I have ever encountered – and after living in the Dominican Republic I can tell you that these were awful chat-up lines!  One was in the supermarket and the other in the bank.

I entered the supermarket with a mission – I was on the search for coffee and a few other life-saving items.  I noticed an older gentleman turn his head in my direction and visually follow me for a bit, while pushing his cart.  This was quite easy to notice since I was doubling back on myself a few times in the search for the coffee (I wasn’t familiar with the layout of this supermarket).  At the checkout counter the same gentleman queued up behind me and then initiated some small talk.  I smiled and nodded politely.  Made all the correct, diplomatic noises and was quite pleased to realise that the cashier recognized him – he was apparently an old and familiar customer.  Then he said to me:

‘You are like a rose in blossom

So beautiful, a real rose in blossom.

Why don’t you marry me?

Marry me and I’ll give you all the loving you want,

Every day.’

Yeah….. The cashier kept giggling and saying ‘Now what would your beautiful wife say to that now, eh?’  Sigh.  Yes! I found myself hustling away from a seventy-something year-old man.  Ugh.  Now that’s just not attractive in any way.  Sure I guess he was trying to pay me a complement.  I’m still waiting to get that feeling though.

Cue the episode in the bank two days later.  It was a Friday afternoon, I was at the teller and on my left was a tall gentleman clearly in his silver years.  Then suddenly I heard his voice saying ‘You know I thought you were a teenager but on seeing you closely you look like you’re in your early 20’s.’  I look up and think to myself instinctively, smile and nod Cat, smile and nod! But then he continues. ‘You know I’m 75. I’m healthy, I’m relatively wealthy, and if you’d let me I’d give it to you every chance I get’ <insert horizontal, arm-pumping motion here>  Yes folks, it was like a mini show and tell going on at the tellers’ counter.  I could feel the flush rising on my cheeks to the tips of my ears, and I knew it would be highly visible to anyone glancing at me.  Be still my terrorized heart. I looked at my teller in despair and I whispered to him ‘Please hurry. Please, please hurry!’ He started laughing quietly, his eyes wide with disbelief and shock.  I have never hustled out of the bank as quickly as I did that day.

Really?  You’ve got to your 70s with lyrics like that and you’re STILL using them?  Have they actually worked for you then? Sigh.

Men, have you considered that a line a little more realistic and down to earth, which doesn’t involve dubious physical complements, could work more in your favour?  Not long after moving back to Trinidad I was having a coffee and reading, in a cosy coffee shop, when I noticed a gentleman glancing in my direction on a couple of occasions.  I figured the armour of my book would be enough and so, continued reading happily.  Powerful armour unheeded, he came up to me, and started off with the simple ‘Hello, I’m sorry for disturbing you.’  Immediately he had my attention, a smile and an enquiring look.  He then followed with the upfront ‘I noticed you when you walked in, you’re beautiful and I thought I’d like to get to know you, maybe have dinner sometime on my yacht?  Of course a short conversation, and one glance at the floor, later made me realise that this 50-something, toe-ring wearing yachtie liked the look of my legs and wanted something more than just dinner.  That’s not the point of this commentary though.  My point is that he got me to engage and listen with his come-on line rather than just send me tearing away, feeling slightly grossed out by crudely composed innuendo.

I’ve got other examples, too numerous to mention, of the disastrous lyrics that I’ve heard while in Trinidad, from Trinidadian men. But seriously!  Is it like a local, corny thing? Is it that women are supposed to fall at your feet with these lines? OMG, do they?? Really??!!  I shudder at the thought.

Me, 14 days, 1 Half Marathon, 1 Mini Triathlon

It’s been a while, hasn’t it?  I had to gear up for a certain 2 week period that has just ended.  The 31^st of October to the 14^th November 2010 saw a couple of gruelling firsts for me.  I completed my first tropical half marathon race (yes it was my first half in a hot country!) and I decided to experience my first taste of a triathlon.

I had often wondered how I would get used to running in the heat of Trinidad.  While living in London, and working a 9-5 with a 3 hour commute daily, my weekday running took place between 7:30 and 9:30pm.   Night-time running in a temperate climate (at warmest about 19 degrees centigrade) was heaven.  At 7:30pm in Trinidad it’s on average 25 degrees centigrade.  It’s quite a difference, especially when you consider that the temperature will hardly drop and you’re elevating your own body heat substantially. Luckily for me, I have a variety of sporty friends dotted all over the world.  Moving back to Trinidad I was able to fall into the athletic/ sporty world without too much difficulty.  I let my schedule be guided by a close friend of mine, who is a seasoned full-marathoner, and this fraternity of dedicated athleticism and outdoor worship has opened up in front of me.  Cyclists, trail runners, road runners, walkers, golfers and surfers – everyone’s out and about grabbing their days with gusto. I love it!

