It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

Felt a bit better today.  Generous Laptop Refurbishing Guy e-mailed me my resume from home and I spent the day searching for jobs over the internet.

In the evening we went to dinner with my friend's neighbor, another American woman who's been here for about two years.  We went to a Ruby Tuesday, believe it or not.  I was hoping to see some local options on the menu, but it appears that homogeneity is king in Ruby's world.

Good burger, though.  One difference between eating here and eating back home is that if you ask for a burger medium rare, you get a burger medium rare.  Wasn't expecting that.  Almost too pink. 

Oh, and we got our little tree tonight!  It's one of those blasphemous artificial dealies with the lights already strung up on it, but I guess it can be excused, since finding a pine tree here would be like finding atmosphere on Mars (and just ask Douglas Quaid about that).  We also bought a bunch of green, red, blue and gold balls to hang on it.  It was all really simple and cheap, but it made us giddy nonetheless.  After we set it up we kept interrupting our conversation to say, "Aw, look at our adorable tree!", and bouncing around, singing, "We got a tree-eee, we got a tree-eee!"

Okay, the bouncing and singing part was mainly me, but the point still stands.  We were happy.

By the way - speaking of happy, I haven't shared all the shocking similarities that my new roomie and I are constantly discovering about each other, but I have to share this one:  One of her favorite movies?  The Fifth Element.  The Fifth Element, for god's sake.  She even has it here with her.  When I heard the sound of Ruby Rhod hollering from her bedroom the other night, I almost died.

Yeah, I'm in the right place.

At least for now.

Happy Three Weeks

Hit the three week mark today.  To celebrate, I got smashed with one of my Dizzy Days.  A bad one.  One of the worst ever.  Couldn't turn my head without feeling like I was gonna pass out.  The only upside was the comfort I felt in knowing that my roommate used to be a nurse.

Of course, this was offset by all of her tales of how horrible the health care is here, so I'd be pretty much screwed if something bad happened.

You know, a little bit of black and white every once in a while wouldn't be so bad, would it?

Thankfully it rained like hell all day so my dizziness didn't keep us from going back to the beach.  It did, however, cause us to miss a shopping excursion to buy some Christmas decorations.  The coming of Christmas is making us both miss home something fierce and we decided to get a little tree.

Tomorrow, then.

If my head hasn't floated clean off my neck by that point.

My Big Fat Shopping Excursion

My mother's friend sent me on a mission to get us sustenance today.  She hates grocery shopping, and I was grateful for the opportunity to contribute, so she made up a list, gave me her card and her car keys, and sent me off to the supermarket.

Yes, she gave me her car keys.  I actually drove to the supermarket.  It was just around the corner, but I was still nervous.  With the help of the mantra "stay to the left stay to the left stay to the left", however, I got there without incident.

Apart from accidentally turning on the wipers twice, when I meant to reach for the blinkers.

I took my time at the store, going up an down every aisle and familiarizing myself with everything they had to offer, and left an hour and a half later with eight bags under my arms, a better idea of the local brands, and a sense of accomplishment.

And then tonight we glutted ourselves on back-to-back episodes of Project Runway and piles of junk food.

And with that we officially became roommates ... and girlfriends.

Because it doesn't matter how evolved I may pretend to be, there is nothing like bonding with a chick over potato chips and crap television.

My Take on Black Friday

I forgot to mention something that happened during yesterday's drive, along the same lines of the sidewalk-welding experience:  On the way to the beach we had to drive around a guy who was working on a telephone pole, standing on top of an old metal ladder, that was sticking out two to three feet into the street.  And the only precaution he had taken was to put a single orange cone in the middle of the road behind him.

Whole different world, I'm telling you.

On to today:  My mother's friend took me to the mall around the corner from her place, and it was a very weird experience.  I loathe malls and everything they stand for, yet at the same time, there was a familiarity (originating from unholy capitalistic greed, unfortunately) that gave me some sense of comfort.

And speaking of a sense of comfort stemming from pure evil, I have something sad to report.  I fell off the wagon today.  We went to eat at the food court, where I decided to try the local version of KFC.  (I'd been told by both my drum instructor and my mother's friend that it's far better than its American counterpart.)  Unfortunately, one of the drink offerings happened to be Mountain Dew.  I got a little shiver down my spine at the sight of that familiar logo, but proudly remained strong and instead asked for an orange juice.

