What I did on my Winter Vacation

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Tuesday, March 12

Tobago

Today, we pack up and head over to Tobago. Took the inevitable hired car and driver to the airport, boarded a small twin-engine turboprop for the 20 minute hop to the Small Sister. We were met by the representative of 4A Car Rentals, who walked us 25 yards to where our car was waiting. (We're still not in Kansas.) This was a little white Suzuki Jimmy: a cute cubical vehicle, about equal in length, breadth and height equipped with a fold-down top, 4-wheel drive, a steering wheel in the right hand seat, and a back seat suitable for quadruple amputees. But it started and ran, and could carry us and our luggage. Off to Charlotteville.

Tobago is much more inviting than Trinidad. Trinidad had this dilapidated air of poverty: Dwellings were often slapped-together and falling down concoctions of cinder block & duct tape. Just about every place of human habitation were characterized by garbage, detritus, & the evidence of people who either didn't care, or were too tired to care about appearances. Tobago is no formal French garden, but in general a much more tidy place.

Tobago is about 40 miles long with virtually one road that goes almost all around the island. The airport is at the extreme southern end at Crown Point. At the extreme northern end, there is a gap in that ring between Charlotteville and L'anse Fourmi where the road is unpaved, and not recommended for motor vehicles. We were headed for the end of the end of the road at Charlotteville.

The first couple of miles were 4-lane along a stretch that was fairly built up with resorts, golf courses, and other tourist attractions. But it wasn't long before the way narrowed to a twisting and up-and-down 2-lane that clung to the side of the steep cliffs that hugged the coast. I drove much too slowly for the local populace who would pass me at any opportunity, and sometimes when there was no opportunity. I made sure to pull over and let them by. I was gonna be a determined leaf-peeper (as they say in Vermont), and saw no reason to hurry.

We stopped for lunch at the 1st Historical Cafe just north of Scarborough, the capital city. This, like most of the restaurants on the island was a place without much barrier between indoors and outdoors. A roof covered the dining area, but just a railing rather than walls formed its perimeter on the seaward side. The walls were covered with hand-lettered plaques full of historical and cultural information. There was Ska playing over the sound system, ocean view beyond pastel painted woodwork, and songbirds flying in and out to feed on fruit left for them in a little area in the center of the place. The proprietor, Washington, came out to chat with us.

The 40 mile trip to Charlotteville took about 90 minutes of driving. The further we got from the north end of the island, the more rustic the surroundings. Our destination was the end of the road.

There isn't much to the town. One main street along Man Of War Bay with a few restaurants, food stalls, a fish-cleaning house, a "supermarket" (about the scale of a typical 7-11 in the US with the post office in one corner) a wharf extending into the bay, and a fish house for people to clean their catch. A few back streets have homes, a football (soccer) field, a church, and a surprisingly large and modern public library. A gazebo across the road from the wharf served as a fruit stand during the day and a forum for revival meetings in the evenings. It wasn't too hard to find Man Of War Bay Cottages, where we were to spend the next week and a half.

Man Of War Bay Cottages has got location, but they need a little work on the details. Cinderblock walls, leaky faucet, torn screens, faulty door latches, buckled linoleum. As Jenny says, "The Germans won't stay here." But we're 20 steps from a beautiful bay amidst palms and flowers and the sound of waves... I can deal with it. These are housekeeping cottages with a kitchen and fully supplied with mismatched utensils, cookware, and appliances, much of it in various states of disrepair. (The light/dark control on the toaster is broken...fortunately at the correct setting. The refrigerator closes with a hook-and-eye to supplement the failing door magnet. The coffeemaker carafe came from a different coffeemaker, and doesn't fit under the spout.) The management operates a convenient commissary system stocked (incompletely) with bread, butter, tea, eggs, canned soup, and other staples. Convenient, yes, but it generates waste; Dishwashing liquid, salt, sugar, etc. all come in extra jumbo-sized packages, which you could never use up in a week or two. You either schlep them back home with you or leave them to be discarded (or taken home by the staff), forcing the next occupant to buy a similar excessive quantity. We wound up doing most of our shopping at the supermarket.

Some of the office staff could use some education in customer relations too. When I went to the office at 7:30 to phone home to check on the state of my house, the response was, "You better make it snappy. The office closes @ 8:00". That seemed to be an aberration, though. People were by and large extremely friendly, if sometimes a bit entrepreneurially aggressive. Local vendors would come up to us on our porch hawking fish or fruit or pastries. All very fresh and tasty. Dogs, chickens, and children roam the streets freely. Local childcare seems to consist of putting the kids out to play with the expectation that they'll wander home when they're hungry. Seems to work. We were sitting in a typical indoor/outdoor stall waiting for our dinner when a 4 year old wandered in off the street, took off his shoes, and demanded I play pat-a-cake with him. We amused each other for a while, and he wandered out again, leaving his shoes.

I was still really stiff & sore from the previous day's hike. I made a few phone calls and hit the sack at 9:00PM.

Wednesday, March 13

We spent much of today being on vacation. We took a quick walk around the town. Jenny had hauled along with her a box full of surplus books from the Teaneck Library where she works to donate to the local Charlotteville Library. We brought them there and used the library's Internet connection to send a few e-mails. I made a concerted effort NOT to look at any waiting in my inbox. We went back to to cottage to spend the rest of the day reading, loafing, and swimming in the bay.

In the afternoon, a white woman named June stopped by. She was an expatriate Englishwoman somewhere in her 50's with weathered skin and a big smile, now living in Charlotteville. She wanted to let us know that a friend of hers, Miss Michelle Jack, on Wednesday nights would cook a home style meal for anywhere from 2 to 8 guests, and would we like to partake. Michelle does this as a side line from her regular day job as a cleaning woman in Scarborough. She rises at 4:00 AM to catch the bus to work, and twice a week does these dinners for a few extra dollars. We accepted, and at 7:00 turned out on her back porch overlooking the bay for a tasty dinner of fish, plantains, salad, dumplings, and other local delicacies all cooked together in a sauce. We shared the dinner with a Canadian and an German couple. Small world in a small island: The Canadian had just finished working in Guyana with two women that we had met at Pax House. Dinner was $65.00 apiece. (That's Trinidad/Tobago dollars. The TT dollar goes at a rate of 6:1 for the US dollar. That makes a pretty reasonable fare, but it's hard to get used to the large number on any dinner check or receipt.)

Around dusk, a gospel concert and revival meeting commenced at the Gazebo. The band consisted of about 12 folks with tambourines, electric guitar, and drums. Fairly simple "zipper" songs of faith alternated with fervent testimonies from members of the band, all indifferently watched by a desultory gathering of maybe a half a dozen onlookers. The lack of enthusiasm didn't seem to faze the emcee/preacher, who fervently held forth unabated until probably 10:30 or so. Fortunately, we were far enough from the gazebo that the show was little more than a murmur below the rolling of the surf outside our window. This concert was to be repeated at the gazebo and at some other venue several more times during the week.