Yes Trinidad is hot.  Yes life starts early here with businesses generally opening at 8am. So what do the enthusiasts do?  They get up earlier.  Never in my life have I been a morning person, but a month after moving here I found myself curtailing my Friday night activities and imposing a curfew of 8pm on myself.  Why? I had to be up at 4am in order to fuel up and get ready to meet the running crew at 5:50am. Running started at 6.  (I subsequently heard that this itself was a late start!) And you know what? I began to look forward to this ritual!  Running under bamboo fronds with the sound of howler monkeys welcoming the day at 6am, is an immensely beautiful experience.  Even if you’re not a morning person, once you’re up with a purpose you simply can’t ignore the serene glory that daybreak shares with you.  I now start my Saturday runs at 5:45am and have become a morning person.

I know what to do to prepare for a race event.  I’ve run large races before (the largest being with 30,000 participants) and I’m not new to the half marathon experience. The heat, however, brings its own drama and can introduce an element of nervous insecurity to any event.  Being asked to take part in a ‘fun’, mini, team relay triathlon carded for exactly two weeks after the half definitely adds a different challenge to the training schedule.  There was one particular week where I found myself doing sprint drills instead of different endurance drills.  Day after day of scheduled running I would start off with my endurance goal in mind and then unconsciously my body would take over and start training for the event I was less familiar with.   It took strong will power and courage to pull back and stop training for a period at that point, so close to the half marathon date.  The mental discipline kicks in sooner rather than later thank goodness, and you remember why you wake up so early, why you need 2 hours of ‘cool’ weather to train – it’s the endurance event Cat!  Get it together woman!

Before I knew it the day had arrived, I left home at 4:30am and it seemed that my prayers were being answered!  Hallelujah! It was overcast and it seemed it might even rain.  And rain it did! About half an hour into the race the tail end of Hurricane Tomas hit, causing quite a bit of damage in Tobago and providing a perfect half marathon experience in Trinidad.  People have often asked me why I go running at night/ evening time with a cap.  Now everyone knows!  A cap is the runner’s tool of choice against rain.  In this half, I managed to shave 10 mins off my previous time and next year I hope to shave off a further 10 mins.

Mentally, after an event like this you get tired.  What saved me for the mini-triathlon event was that I had a team to support and I couldn’t let them down.  After a few days of rest my body and mind were back in sync. Team training was hard – triathlons really are a different beast.  Being accustomed to doing singular events (even at triathlon distances) really doesn’t count for as much as you think it might, when putting all the events back to back.  Your heart and lungs get an immense workout during the swim and as you exit into transition, your arms slightly heavy, you have to resist the temptation to gasp for breath like a gawking fish.  You need the mental discipline to control your breathing and keep your wits about you.  Then comes the cycle leg.  With a dead start uphill (and with other hills thrown in along the way) your muscles can start to burn, and at some point you have to dig down deep, bind the hurt and exhaustion, lock it away in a deep recess of your mind, and press on.  Cue the battle of heavy thighs and rebelling muscles as the running leg starts.  Triathlons -definitely gruelling… definitely addictive!

On coming back to this little island, I’ve discovered a part of myself that I never knew existed. I LIKE the triathlon challenge.  So, I’m now in the heat, training for an event more stressful than the ones I trained for in cooler climates.  Funny, that.

Left to Right: Half Marathon and Mini Triathlon medals

 

Public Holidays – Bring ‘em on!

Trinidad really seems to have a public holiday almost every day! Last week it was Independence Day and today it’s Eid – two public holidays within ten days; two public holidays with a very different feel.

Last week, Independence Day dawned fierce and bright.  There was noise and movement everywhere as helicopters whirred above and the clip of horses’ hooves resonated on the asphalt roads.  The forces were out in their finery – colours of the army, police, coast guard, fire services forced your eyes to open, and the brightness of the guns, medals, insignias and ceremonial chains forced them to blink.  Dazzling pride was everywhere.

At 7am the place to be was the Savannah.  People came from all directions, walking to the gathering point in the Savannah.  Watching this I felt as if I was being enveloped by the national flag – everyone was dressed in red, white or black (or a combination of all three). Everyone!  The progression of this triad of colours evoked the image of rivers gently flowing and meandering.  The confluence point was at the Grand Stand where the tarmac was covered with grids of military and service personnel standing strong and straight – powerful in the face of judgement and scrutiny; triumphant and proud to be the centre of attention of the day’s ritual.  They were indeed the focus for the outpouring of national pride and unity that emanated from the pulsing breath of the swirl of red, white and black that watched the pomp unfold with cheers and applause.

For the duration of Independence Day there was music everywhere I went.  Driving through Woodbrook and St James the strong, unique timbre of the steel pan (our steelpan) seemed to be everywhere I turned, both fading behind me and growing stronger in front of me as I proceeded along.  What a perfect opening to the day.  The nation was embracing its people.  The people were embracing their nation.