Which they were out of.

And that was all it took.  I looked over at my friend, silently pleading for help, and she just smiled and ordered for me:  Get the lady a Mountain Dew.

Well, I thought, it's out of my hands now.

Let me tell you:  every single sip had me closing my eyes in ecstasy.  As a connoisseur of all things Dew, I appreciate the distinct hierarchy of taste:  At the bottom is Dew in a bottle.  Next in line, canned Dew.  But at the top, hands down, is fountain Dew.  It's' just the best.  And sure enough I was jonesing for it again today.  Must-fight-urge ...

Moving on, I had a close encounter with a different kind of deliciosity today, too.  My mother's friend went to her salon to get a manicure, and while I waited for her, I became engaged in a political discussion with the owners' son, a ridiculously gorgeous man who, it turns out, is a goalkeeper for the country's national field hockey team.  WTF.  I didn't do too much talking, which usually bugs the shit out of me, but not today.  The subject matter was interesting, I got the opportunity to practice deciphering the Trini accent, and honestly, it gave me the perfect excuse to simply sit and stare at this guy, without shame.  All I needed was a bag of popcorn and I would have been set.

Today's Trinidad Impression:   Food pro's and con's:  Con:  There's not a whole lot of food that is manufactured locally.  Consequently, there's a lot of stuff on the shelves that's imported, primarily from the U.K. or the U.S.  What that means is that all the stuff I'm familiar with is more expensive here than it would be in the States.  But on the pro side, there's not one McDonald's in sight.  Not one.  KFC, Subway, Burger King, even, but no evidence of Ronald anywhere.

Along those same lines, there's not one Wal-Mart in sight, either.  No McDonald's, No Wal-Mart.  It's like living in Eden.

As a side note, I got independent confirmation that the sound of my laughter is, in fact, indistinguishable from the sound of my sobbing.  I was sitting in the living room watching America's Funniest Home Videos tonight, laughing my ass off, when my mother's friend called out from her room to ask me if I was okay.  She thought I was crying.

:)

A Caribbean Turkey Day Celebration

Thanksgiving!  At least in the States.  To celebrate, my mother's (American) friend took me to the beach, where we spent the day playing in the warm, pristine waters of the Caribbean.  Definitely gave me something to be thankful for.  First time I really felt like I was blessed to be living in the Caribbean, as opposed to stressed about living in the Caribbean.

And then something happened that made me think, for the first time, that the Universe was telling me I was doing the right thing here.  Check this out.  We're playing in the water and I don't know much about body surfing.  Consequently, when a particularly large wave came upon us, I had no idea what to do, besides think, "Oh shit."  And then I got smashed with it.  I got tumbled around a little bit, not too long, but long enough for me to wonder what it felt like to be caught in a riptide, and then I was out of it, awkwardly stumbling and spluttering.

And realizing that I'd just lost my glasses.

I'd lost my glasses, see, because I'd kept them on while I was playing in the water.  I'd kept them on even after I'd thought about taking them off, even after I thought about what would happen in the likely event they got knocked off my face, even after I told myself to stop being lazy and stupid and just go to the shore and drop them there, for god's sake.

So then, my friend and I actually tried to find them.  We actually went through the motions of peering through the water, fanning our feet across the bottom, and even ensnaring another couple in our search.  I was the first to give up, because I realized how ridiculous and futile the whole thing was and how slim the odds were that I would ever see (pun intended) them again.  My friend, however, had much more faith than I did, and continued to look even after I'd returned to playing.  Finally she gave up, too, and we headed back to our blanket, with her maintaining the hope that they would eventually turn up on shore.  An hour or so later she was called back to the waves, but I stayed on land, trying to soak up some more Vitamin D.  (By the way, the couple I mentioned?  They eventually came out to dry off, too, and told me they'd kept on looking even after my friend and I had stopped.  I love Trinidadians.)  A little while later I re-joined my friend in the water, and after a particularly large wave hit, I stood up and felt something hard by my feet.  I reached down, thinking there was no way, and pulled up ... a reed.  I laughed, but then felt something else tucked in the sand by my feet.  I kept my foot planted there so I wouldn't lose it when another wave hit, and then I reached down, and pulled up ... my glasses.  Against every odd imaginable, I'd found my freaking glasses.  I found them in the same circumstance I was in when I lost them, hours later, in an entirely different spot.  After I'd decided I wasn't going back in the water.

