7 in the morning by the sea in Chaguaramas outside Port of Spain. Wednesday. The ferry to Venezuela leaves from here at 9 and I finally have the ticket in my hands. Yesterday I was here trying to buy it, the lady wouldn’t sell it unless I could present a ticket going out of Venezuela. No one way!
But… But… I had not decided that yet… Back in Port of Spain I got to the Internet, checked prices and decided to buy a ticket to Miami in 2½ week. Don’t know if I will travel more in the US – maybe – but it’s also the cheapest way to get to Europe or the Middle East. Whish will probably be next.
Anyway. The ticket-lady is happy now. I have checked in my luggage (along with maybe 20 other passengers (small boat) and shortly wee will take off.
Yesterday morning I left a sleepy Charlotteville village with one of the few busses heading out of town on a Sunday. After just 15 minutes I arrived on the opposite coast in what should be the ultimate place of divers and bird lovers. Not that I would know, but I am willing to learn 🙂
Just after arriving, a friendly fisherman offered me a ride to “Little Tobago” – the bird island. I had checked prices and ways in my guidebook, and his offer sounded fair. So after checking into a guesthouse and buying some food and water (there is nothing to get at the small island), I was sailed there in a small blue boat by Roy the fisherman in underpants and a warn-out “I LOVE NY” t-shirt. His friends call him Fatboy, I was told later that evening. And Roy would come back and get me four hours later.
Little Tobago is a beautiful place, and it was nice walking along the small paths hearing sounds and watching birds everywhere. I tried to catch a few of them on the small video spiced up with some “Tony Allen” background music :-). Don’t worry if you can’t hear my voice. I don’t say anything interesting.
After crisscrossing the island, I took a swim by a reef there. Roy had provided me with some snorkeling equipment, and though it was difficult because I had forgotten my contact lenses, it was an amazing experience to get a glimpse of the world down under. With thousands of small colorful fish following each other and some big blue ones going against the crowd. On the way back, Roy stopped by “Goats Island” (an even smaller island) where I jumped in and had a look down at the enormous reef. Waaau.
I definitely need to do some more snorkeling or diving some day.
And just to finish up on the day, I ended it outside a bar by the sea where I had a cold beer talking to the extremely friendly locals here. A am continually amazed by the relaxed atmosphere and how much you need to slow down in order to enjoy it fully. An old man on the street actually said to me: “Hey man. You look busy” commenting smilingly on my (apparently) quite focused walk to a restaurant. “You should relax, man. You are in Paradise:-)!”
June is an old lady who has been living here with her dogs for the past 12 years. Born in London. Married in Canada. And now retired and alone in Paradise. We had lunch by the same table yesterday (Friday Roti at Lyda’s) chatting seriously about the state of the world.
June was a child in London during the 2nd world war.
– I remember one day riding my bike alone in the street and suddenly I saw this airplane coming down right above my head. Goodness Gracious. And it was flying really low and I could see the swastika, and then the pilot stuck his head out of the window looking down at me. I was the only one in the street.
June tells me she could follow how the plane flew further down the road and dropping its bombs in an old building. Ammunition or gun storrage, she thinks it was.
– England was not even really at war, but it was horrible and it felt like it would last forever. And then just think about the children who are right now growing up in the places where they have been living in war for decades.
I told her about my experiences in Palestine and how freedom there is limited in so many ways that life is made almost impossible. They have been under occupation for 60 years now.
– Yes, it’s horrible isn’t it?! You would thing people had learned.
Saturday in Charlotteville and I am enjoying the lazy morning silence. My days on these paradise islands will soon end, and so I figured it would be better to spent more time in fewer places. Morten Villadsen convinced me to stay here a few more days and I found an amazingly friendly Guesthouse just a few meters away from the sea, where I now have a room downstairs. Next door to the sons of my host Elizabeth. Amazing place. I could get used to this 🙂
By the way; I have passed Sonson’s boat and Jungle’s shop but not personally met any of Morten’s beachfriends yet. Tomorrow I will move on from Charlotteville – probably to Sprayside and Little Tobago. And I hope to get onboard a ferry from Trinidad to Venezuela this Wednesday. They depart only once a week.
I am writing these lines in the shadow of a palm tree on “Pirates Bay” – a five minutes’ walk from Charlotteville (YES, Morten – it was an amazing view!!!). And the beach was a beautiful little place with yellow sand and emerald green water. Though I am not much of a beach boy, it has been nice just spending the day here in the sun, reading, swimming, looking at bikini girls etc.