The awe I felt for the Trinidadian psyche last week Tuesday is still with me today as I face the sluggish sunshine that illuminates today’s holiday of Eid.  The morning is quiet, bathed in soft, dewy light and covered with a fluffy blanket of seemingly benign clouds. At nearly 9am there is almost nobody out and about.  The savannah is relatively quiet with long stretches of peace in between the whirr of a car’s passing. This is the exact opposite to the start of Independence Day, but the feeling of quiet strength and national pride still lingers.

Eid is a Muslim holiday and very much a national holiday here – even though we are not a dedicated Muslim nation.  That we can celebrate many different religious holidays as national holidays here should evoke awe.  I don’t think there are many other countries that can boast the same.  I knew coming back here that I would benefit from having nearly twice as many public holidays than we had in good old blighty – and definitely more than any of the other countries I have lived in across the globe.  What I did not think about, however, was the lasting effect these holidays would have on my state of mind and quality of life.  Nearly every month we’re given these additional holidays in Trinidad and life swings into action with people heading to the beach, down the islands, to the parks and forests, and just being outdoors in general.  People enjoy people and their surroundings.  Life slows down for a minute and the intricate shenanigans of our complicated lives are forgotten as the needs and wants on a public holiday are very simple – food, sunshine, friends and relaxation.

I become productive after a public holiday.  It gives me a chance to think and revive my goals and actions.  I wonder if it does this for everyone.  At the very least it is fantastic having 14 public holidays in Trinidad, with Carnival’s two days on top of that!  Our next holiday is in 2 weeks time.  Rock on Republic day! Divali – I’m looking forward to you in early November as well!  Surely everyone should want to be a Trini!  I am most certainly glad to be back!

Sunday Tea at Ortinola Estate

Is Sunday really Funday in the rainy season? The trick with the rainy season is to wake up earlier and have a longer day – this I now realise.  In this way, by increasing your ‘awake’ hours, you make up for the couple of hours taken away from you when the heavens open.  Well, that is if you let them be taken away from you in the first place!  As you may already know, rain doesn’t stop me. I’m also lucky enough to have a group of like-minded girlfriends here.  So on Sunday, after tennis at 7am and after bonding with the folks, I got ready for afternoon tea with the girls at the Ortinola estate in St. Joseph.

Sunday Tea, right!  The stuff of sundresses, floppy hats, espadrilles or wedges, jam filled sponges and fruity scones.  Ah yes.  With sunglasses a happy substitute for the floppy hat I jumped into the car and headed to St. Joseph with one of the chicas.  We took the scenic route through San Juan (don’t make the mistake of calling it that though, it’s sah wah – easier to say, right?) and the Quaisay was pointed out to me with the aside: ‘so when you’re looking at the rentals listings Cat, and see C-r-o-i-s-e-e, that’s the correct spelling of the Quaisay’.  Er, Okay.  Man! I had wondered where the ‘Croisee’ was located – it had occurred to me that it seemed like an unusual name for a gated community.  Heh. Let’s not tell anyone about that embarrassing faux pas!  On we drove… then the heavens opened. And continued to stay open. Wide open.

We turned into St. Joseph and proceeded to cross bridges and chug through murky, tumultuous, red-clay flood waters swirling at each crossroads.  Awww yeah, we were going to high tea in the rain!  And none of the girls were backing out!  Awesome!  Of course our car took the prize for longest in transit journey.  Yep – we got lost in the rain.  Distracted with chatting about the cost of the new-build townhouses whose construction was causing the clay coloured, extreme surface runoff; the length of the road, and the number of bridges we had to cross before we came to a supermarket – we drove until even we knew we had gone much too far.  Where were those signs that were supposed to appear at the magical intersection that would lead us to coffee and dryness? And yes, I was looking forward to the coffee aspect of this ‘tea’.

Two conversations with an approachable looking man and a nose-picking girl, two three-point turns and one game of dodge-the-donkey later (yes a real donkey in the road!), we were at the beautiful, ornate gates to the Ortinola Estate.  Driving up the sweeping entryway we were embraced by serenity dancing to the beat of the last few raindrops coming from the heavens.  Vibrant croton leaves and exquisitely pale, pink trumpet flowers were glistening amid the varied rich green hues that anchored and framed the wooden plantation house we were about to enter.  This was indeed a place of warm beauty.  We finally began our girlie tea.

The spread was impressive.  Layered cakes, mini tarts, sandwich spirals, local sweets, scones and fruit adorned the buffet table.  The beverage selection met everyone’s needs and our table proceeded to dominate the mood of the main dining hall. Incredulous voices, laughter, a few hand-clapping punctuations and various story-telling tones emanated from our group.  With the high ceilings, beautiful louvered window shutters and cosy lighting throwing perfectly angled shadows in just the right places; we didn’t notice the time pass, or the approach of dusk.

