My father didn’t build structures, my father did not cure cancer nor did he solve any of life’s big mysteries…his legacy is not one of tangibilities but rather one of intangibilities, those little quality of life things that make life worth it.
He was everyone’s best friend, once you met him you never forgot him – just like my sister S.
He was gentle and full of love – something he shared with my sister Z.
Even casually dressed his sense of taste and style showed the man at his best…that’s my brother B.
Me…I’m the dreamer my father was, as opinionated and stubborn and even though we were not a part of each other’s everyday lives; I loved my father for making me the man I am.
They say to err is human; If so, Dad was more human than most but he took lessons from his mistakes. It is through his example that I learnt what it was to be a man; to hold yourself accountable for your actions, that it was ok to cry; that through food come fellowship and that success is not necessarily material achievement but happiness achieved through effort.
My dad and I didn’t speak emotionally a lot so I would like to take this opportunity to say to him as I did when last I saw him…I love you Daddy…and to say on behalf of my father to his wife, life partner and co conspirator, my stepmother J.
How can you feel alone at night?
Even though I’m not by your side
Can’t you hear me laugh in the wind?
Does it ease your mind?
If you can’t wait to see me again
Just know I’ll always be your friend
Like an angel’s heart…I’ll blend with the wind
Friday
Tuesday
Taking life slow
You see the sun before you feel it, your eyes squinting at its rays reflected off the heaving sea and inside you know you are different. You are not the same person you were last night when you arrived – now you are a witness.
The north east coast of Trinidad is perhaps the most isolated; with villages strung together by a thin ribbon of coastal road trying to stand its ground against the mighty Atlantic on one side and lush, near virgin bush on the other. Driving this road in the night adds to the sense of adventure, the headlights providing the only light and the tyres keeping rhythm with the waves and your pulse as the suspense takes hold of your mind leaving you wondering, hoping…
Matura, Toco, L’anse Noire, you occasionally have to slow your steady pace as you navigate the villages; and the vibrancy of life strikes you. There is a sense of community long lost in the city and the spirit of the people is bright and welcoming – “What’s their secret?” you ask your jaded self.
It’s darker now and the road is embraced wholly by bush. It is quiet, soothing you with the sounds of the river as you cross the bridge and come into Grande Riviere, your destination. At the Visitor’s Centre there’s a nervous energy as the orientation begins and you begin to comprehend the promise the night holds. On the beach at last, you hear the water on the shore and see the glimmer of light from the river but you don’t see her until you hear the guide calling in urgent whispers.
Out of her element she’s ungainly, hard wired to drag herself onto this beach every year to lay her eggs as has happened since dinosaurs roamed the earth. The north east coast of Trinidad is home to the largest accessible breeding ground of the giant leatherback turtle, the largest sea turtle and an endangered species. In a paradigm shift away from generations of hunting the turtles for food, the communities along the coast have; with the support of Government and the private sector; established the Turtle Village Trust, an eco tourism initiative founded on the draw of the nesting leatherbacks.
Her rear flippers working, she scoops a hole and begins to lay her eggs. One by one they fall like pearls from a burst necklace but they don’t bounce, lying snug together like spawn. She’s finished now and the flippers again go into action - this time to refill the hole. She pats it down trying to mask any disturbance from the predators dawn will bring. Of the 80 or so eggs she has laid maybe 10% will survive to follow in her journey; this an increase since conservation methods were adopted.
She’s been on shore for just about an hour. As she drags her huge mass back to the sea, you remember that in the orientation you were told that she will do this any number of times during the nesting season. You stand there watching the spray dance phosphorescent about her shell as she regains her element.
What you have witnessed in the last hour, another passage in a cycle of life almost as old as the earth itself, is repeated again and again in the course of the darkness and again and again you are awed by nature, the power of life and the silent fellowship of the anonymous band of witnesses all quieted by the majesty. What seem to be tears on the turtle’s face speak the universal emotion - you just now have come to understand what it means to be alive.
You see the sun before you feel it, your eyes squinting at its rays reflected off the heaving sea and inside you know you are different. You are not the same person you were last night when you arrived – now you are a witness, understanding the secret of the people you’ve met in the villages and communities – Life Happens. Smile.