If that's not a message from The Universe, then I don't know what is.

When I found them I started flailing and screaming to get my friend's attention so I could share the amazing news, until I realized that probably wasn't the best thing to do while playing out in the waves at the beach.

Okay, so Miracle:  Check.  Onto the Weirdness Factor.  When we got back to the parking lot at the end of the day, I saw a dog lying on its side.  I thought it was dead at first, until I noticed it was breathing.  So I kept on walking, and much to my surprise, I came upon another dog on its side.  Then I looked across the lot ... and saw another.  And then another, and then ... another.  I am not exaggerating.  Five dogs littered across the parking lot, looking like they'd been hit by the plague.  I was dying.  So I made a spectacle of myself scuttling all over the place trying to steal their souls so I could do a pictorial essay on The Dogs That Dropped Like Flies, but the stupid things had that annoying trait dogs have, of hyper-sensitive hearing and alertness, and kept waking up every time I got near.

Today's Trinidad Impression:  "Flies and chickens something something something dickens".  So apparently dogs are not the only creatures to be found all over the place here.  First there were the chickens.  When we initially pulled into the parking lot, there were a couple of chickens calmly strolling around, utterly heedless of the giant death machine bearing down upon them.  It was really weird.  And the other creature that can be found all over the beach?  Mother f***ing sand flies.  I got introduced to this delightful native nuisance after I got out of the water the first time.  Let's just say I left that day a couple shades darker, with sand in my clothes and constellations of bug bites all over my legs.  Literally, constellations.  I've got the big dipper on my right leg.

Today's Trinidad Horribly Depressing Discovery:  I CAN'T GET HULU HERE.  Which means, no Office, No Southpark, No Family Guy, No Tool Academy, even.  YES, this matters, leave me alone.  You go to a foreign country all alone and see if YOU don't freak out when you can't access your preferred method of escapism.

Blargh.

Small Victories

I GOT A PHONE TODAY!!!

I got a phone today I got a phone yeah yeah I got a phone today I got a phone yeah yeah I got a phone today I got a phone yeah yeah I got a phone today I got a phone yeah yeah I got a phone today I got a phone yeah yeah...

This was basically the only thing I accomplished today, but I swear when I walked out of that store, I felt like I'd just built Stonehenge. All by myself.

So today's daily walk to town was chock full of hilarity.  On the way to town I got more male attention than usual, and the call "Sexy sexy" was directed at me more than once.  I have no idea what kind of vibe I was giving off, because it certainly wasn't what I was wearing.  Honestly, mysogyny aside, you HAVE to respect a culture that creates men who appreciate the idea of Woman so much, that they can find something sexy in a skinny, translucent, older-ish chick wearing flip flops, baggy knee-length shorts and a loose t-shirt.  I'm sorry, but that's just freaking great.  Try to find a guy in the States who would've thought I looked sexy in that, I dare you.

On a clothing-related note, all the school kids wear uniforms.  I think that's the Catholic influence in the country.  At the library today, one uniform-clad schoolgirl took a liking to me, informing me, when she saw me peel the protective plastic cover off my shiny new cell phone, that it was there to keep the face from getting scratched.  I laughed, telling her I knew that but I always obsessively peel the protective plastic wrapper off every new item I get.  This cracked her up, and she scooted her seat next to mine.  Then she watched everything I was doing on the internet, and was shocked at how fast I type.  I told her I took classes in school, and did a lot of typing in all the offices where I've worked over the years.  This gave her guardian, a woman sitting nearby, the opportunity to tell her that this was the benefit of taking classes and working hard.  It was kinda cool to inadvertently find myself part of a life lesson.

Also, it was a strangely liberating experience to compose personal e-mails knowing full well that an adorable little urchin was reading every single word I wrote.