Leaving was an effort.  No one wanted to step out of the fantastic bubble of tranquil lushness within which we had found ourselves.  To delay the inevitable, packages of speciality tea were purchased and many silly pictures were taken on the rolling grounds.   Finally we reluctantly left, having been chased away by the failing dusk and the memory of the roads and trails that had to be traversed.  It had been a lovely afternoon.  As I walked to the car one of my friends remarked ‘Cat, did you ever take those shades off your head and actually wear them???’ Sigh, no…. it had been a rainy Sunday after all!!!!

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Carnival! Which costume? Which Band? Major decisions.

Hrm, which band do I play with this year? I had told myself that this year, the first year in many years that I would actually be in the land of carnival during band launch and registration period, I would visit the major mas camps and make a fully informed choice.

Last week Friday, while sniffling and snuffling through a head cold, I went to visit Tribe’s mas camp and that of its new sister band, Bliss.  I wasn’t expecting this to be an occasion for snazzy dressing, so I was in the usual uniform of one of my many pairs of jean skirts (you know, the surfer-styled, mini skirts) tank top and flip flops.  Feeling very much like a soggy cabbage-head, it was all I could do to put on my contact lenses.  Make up? Pfft, that just wasn’t gonna happen.  It was just a mas camp right?  I eyed my erupting face warily.  Sigh.  Yes folks, not only is it just as easy to catch a cold in a lovely, warm Caribbean island as it is in a much colder climate, but one’s skin might very well rebel to the heightened heat factor! Yessiree, this was happening to me all at once.  Oh well, I won’t know anybody there anyway right!!!

We headed in.  ‘Let’s go into Bliss first’, I suggested.  As we walked in I will immediately admit to you that I was more impressed with the treatment of the interior of this somewhat traditionally styled house in Woodbrook, than I was with the costumes.  Now I say ‘somewhat traditional’ because, being true to my architectural conservation background, I had to consider that this house was concrete and relatively ‘new’.  New to a conservationist pretty much means less than 150 years old.  The floors were a lovely coloured wood stain, the grain and knots in the wood creating a very pretty effect, and the wall partitions that had been put up to create the showroom were well done – blending to the ceiling nicely.  The Bliss logo had been painted onto the floor and the costumes were on display against the walls.  Each costume had all the options graphically portrayed on lcd screens next to its mannequin.  It was a very impressive, high-tech presentation.  We walked around the small showroom and my shoulders slumped.  I didn’t like any one costume.  Oh sure I liked bits and pieces of this one and that, but I didn’t like any full costume.  What a shame, there were some lovely colours there!  ‘Ok, shall we go to Tribe now?’

Then I heard the fateful words signalling the imminent eruption of a social situation – and my soggy-cabbage state hadn’t improved (gasp!). A man’s voice was speaking to the friend I was with ‘Aye aye gyul, how you doing?  And the response ‘Hey Dean, I’m great! How are you?  Cat, this is Dean Ackin, the owner of Tribe’. Oh hide me now!  The snuffle gremlin was meeting a big boy on the carnival scene!  Pleasantries were exchanged, we all chit-chatted a bit (I saw some bemused glances thrown my way – groan!) and then we were off, across the yard, to Tribe’s presentation.

Following the format of Bliss, Tribe had a lovely showroom.  Just one problem though.  Again – I didn’t like any full costume!  Oh definitely these were ‘different’ costumes.  Not just beads and feathers, these costumes definitely had original design features from the cut of the cloth to the African beads that were used.  Something was missing for me though. There was just no one costume that jumped out and grabbed my attention!  We dutifully collected all our brochures and left, a little disheartened.  Off to find Spice!

… And we couldn’t find Spice!  It was nearly 6pm, we had gone to last year’s (2010’s) HQ location and there was definitely no mas camp there.  We called a few friends, who hadn’t a clue, and had gone online to the Spice website.  The website was not fully up, and we had no immediate hope of finding the camp.  So that was that for the night! Disappointment.

Today, one week later, I am fully human again (no cabbage parts about me at all), clad in my usual beach/ surf wear and with a fresh, bespectacled face.  We’re off to view the new band YUMA and visit the Harts mas camp.  They’re both on the same street! Perfect.  The plan was view these two, go see Bliss again and then I was going to run errands around the place.

I walked into Harts first, having arranged to meet the girls there.  We had already seen the costume prototypes at the band launch but needed to fully scope out the designs in daylight.  I had fallen in love with about four full costumes at the launch, and needed to confirm to myself that my memories of their appeal were accurate.  They were!  Harts was jam-packed and the mas camp’s presence was dictating the flow of traffic on the entire street!  Each time I walked past YUMA’s camp I felt obliged to smile and say ‘Hi’ to their security guard. The place seemed deserted, and there was abject boredom on his face.  I don’t know what the activity was like indoors but I never saw anyone enter or exit YUMA.  Possibly it was just a lull in their traffic, because most certainly there’s been a huge hype about this totally new band, all over the internet.