The north east coast of Trinidad is perhaps the most isolated; with villages strung together by a thin ribbon of coastal road trying to stand its ground against the mighty Atlantic on one side and lush, near virgin bush on the other. Driving this road in the night adds to the sense of adventure, the headlights providing the only light and the tyres keeping rhythm with the waves and your pulse as the suspense takes hold of your mind leaving you wondering, hoping…
Matura, Toco, L’anse Noire, you occasionally have to slow your steady pace as you navigate the villages; and the vibrancy of life strikes you. There is a sense of community long lost in the city and the spirit of the people is bright and welcoming – “What’s their secret?” you ask your jaded self.
It’s darker now and the road is embraced wholly by bush. It is quiet, soothing you with the sounds of the river as you cross the bridge and come into Grande Riviere, your destination. At the Visitor’s Centre there’s a nervous energy as the orientation begins and you begin to comprehend the promise the night holds. On the beach at last, you hear the water on the shore and see the glimmer of light from the river but you don’t see her until you hear the guide calling in urgent whispers.
Out of her element she’s ungainly, hard wired to drag herself onto this beach every year to lay her eggs as has happened since dinosaurs roamed the earth. The north east coast of Trinidad is home to the largest accessible breeding ground of the giant leatherback turtle, the largest sea turtle and an endangered species. In a paradigm shift away from generations of hunting the turtles for food, the communities along the coast have; with the support of Government and the private sector; established the Turtle Village Trust, an eco tourism initiative founded on the draw of the nesting leatherbacks.
Her rear flippers working, she scoops a hole and begins to lay her eggs. One by one they fall like pearls from a burst necklace but they don’t bounce, lying snug together like spawn. She’s finished now and the flippers again go into action - this time to refill the hole. She pats it down trying to mask any disturbance from the predators dawn will bring. Of the 80 or so eggs she has laid maybe 10% will survive to follow in her journey; this an increase since conservation methods were adopted.
She’s been on shore for just about an hour. As she drags her huge mass back to the sea, you remember that in the orientation you were told that she will do this any number of times during the nesting season. You stand there watching the spray dance phosphorescent about her shell as she regains her element.
What you have witnessed in the last hour, another passage in a cycle of life almost as old as the earth itself, is repeated again and again in the course of the darkness and again and again you are awed by nature, the power of life and the silent fellowship of the anonymous band of witnesses all quieted by the majesty. What seem to be tears on the turtle’s face speak the universal emotion - you just now have come to understand what it means to be alive.
You see the sun before you feel it, your eyes squinting at its rays reflected off the heaving sea and inside you know you are different. You are not the same person you were last night when you arrived – now you are a witness, understanding the secret of the people you’ve met in the villages and communities – Life Happens. Smile.
Biting in to Port of Spain
Snuggled in the lap of the Northern Range and built on the flood plain of a number of rivers and streams; that Port of Spain should be the capital of Trinidad and Tobago speaks volumes about our national identity. Just as most of us would have to work hard to trace our ancestry, so too does the city. Port of Spain is a blend of the colonial and modern, the serene and the frantic…an island capital on the one hand and the meeting place of the world on the other.
In the early morning the city is almost parochial, the streets quiet. On every corner breakfast is being prepared; doubles, sandwiches, sada roti washed down with your choice of beverage, hot or cold. Just let your stomach tell you what it feels for, join a line and follow someone’s lead, just remember that hot means HOT. For doubles you can try those on Chacon Street just up from Brian Lara Promenade; for the real Port of Spain breakfast experience you can sample food at the Breakfast Shed on the Waterfront with its myriad of sandwich combinations all served on homemade bakes and breads, or any of the snackettes catering to the working population of the city.
As the sun clears the Laventille Hills and settles over the city, her identity changes; gone is the nurturer providing calm before the storm and in her place is the hustler. The pace has picked up on the streets, the pavements filling as 250,000 people enter the city. The juice man has appeared, pushing his portable cooler in front of him and jostling for space with the sidewalk vendors. The arcades and pedestrian plazas come alive, opening doors and registers to the consumer and adding flavours and scents to the landscape as the food courts prepare for lunch.
Port of Spain is an eating city, you can find Lebanese on the same menu as Chinese, authentic Indian next door to Italian, vegetarian next to carnivore and the KFC with the highest rate of turnover in the Western Hemisphere. To take a bite out of Port of Spain, visit Excellent City Plaza, Uptown Mall or any of the cafeteria style food courts in the city. If you’re looking forward to a long afternoon nap, make your way back to the Breakfast Shed and indulge yourself in a soporific celebration of local cuisine guaranteed to make your nap sound.