At least the first hours until I started getting bored…
Then I started asking myself questions like; what I am really doing here when everything important happens at home! What do I hope to figure out along the way? Do I have a goal? Should I change things when I return to my life in Denmark?
No answers yet. Because after a few minutes I rediscovered the beauty of drawing things in the sand. Yeer!!! You know, clearing a spot with your hands and using your fingers to curve your thoughts. Depending on how far down you go, the surface will get wetter and harder, and I have actually found that I dare to write things here that wouldn’t go in my Moleskin, simply because I know that with stroke of my hand, – all the secrets would be gone. Highly recommendable!!
Tonight I arrived in the “absurdly pretty fishing town of Charlotteville” (quotation stolen from guidebook). This place in the very north of Tobago is the village where most of the islands fish is taken in, and the action is concentrated around a 2 kilometer-wide bay with boats and nets and waves. You could almost think you were somewhere along the Danish West Coast by the scenery, but people here look different and tend to speak much more.
Like… when I took a walk this evening. A woman looked at me when I passed her shop window saying “Hey boy… You look great”. ThanksJ. You don’t see that happen often in “Hvide Sande”.
All though there are more tourists here than in Trinidad (where I met close to zero) the atmosphere is still quiet and nice, and you don’t get attacked by people wanting to sell things. I only met this one guy, but he was kind of nice; A young musician wanting me to buy his music.
And he played for me with his guitar and I sat down listening to his happy-reggae-tunes and watching his huge smile underneath his long, dark hair. I explained that I couldn’t really carry a CD for the next two months and that was okay. Instead we bought a beer and he offered me a piece of newly cached tuna fish straight off the grill behind the building, where his friends were gathered. Mmmmmm…
Hej alle. Bare hurtig opdatering fra en lille internetcafé Tobago, hvor jeg landede med færgen fra Port of Spain i går aftes. Om lidt er jeg på vej videre nordpå – formentligt sammen med et par andre danskere backpackere, som jeg mødte på det (meget faldefærdige, meget billige) guesthouse hvor jeg overnattede. Dårlig, dårlig skummadras i øvrigt.
Mit kamera opfører sig mærkeligt efter mit vanduheld i regnskoven, men det formåede alligevel at tage træ-billedet nedenfor i formiddags hvor jeg klatrede op til “Ford King George” og lå i skyggen foran fortet mens jeg læste i Jens Blendstrups lille fantastiske bog “Gud taler ud” og spiste morgenmad – blandt andet en ubehagelig carribisk udgave af Cheerios, som jeg ikke køber igen…
Arriving at my guesthouse just by the sea // Walking the street beeing greeted by everyone // Swimming in mountain pool with waterfalls // Having breakfast with former US jazz drummer Horace // Being lost in the forest and suddenly meeting an old man who knows the way // Receiving a sweet SMS from Denmark // Discovering new sounds // Finally stepping down on the hot beach sand // Eating coconut soup at “Laguna Mar” // Having bites and scratches everywhere on my body // Drinking a cold lager in the sunset // Watching Juno on the balcony at night //
Two weeks ago I attended a powerful service in Harlem, New York. This Sunday I decided to experience Caribbean Christianity in my local paradise village in Trinidad. Everyone in this country seems full of life and joy, and so I expected this to reflect on their Christian practice.
It did not.
The priest in the local Catholic Church is a tired, old white man from England (the last colonial power here) who did not seem able to mobilize any passion for the gospel he presented. The congregation consisted mainly of well dressed black people, and though they were sitting nicely at the benches, I felt no connection between the priest and the people. No sparks. No smiles. No spirit.
It was a classic service with songs, prayers, readings and a sermon. Today’s text was about Jesus flying off to heaven and included the mission statement, and the priest used this as a chance to complain about a lack of people’s engagement in the church and our Christian mission. Mentioning that;
During the last year there had been NO newly baptized in the congregation
The children in his church school DON´T even know what the word sacrament means
And the annual harvest market must be CANCELLED if no more people are willing to help
The priest realized that his church had lost connection to the society and admitted that the village people would rather gather in front of loud missioners on the street “yelling simple statements in his loudspeakers with a rather shallow theology”. But instead of offering suggestions of what to do, he just tiredly stated the problems leaving everyone in the room feeling quite uncomfortable.
That is what happened in the church without passion.