Back at Harts the excitement was palpable. Everybody was chattering about the costumes, sun and glitter.  The queues were getting longer and (gasp!), costumes were selling out!!!  For the first time ever, I was able to try on bra tops, bikini bottoms, hip belts – and make a fully informed selection.  The girls measuring and fitting were awesome.  They sure went the full mile for me, and well I needed it!  None of their typical bra tops fit me! (Is that too much to admit here?)  Well, without spilling the goods (har, har, har – get it? Spilling. Goods. Sigh, moving along…) let me just say that I was more than impressed with the declaration that they would get my bra top custom made for me, from the manufacturer!  Coupled with this, we were going to be the last ones admitted to an exquisite section before they sold out!  Woohoo! Score!

The fates had completed their twist, there was no way I was going to visit YUMA and Spice now.  I was also not going to have the time to run all of my errands.  I was a very happy, and significantly poorer, lady – off home to have a cosy, low-key Friday night. The best laid plans eh!

Jazz Under the Stars

“It bugs me when people try to analyze Jazz
as an intellectual theorem. It’s not – it’s feeling.”

- Bill Evans, American Jazz Pianist

Last night I went to Jazz Wednesdays at the Trinidad Hilton. A lot of people say to me, ‘oh gosh there’s nothing to do but go to the movies, or go to a bar and drink up and listen to some music’.  I must admit, that while I lived abroad, I too had this view of social activities in Trinidad.  On returning home though, I firmly decided that the activities I enjoyed doing abroad MUST be available here and by golly I was going to find them and do them!  Jazz Wednesdays at the Hilton was one such activity.

I first saw it advertised in the newspapers last week – its third week since inception.  The Hilton had teamed up with the Jazz Alliance of Trinidad and Tobago to present a weekly offering of Jazz every Wednesday on the terrace.  How absolutely brilliant!  Even better, it’s absolutely free.  All you need to enjoy this is a willingness to keep a Wednesday evening free, get yourself to the Hilton, and maybe call up a friend or two.  And this is exactly what I did.  With the girlies willing to try it out, we stepped out last night to enjoy some jazz.

The Hilton’s terrace is a beautiful location for a night of music.  The panoramic vista, a’twinkle with activity, provided the perfect backdrop to a baby grand piano and other musical accoutrements.  Each café-style table was lit with a few tea candles, cosy and intimate, throwing out a warm glow into the clear, starry night.  As we walked in a gentleman said to us ‘You’re looking lovely ladies!’ I turned around and smiled ‘Looking lovely for a lovely occasion’ I said.  Man can I be corny.  He smiled though – charming! We settled back with our drinks, chatting away until the musicians took their places.  And boy did the music flow! It turns out I had just exposed the announcer for the evening (who happened to be one of the jazz masters that night) to my corny humour.  Great.

Song after song, cadences and riffs caressed us melodiously.  These guys are masters at their craft.  Not only was each set spectacular, but the rapport generated between the band members, especially the announcer, and the audience was one of pure ease and enjoyment.  You immediately realised that not only were you enjoying a luxurious night of music, the band was enjoying the animation of the audience’s presence.  And ever the macco (ahem, I mean observer), so was I!  At the table next to us was a lovely couple who had obviously chosen this as the location for their post dinner dessert.  At the table behind us there was a solitary gentleman, with an accent, who was obviously a music lover.  Seemingly knowledgeable about the songs, his appreciation for every second was a joy to witness.  Also on the terrace were a group of ladies and a little boy – different generations of the same family it seems – and many who, like us, were enjoying an after dinner coffee or digestif with good friends.

Indeed it was a shame to see the two-hour performance come to an end.  The girls and I had enjoyed a sophisticated, cultured evening that was also relaxing and soothing – the perfect remedy for the mid-week slump.  A triumphant contender to any jazz café I’ve ever been to in London.  Life is certainly better under the stars in a Caribbean setting.

(blogpost published in the Trinidad Guardian print & online 25.08.10)

The Outdoor Life

I am happy to be back in the Caribbean.  No longer do I feel that half my life is rushed trying to fit activities into the long, almost warm, summer days of England before the dark, winter months roll around.  It is truly amazing to be presented with warm, sunny mornings every day of the year – especially for someone like me who can’t be indoors for too long or else grumparella takes over.

Don’t get me wrong though.  I used to be outside a hell of a lot in London.  I seem to get involved in a lot of sporting activities wherever I am, so the swimming, cycling and running kept me outdoors for hours every day.   I used to call it quits at 2ºC though during winter.  Anything lower than that and I would NOT be running outside.  I was terribly excited to come back to Trinidad though – can you imagine being able to be outside every day of the year!!!!!  OOOOHHHH even better – to be able to wear shorts and flip flops all the time!  Pure heaven.

It is HOT though.  This is the kind of heat where you step out of the shower, dry yourself and then start sweating.  No more running alongside the Thames, looking at barges, houseboats and yachts while merely giving off the merest glisten of a sweat-glow.  No, this heat dictated otherwise.  I had to accept the sweat!  Let me tell you, what these guys (who workout here) say is absolutely true.  There is nothing better than serious sweat soaking through all your clothing and pouring off your skin.  Ahm, of course I doh go running when the sun is out though – daiz just asking for trouble!