If a cold one sounds like your idea of the perfect lunch, not to worry. Bar food in Port of Spain is a bit of priceless local knowledge. Look for a Carib or Stag sign, push the door and if you see people eating, you’re in for a treat. The food is rich, local by way of China, India or Africa and light on the pocket but heavy on the stomach. The beer is cold and the laughter infectious. Ocean Chinese on Frederick Street just above Park Street comes to mind as does Pancho’s on Queen Street between Abercromby and St Vincent Streets.
At any time on any corner you’ll come across a vendor selling something to eat. From prepackaged snacks, to fresh fruit, pastries, peanuts, local delicacies your senses are assaulted by food and most people find themselves in a new state with their “eye longer than they belly” or so rich with choice; unable to make one.
As the sun chases the day west, the city begins to empty and the night vendors begin to make their appearance, offering options for dinner to the tired. On the Promenade you’ll find jerk and grilled meats, doubles (all the time is doubles time), franchised fast food and that uniquely local concept – Ital roti - a blend of vegetarian curry with a hearty dose of Rastafarian philosophy and a satisfaction rating of astronomical. Sitting on the Promenade, sipping a cold coconut straight from its shell you are left sated – full of new experiences and flavours and you can’t wait to take another bite.
In the early morning the city is almost parochial, the streets quiet. On every corner breakfast is being prepared; doubles, sandwiches, sada roti washed down with your choice of beverage, hot or cold. Just let your stomach tell you what it feels for, join a line and follow someone’s lead, just remember that hot means HOT. For doubles you can try those on Chacon Street just up from Brian Lara Promenade; for the real Port of Spain breakfast experience you can sample food at the Breakfast Shed on the Waterfront with its myriad of sandwich combinations all served on homemade bakes and breads, or any of the snackettes catering to the working population of the city.
As the sun clears the Laventille Hills and settles over the city, her identity changes; gone is the nurturer providing calm before the storm and in her place is the hustler. The pace has picked up on the streets, the pavements filling as 250,000 people enter the city. The juice man has appeared, pushing his portable cooler in front of him and jostling for space with the sidewalk vendors. The arcades and pedestrian plazas come alive, opening doors and registers to the consumer and adding flavours and scents to the landscape as the food courts prepare for lunch.
Port of Spain is an eating city, you can find Lebanese on the same menu as Chinese, authentic Indian next door to Italian, vegetarian next to carnivore and the KFC with the highest rate of turnover in the Western Hemisphere. To take a bite out of Port of Spain, visit Excellent City Plaza, Uptown Mall or any of the cafeteria style food courts in the city. If you’re looking forward to a long afternoon nap, make your way back to the Breakfast Shed and indulge yourself in a soporific celebration of local cuisine guaranteed to make your nap sound.
If a cold one sounds like your idea of the perfect lunch, not to worry. Bar food in Port of Spain is a bit of priceless local knowledge. Look for a Carib or Stag sign, push the door and if you see people eating, you’re in for a treat. The food is rich, local by way of China, India or Africa and light on the pocket but heavy on the stomach. The beer is cold and the laughter infectious. Ocean Chinese on Frederick Street just above Park Street comes to mind as does Pancho’s on Queen Street between Abercromby and St Vincent Streets.
At any time on any corner you’ll come across a vendor selling something to eat. From prepackaged snacks, to fresh fruit, pastries, peanuts, local delicacies your senses are assaulted by food and most people find themselves in a new state with their “eye longer than they belly” or so rich with choice; unable to make one.
As the sun chases the day west, the city begins to empty and the night vendors begin to make their appearance, offering options for dinner to the tired. On the Promenade you’ll find jerk and grilled meats, doubles (all the time is doubles time), franchised fast food and that uniquely local concept – Ital roti - a blend of vegetarian curry with a hearty dose of Rastafarian philosophy and a satisfaction rating of astronomical. Sitting on the Promenade, sipping a cold coconut straight from its shell you are left sated – full of new experiences and flavours and you can’t wait to take another bite.
Friday
skirting the issues...
Once upon a time in a reality far, far away the slacker wore a skirt. The picture above proves it. You wanna hear the story? lemme know
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