Continuing on with the hilarity, on my way back from the library (carrying my giant, like 3-foot long, bright red Digicel umbrella that I'd just gotten as a welcome gift when I bought my cell phone), I suddenly see sparks hitting the sidewalk in front of me.  I look up, and there's a guy doing some welding on top of a wall, right next to the street.  I actually had to wait for the sparks to stop dropping before I could pass.  Can you imagine this happening in the States?  There'd be seventeen lawsuits before the first spark hit the pavement.  Cracked my ass up.

Five steps later I walk by one of the many vendors selling bootleg dvd's and cd's, and hear the hilariously incongruous sound of Elvis crooning "Blue Christmas".

Then, after passing my fruitstand guy, and exchanging one of those silent guy chin-nod acknowledgement things, I passed this lady who beams at me and says "Hello darling" every time I pass her.  I don't know why this is so, but this lady just adores me.  She's not crazy, she's not selling anything, she doesn't even try to talk to me, she just lights up when she sees me, like I'm her favorite child or something.  I enjoy this very much.

Tonight's Trinidad Impression:  The "Double", another tradition that my drum instructor's wife treated me to.  Oh my god, this is now my new favorite food.  It's another Indian dish, a spicy chickpea (or 'channa'), curry and mango chutney concoction, wrapped up in this soft, sweet bread that made my eyes roll back in my head.  The sweet/spicy combo is just right.

Of course, I'm allergic to wheat and chickpeas give me gas, so it's absolutely the wrong thing for me to ever be eating.

Ever ever.

My Stomach Hates Me

Okay, now I've had my third sighting of a man walking with a bird in a cage. Seriously, WTF???

And speaking of wtf, my intestinal tract has suddenly gone haywire on me.  Good times.  I can't tell you how much I enjoy playing these health-related detective games.  "What did I eat?"  "I ate that thing today, but I had that other thing last night.  How long does it take for food to move through your system?"  "It couldn't be this thing, because I've eaten that before without any trouble."  "I am allergic to those things, but my body doesn't usually react like that."  "Maybe my body needs to get used to the food."  "Maybe it's stress."

BLARG.

So I've decided that Rastafarian cooking, known as "Ital", is going to be the way for me to go. All veggie, no preservatives. The closest I can get to "clean" eating here.  Cross your fingers.

Oh, and forget what I said about there being no flying bugs. The rain has changed all of that. Two words: flying ants. It's a damned good thing I'm no Buddhist, because the amount of these things I've killed with my bare hands (too pissed off to even bother with a tissue) in the past few days would have me coming back for several lifetimes to come.

Today's Trinidad Impression:  Peanut Punch. Peanut butter, cinnamon, nutmeg, condensed milk.  Yum YUM.  My drum instructor's wife made it for me.  As an added treat she added some Angostura bitters to it.

 

The Angostura company is a big deal here.  The secret recipe for the bitters (which is still secret today) was developed in 1824 by a Venezuelan doctor who was trying to come up with the correct combination of herbs and spices to help soldiers who were having tummy troubles.  Bitters is added to a lot of drinks, especially liquor.  It's got a really yummy flavor, and I sprinkled a bunch in my next couple of glasses of water, hoping it would help my stupid belly. 

No luck yet.

WEEK THREE – CABIN FEVER

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy


…she says, only half-jokingly.

It rained all day, which brought with it a new dilemma I hadn’t previously considered. What happens on a rainy day, when walking is your main mode of transportation, and you don’t have an umbrella? You’re even more chained to the house that you’ve now come to view as your prison cell. A roomy prison cell, but a prison cell nonetheless.


I saw two men walking down the street carrying birds in cages today. What the hell was that all about?

Coconut Woman

Officially here two weeks today.


And officially going stir crazy. I feel like I’m under house arrest. Gotta get me some income, tutte suite.


Today’s Trinidad Impression: I got get my first real taste of coconut water tonight. Right from the source. My drum instructor’s wife took me to downtown Port of Spain, where we found a vendor in the main square. An Indian man with a cart full of yellow and green coconuts … and a machete. When asked if I wanted one with “plenty water”, or “jelly”, I said “plenty water”, not having any idea what I was talking about. Asked if I wanted it cold, I said yes (that one was easy). Then he pulled a coconut out of a bucket full of ice and took a couple of terrifying swipes with his machete until he exposed the hole in the nut, and the water inside.


Sadly, this fascinating moment reminded me of watching a hip-replacement surgeon grind down a bone until the now-exposed marrow started to leak.