Being outdoors in Trinidad is a joy.  There’s so much to do!  One Saturday morning, heading to our weekly Chagaramas run the water was so serene and placid that our planned 2 hour run turned into a 1.5 hour kayak session, 1.5 hour trail run and then a 1 hour swim workout in Macqueripe.  Total bliss.  Sure you have to get up before dawn in order to catch the daylight without the heat for most of these activities, but seeing the sun rise just before setting off on these activities is a real gift.  It’s the rainy season and THIS was what I was presented with??!! I was kayaking with turtles and footballer fish, running trails with howler monkeys providing a vocal backdrop to the scene, and swimming laps in an open bay where catching a glimpse of a dolphin in the distance wasn’t uncommon.  Pure happiness!

A few days later I set out to do the savannah at dusk.  I looked at the sky and thought Naahhhhh, it’s just cloudy, there’s enough blue sky and breeze for those clouds to pass quite quickly. I set off.  Of course, the heavens opened as I was halfway around my first savannah.  And man did that feel good!  Cool breeze, sweat pouring off my body and heaven-sent rain springing onto my skin and hair.  I kept on going.  The rain was getting harder and puddles were forming.  Splash! Sploosh!  Then came the thunder and lightning.  I kept running.  You can’t do this in a temperate country – warm rain just doesn’t exist in those lands!  This right here was total freedom – total inhibition – and all I needed was the rain and pavement.  I’m sure everyone thought I was mad.  I passed people sheltering under any sort of cover they could find and here I was literally dancing to my running music in the rain.  Pallllaaannncceeeeee!

So what else is there for me to do?  Well I play tennis. We have fantastic courts all over the place, some public and some private, and it’s very easy to get on them and play!  Pool sessions have started with me being treated to an outdoor Olympic sized pool facility!  And, after putting the fear of God into the shippers about the handling and packing of my super-duper bicycle, and having it checked and okay’d by Corkie of Corkies Bikes in Maraval, I might be on the road on Sunday (after early morning tennis). I hear there are certain highways closed off to encourage community cyclists, roller bladders, skate boarders and general health enthusiasts to enjoy the early morning outdoors. There are even free aerobic classes conducted there. How cool is that!!!!

Can’t wait for the dry season to come though.  I start sailing and scuba diving lessons then!

And for those of you who moan that there’s nothing to do here… well.  You just don’t know what you’ve got right here under your nose.  It’s a slice of heaven.

Adventures at the PORT

My Stuff Arrived!!! Ah yes, My Stuff.  I never thought I’d want to see those packages of bubblewrap ever again, but woohoo, my stuff has arrived!

So I jumped into this procedure head first – of course!  Got a shipper in London to give me packing materials and supply a team to help pack the big stuff.  I was packing up my apartment!  Typical West Indians, they completed the job at 2am of the morning before I was to clear out.  I gotta hand it to these guys though.  They’ve got some packing skills like you wouldn’t believe!  I’m talking about muscling flat cardboard to become the second skin to extremely odd-shaped packages such as a wrought-iron bed complete with spherical post fixtures.  As soon as I saw that I thought to myself, ‘Yeah, good choice, they know what they’re doing!’.  Of course it would have helped to research the company more before-hand wouldn’t it?  Yar.  Moving along.

My life ships off successfully in cardboard boxes and packages in various shapes and sizes.  I ship off successfully to various ports of call before hitting Trinidad.  I arrive a couple of days after my shipment arrives. The shipment gets cleared about three weeks after this.  All well and good.  I make it down to the shipping broker locally and back in once piece.  I didn’t get towed and only got partially soaked in the afternoon rain session.  All definite plusses in my book.  I now had papers that stated that 61 packages of mine had been shipped from London to POS. Woohoo!!!!

The next working day I set off to the Port armed with my papers, receipts and signatures from everyone in the world it seems.  I pass security, park my car in the parking lot, get informed of the system very clearly and politely… everything is going swimmingly!  I queue up, get more signatures, get things stamped, have pages taken away from me and given to me…. Good Lord I hope these people know what they’re doing!  The paper pushing and pulling in technicolor was getting to me.  Pink paper here, blue paper to there, orange paper to this one and oh yes I get to keep all the white ones.  Blar.

Finally it’s over, now I get to wait to be called to view my items.  It’s time to go sit in the air-conditioned waiting room and watch Sesame Street.  Honestly!  Could I not have brought my book?  Really now!  An hour passes.   Two hours pass.  It’s just after 12noon.  I remember a conversation I’d had with the local shipping broker.  ‘The Port goes on lunch around noon eh, so you hadda go real early to get yuh tings cleared dahlin, y’hear.’ Surely the officials will make an announcement to a packed waiting room?  Nothing.  Someone saunters in with food in a Styrofoam container.  I get up and walk around outside.  It’s like a ghost town.  Alrighty then!!!!  I walk to my car one time!  This girl needs some food!

After lunch sees me slightly happier and definitely more hydrated.  I return to the port about 20 mins after the lunch period has ended.  A short while later my name is massacred and I am summoned to view my belongings.  Yaaaayyyyyy!  A little cardboard city built up of cardboard units all with my name scrawled across it!  Some very kind hearted port workers started talking me through the procedure.  Ok count up time!   1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 34, 46, 52, 60.   Looks around. 60!  Looks at paper – 61.  Ok…. Miscount. Let’s do this again.  1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 27, 32, 44, 58, 60.  Eyebrows raise. Scowl. I look at the port worker who grimaces and breaks the news to me that he himself had got only 60 packages the many times he’d recounted.  I start rubbing my eyes and swig at my bottle of water. Sweat trickles down my back. All of a sudden the afternoon feels very, VERY long.

The kind port worker takes me all over the port complex.  I’m sure I’ve been in areas I shouldn’t have been.  Locked gates were opened for me.  Old unclaimed cargo was made available to me.  I swam and waded through the cargo belonging to other poor unsuspecting souls that were waiting to be cleared.  I touched, jangled, moved and gently shifted faceless boxes in the hope of finding my lost beauty.  All to no avail.  I had to call it quits after a reasonable period had been expended.  After all, I had to get my stuff onto a truck, move it to the storage location, unpack it, check numbers and then remember to breathe!

Alright. Let’s accept 60 packages with a note on all documentation that one is missing.  Sigh. Fine.  The customs officer comes to my city.  Kind port worker has slashed open about 15 of my buildings and towers so the Officer can have a peer through and determine the value of duty.  He opens his paperwork and uses one of the box tops as his desk.  Am I a returning resident?  Yes.  Are any items new? No.  Why have you come back to Trinidad and when did you get here?  Silence after this.  He scribbles in technicolor. ‘Alright here you go.  You just need to get this stamped, there’s no duty to pay. Have a good afternoon.’ Nice. He didn’t look into any of my open boxes, interesting.

‘Aye dahlin you have transport?’ I looked the port worker up and down.  Quickly thought to myself, ok he sees the items I have here, he can evaluate what size truck I need.  These guys all know him, he must be somewhat trustworthy to rent transport from.  He must do this every day and have a system worked out.  In fact, he probably can get through the loading queue more quickly as he’s part of the port operations.  Alright Buster (yes that’s his name, even the Port Police were calling him this) I’ll go with your transport and your rasta man there.  Cue rasta man who comes in to see my quantities and who I negotiate with regarding his fee (unbeknownst to Buster).

Needless to say thus starts THE most stressful part of the day – running back and forth from the truck being loaded to my beloved grouping of cardboard architecture.  Seeing that the truck is somewhat small and having to start a new batch of negotiations with Mr. Buster,  I get pissed off.  I don’t care that I’m a girl alone at the port trying to work this all out.  I raise my voice (accent and all) and bawl out for everything to halt.  Buster there starts to scowl.  Alright, I know I’m not going to win this one big, but I’m going to do enough to be one hell of a thorn in these people’s backsides so they want to get this job over and done with quickly.  Fine. Buster’s price gets lowered by a couple hundred dollars.  Not a lot I know, but my point has been made and rasta-man’s helper who appeared out of the blue now gets a couple hundred towards his pocket with my pocket not being tremendously overhurt.  Guess what I find out then?  Helper-man isn’t keen on going with Mr. Rasta there to unpack the load.  Say WHAT!!!????  Oh yeah I can see it now, I’m going to have to sweat a hard sweat soon.  Whatever yes, let’s just get this done. Steups.

The truck is loaded, precariously, I have my bland copies of the various technicolor pages that were stripped off of me by the boring port officials and off we go.  Yes sir. I was driving in a highway full of speeding bullets, at somewhat of a snails pace, and STILL losing sight of my life in the rear view mirror.  Oh GASP!  Theoretically this man could just rush off with my stuff.  I comfort myself with the knowledge that I figure he’d rather the cold hard cash I have in my pocket rather than having to pawn used and loved-up furniture.

Destination ahoy! Brilliant.  I won’t go into all the huffing and puffing, the climbing onto the truck, antics, gymnastics on top of said truck, and muscle flexing that I did.  Suffice to say that none of my friends were remotely surprised at either my pure stubbornness at the situation or the muscle flexing.  It all got offloaded in the end.  The rasta-man stuck by me through it all and deserved all of the extra cash I gave him in the end.

That night I was showered and in my pyjamas by 7:30pm with no intention of leaving my house and with every intention of crawling into bed before 9pm.  Wouldn’t it be great if no-one had to know this???!!!  Of course what happens then (cue incoming call on phone) ‘Hey Cat, there’s this thing <blah blah blah blah> do you want to meet us at the pub tonight?’ Oh gasp!  Needless to say my pyjamas and the tale of my day won me a peaceful early night in sleep-filled bliss.  No matter how it was spun to me, my stubbornness won over.  No way in hell was I leaving my lovely house again that day.