Yup. That’s where my brain went.


Anyhoo, before I could drink it I had one more choice to make – straw or no straw. I wimped out and chose straw. And then I did one of the cooler things I’ve ever done: drunk directly from a coconut. In the middle of the street. It wasn’t very sweet, but it was very refreshing. Apparently coconut water is chock full of minerals and an excellent way to keep oneself hydrated. When we were done, my friend tossed her empty husk back onto the cart with all the other castoffs, but I took mine home, thinking I could cut up the meat, or ‘jelly’, and save it for later. Unfortunately, I discovered that what I thought was meat was actually the inedible husk. That was embarrassing.


Next time? Jelly, no straw.

Not Much to Say

Today’s Trinidad Impression: I keep seeing several models of cars that I don’t recognize. I couldn’t figure out why, until I remembered that car manufacturers make some models that aren’t sold in the States. For instance, the Nissan Sunny. It’s all over the place here, and I’d never even heard of it back home.

Unless I had my head completely up my ass, which is a distinct possibility.

Ah, the Kids Love Me

Connected with some kids from the school around the corner today. School was getting out as I was walking home, and when I approached a small group of elementary schoolers, one Indian girl told me that my tattoo was “real bad”, and another kid agreed, saying, “For real.” I smiled at them, and then after I passed one of the girls yelled out that she was going to get one like it. “Oh great”, I thought. “This girl’s mother is gonna find my blatant Caucasian, tattoo-having ass, and tan my hide.”

Played outside on the back porch again today, while the bats whirled around the backyard. I’m starting to really enjoy my ‘Vitamin B’ nights out here: Beating my drum, feeling the Breeze, and watching the Bats. Very good for my Brain.

Lots to Take in

I had a 28 Days Later moment while walking down the street today. As I passed underneath an air conditioning unit, a drop of the toxic waste water dripped directly into my left eyeball. I completely freaked out at first, trying to figure out what I should do. Then I decided it was too late, I’d already been infected, and it was only a matter of minutes before I started dining on the blood of those around me.

Ahem. Moving on.

Tons of observations today:

Today was my first day walking with a rag. It was infinitely better than using a tissue.

I was listening to my inner dialogue today and realized that I’m already starting to think in Trini slang.

Noticing a pervasive scent of mothballs in the air. Not sure why. Could it be a precaution against the humidity? I even smelled it in one of the taxis.

Mannequins here are made from a more, how does one put it, voluptuous mold. What am I trying to say? Well, to speak plainly, they’ve all got Bubble Butt. Take that, Madison Avenue.

I’ve discovered that the ‘driving on the left’ thing also carries over to foot traffic, just like driving on the right does in the States (Notice this the next time you’re walking down a busy street). It’s an entire mindset. I realized this after the ninth or tenth time I nearly walked straight into somebody because I was giving way in the wrong direction.

Something else I realized while walking today: As a single white woman in a foreign land, trying to do what I can to keep myself from being a target, I’ve never in my life had the opportunity to ignore this many people on a daily basis. Today, however, I don’t know what it was, but I allowed myself to make eye contact - with an incredibly beautiful man with ‘ras’ (dreadlocks). And honestly, it was really refreshing. We exchanged an electric smile that stayed on my face the rest of the way home.

Seriously, there are some bee-yoo-tee-ful dudes here. Good lord.

Today’s Trinidad Treat: Roti, the unofficial national dish of Trinidad. It’s an Indian dish comprised of bread wrapped around curried meat or veggies. I was surprised to discover that there is a very large Indian contingent here. Apparently it’s the second largest segment of the population, right behind Africans.

Confessions from a Recovering Dewaholic

Officially two weeks Dew-Less today. And I’ve had a headache every day of those two weeks. Go figure. I actually had the opportunity to get some at the supermarket today, and although I felt like a recovering alcoholic every time I spotted that logo that I know so well, I resisted the urge every time.

I did, however, buy a couple of bags of chocolate, so I haven’t gone completely over the edge.

Today’s Trinidadian Impression: Had my first taste of corn soup today – a spicy, split pea broth with potatoes, dumplings, and whole chunks of corn cob (yup, the entire cob). Apparently used as a good hangover cure. Lotsa people eat it at the end of a night of liming.