Lessons learned?  If you have to go collect a shipment of things from the Port of Spain port, hire a truck and two loaders for the entire day.  Yes, you will pay MUCH more than I did, but you’ll also not have to ward off vultures and deal with hustlers.  Even better – get your stuff shipped to Point Lisas.

Doing de Waka Waka around the Savannah!

The Waka Waka! So it’s been a lil while since my last post.  Not to worry… I HAVE actually been busy and around the place…..  not to mention grumbling and groaning over the tennis and world cup!  Holland lost and now I have to do this Waka Waka dance on the bar in this pub.. sigh. Needless to say I’ve been avoiding said pub!  Ah! Maybe I should also specially mention the fact that I haven’t been run off the road!  (Yes folks, don’t blink I did just mention dancing on a bar and road rage in two breaths!…..  )

So I have this awesome friend who is a psychologist.  And man we have the greatest conversations.  I think one day we spent four hours at a sports bar just yapping away about life.  We’ve both just moved back (literally two weeks apart) after living abroad for much more than a decade. So naturally, we have LOADS to talk about!  Lol, like that could ever be in dispute anyway!  One interesting thing that came out of the conversation was the realisation that we both have fresh starts and clean slates here at the moment.  Coupled with this, however, is the fact that we also don’t know our way around the labyrinth that is the social and networking scene here.  Things we used to know – who is full of hot air, who is genuine, who will just mamaguy yuh, who works where and who just wants to get in your pants – we don’t know anymore.  And we have to figure it out. Fast!  There are a lot of unknown elements in society now that we’re just not aware of.  Even people’s reactions can be totally off kilter and come at us from left field.  And boy did I get a glimpse of that shortly after leaving the girlie lunch.

So I’m driving up Maraval Road, towards the savannah.  All’s going well, I merge into the roundabout as one should (trust me, I didn’t buy my license… either of them for that matter!).  This guy tries to ignore the fact that I have the right of way.  I can see this coming so I trundle on …..  not giving him the time of day, not letting him get the better of me but also not being aggressive.  So the dude just cannot cut me off.  WELL!  Who tell me to do that????  The next thing I know dude is speeding up behind me then drawing up next to me in the adjacent lane.  He slows down to match my speed and get this….. he continues like that for about a minute STARING at me as if he’s gonna kill me.  Well! He’s most certainly marked my face and my car details. Sigh.  There goes being careful and keeping a clean slate etc.  Now I have ghetto dude in stupid car (of course I remember NO details about his car!) duttying up meh clean slate.  Dammit.  At the very least why couldn’t it be a lovely frisky romp with some sexy dude that is the first item to traipse over my clean slate???  I swear the Gods love chuckling over my life you know! I think I’m their personal source of amusement.

While we are hurtling around the savannah, let’s talk about doing the same on two legs instead of four wheels.  Yes! I’m talking about running around the savannah.. And YES allyuh go hear me on this because during the week I’m forced to use the savannah as my running route and I don’t just do one, two or three savannahs… so allyuh go hear meh mouth on this one!  Why must allyuh people spray a frig load of cheap perfume over yourselves before exercising?  Hrm. Maybe I should re-phrase; Why must allyuh people spray a frig load of cheap perfume over yourselves before sauntering around the savannah at such a slow speed which, when combined with the snow cone and puhlourie and corn soup that you have afterwards, results in a net gain of calories rather than loss! Y’all are sauntering around the savannah, waggling your bottoms in the way of us people who actually do want to pound the pavement, clear our heads and push ourselves.  You force us to dodge all around you and plunge into the grassy banks fervently hoping that there is no hidden hole or depression to cause a sudden twisted ankle and then we have to endure burning, cloying breaths for a good few paces after we pass you as the cheapness of your perfume ensures that it sits heavily in a cloud around you.  Now what’s your point with all this really?  You need to attract someone so badly that you’re even using your personal you time to try to be the flower that attracts the bee?  Ahm, seriously… use deodorant instead next time.  Your bee needs to inhale and exhale while close to you too!

For those that walk three and four across the savannah path… Try to be a little considerate.  The path is for all of us.  Does it really make sense to have me running left and right in a severe zig zag motion just to get around allyuh collective bamsee?  Now given that you don’t own deodorant you probably don’t exercise much and so you won’t know what it feels like to run for any length of time.  But really, common sense man!  If you see a runner hurtling towards you and nobody on your side is moving, please just step aside yourself.

Interestingly enough it was the mummy groups with their prams and buggies that were the most accommodating to me.  As soon as they heard the footsteps behind them they moved over!  Granted is prolly because they doh want anything lunging into their precious cargo, but that’s ok……. We worked well together and that’s the main thing!

Good. Breath exhaled. Ah overs wid dis one!