Playing Through the Pain

Had my job interview today. The place was very professional and hi-tech. It’d be a great place to work even in the States. Their demo reel kinda scared me, actually, because they put out some very high-end stuff that I’m worried is beyond my skill level. No work for me right now, but hopefully there will be some come January, when the Carnival festivities kick into high gear.

Tried to open a bank account again today, but found out that as a foreigner, in addition to two forms of identification, I also need either a letter from an employer, a utility bill in my name, or a “Letter of Welcome” from my bank at home. The first two made sense, but that last one cracked me up. Is it just me, or does that sound suspiciously like I’m being set up for some kind of arranged marriage?

At any rate, I also learned a very hard lesson today. I hadn’t been thinking too much about dehydration because I’m in a more humid climate than when I lived in the high desert in New Mexico. But today, as I was experiencing one of my hellatious headaches without the aid of any Excedrin, it occurred to me that I sweat, a lot, every day here. Not only is my body not used to this, but I also lose a lot of water this way, too. Duh. So on the way home I bought some Gatorade and a box of granola bars, then hobbled, half-blind, into a pharmacy, where I bought ten Excedrin (you don’t have to buy a whole bottle here, they actually sell individual tablets). Then I took a shower to cool my body down, lay down naked on my bed with the fan blowing full bore on me, popped three Excedrin, forced myself to eat and drink despite my nausea, and watched several episodes of The Office until I felt better. Which I did, in a matter of maybe an hour. It’s amazing how well one’s body responds when you give it what it needs.

But the lesson is this: from now on, I shall never allow myself to travel without liquids, nor run out of Excedrin (although my liver is going to kick my ass if I don’t figure out a way to get rid of these headaches).

I shall also never allow myself to leave the house without a bandana, or ‘rag’. Every day I’m out I carry a tissue so I can mop the sweat off my face. But I noticed today that several people were carrying around bandanas or washcloths. I read later that most Trinidadians never leave the house without one. It definitely made me feel like less of a wimp to realize that even natives are affected by the heat, too.

And I learned an interesting lesson about keeping cool as a woman. Turns out there’s a practical reason for wearing dresses here: a dress is much cooler than pants in this heat, as my drum instructor’s wife, who can always be found in one, later confirmed. So I have to get my few dresses sent down to me as soon as I can.

Me in a dress, all day every day. If only my former co-workers could see that.

Today’s Trinidad Impression: There are several tiers to the public transportation system here: There are buses, similar to buses in the states, except you have to buy tickets in advance; there are Maxis, which I’ve discussed at great length; there are route taxis, which are cars that drive along specific routes, similar to Maxis (except they hold less people, obviously); and there are private taxis, which are most like taxis back home. Now, the thing is, all the car taxis here are unmarked. So essentially you’re getting in a car with a random man and trusting that he is, in fact, a taxi driver. For example, today I found myself in quite the potentially compromising position. I’m walking down the street, and a driver beckons to me. I ask him if he’s a taxi, he says yes, and I get in the car, wondering briefly if I’ll finally have the need to use my ever-present mace, but too distracted by the air conditioning, as well as the burgeoning aneurysm, to do anything about it. Fortunately he soon picked up a woman and her child, and then another woman, so I was free to sit back, relax … and enjoy the sensation of my head being slowly crushed in a Jigsaw-like torture device.

WEEK TWO – BREATHING EASIER

Today was the beginning of Productive Week.

Sort of.

There are two things I need to get myself established here: a bank account, and a phone. And this is how I found out what it’s like to actually live in a non-capitalistic society. Number one: banks close at 2:00 here. I found this out after I tried every single one of the four entrances to the bank, twice, with no luck, and finally a bystander took pity on me and informed me that the bank was closed. Number two: Retail stores here do not overstock to the point that you can get anything you want at any time. No, here they actually run out of stuff. I went to a few different cell phone places looking for their cheapest phone, but none of them had it. And none of them knew when it’d be in stock again. This is a good test for my Anti-Capitalism/Wanting-To-Slow-Down ideals.

Hopefully they’ll fare better than my Anti-Media-Dependence ideals.

Today's Trinidad Impression: On the way home I got wordlessly chastised by the driver of the Maxi (giggle) for putting my feet up on the island between the front seats. I’ve noticed that a lot of the drivers take great pride in their taxis, most of which are decorated according to the drivers’ individual tastes. For example, I rode in one, driven by a woman, with a theme that would have had my nephew in fits. The entire interior was covered with airbrushed pictures of various Transformers.

So This is Trinidad

So today was beach day.

Oh wait - I forgot to tell you about a delightful little quirk of what will soon be my new digs: The Resident Evil Elevator. Last night I had to run back up to the apartment to grab my ticket, and on the way I noticed a sign in the elevator that said something to the effect of, “If this deathtrap gets stuck between floors, don’t lose your shit, because, you see that giant white plastic ‘That’s Easy’-esque button down there? You can just press that and one of the security guards will come for ya.” 

Yeah. This phenomenon happens enough for them to have a sign about it. Now, if that weren’t enough, on the way back into the elevator, I tripped and nearly brained myself. Why? BECAUSE THE FREAKING THING HAD SHIFTED UP ABOUT FOUR INCHES DURING THE THIRTY SECONDS THAT I WAS IN THE APARTMENT.

At that moment I knew with great certainty that every time I step into that elevator I will not be able to stop myself from thinking about yelling “Pull me back in, pull me back in!”, right before I get decapitated.

Anyhoo, beach day. My mother’s friend takes me up this skinny mountain road that winds through this lush tropical forest, occasionally opening up onto this ridiculous vista overlooking the ocean, and essentially leaves me struck dumb for twenty minutes. And then suddenly we’re at the beach. With several hundred other people. It was an incredibly surreal experience. 

We walked along the beach for a bit, and at one point I spotted a $1.00 TT bill floating in the water. I snatched it up and proclaimed it to be my lucky ‘sand dollar’. Yuk yuk.

Then, before I started to worry about having to re-apply the sunscreen to my tattoo, my mother’s friend decided it was time for me to be introduced to a native staple called Bake ‘n Shark (which I initially thought, when I first heard it pronounced, would somehow involve bacon). There were probably a dozen or so shacks selling the stuff, but only one had a line: the world-renowned Richard’s Bake ‘n Shark, which has been featured on The Food Network. We queued for maybe twenty minutes, and when we finally got up to Richard himself, my mother’s friend chatted him up, and he generously gave us double portions of the fried shark, tucked into a hot and fluffy roll. I slapped on some condiments, sat down, and dubiously took my first bite. 

Now bear in mind that I am a staunch anti-fish person when I say this:

It

Was

Awesome.

And that is that. Leave me alone.

So I got home feeling like I’d finally gotten a taste (literally and figuratively) of what this island has to offer. And then the night got even better. I hung out on the back porch, feeling the breeze, and listening to the anachronistic sounds of Cyndi Lauper, Joan Jett, Sinead O’Connor and Heart wafting from the downtown area.

Then I decided to practice my drum, and my drum instructor’s wife came out and chastised me for playing with it covered. (She keeps trying to convince me I don’t have to be afraid, but I’m still embarrassed.) Then she offered to play with me, and I got so excited that I forgot all about my embarrassment and whipped the cover off.

Then she took me to meet my drum instructor’s mother, the former director of the National Heritage Library, and current poet laureate of Port of Spain (the capitol). She’s an amazing artist/activist, and I hope I get the chance to hang out with her often. She’s definitely the kind of inspirational person that I want to surround myself with.

Before we left she introduced me to two more traditional Trinidadian tastes: a drink called Mauby, made from bark, with anise added to it. It’s apparently very cooling and good for cleaning the blood, so I definitely need to get me some of that. 

And the other was something they call fig, which is actually green bananas. She’d made it into a kind of pie that was similar in taste and texture to chicken parmesan, and outrageously delicious. I could’ve made a full meal of it.

A lot of gifts this weekend.

Today’s Trinidadian Impression: It’s going to take some time to get used to the driving here. In addition to driving on the other side of the road, none of the roads have double yellow lines. Just single white ones. And that constantly makes me think every road is a one-way road, with two lanes.

Thank god I decided not to ship my motorcycle down with me. I’d be dead already.

What a Difference a Day Makes

Woke up this morning feeling completely panicked about my living situation. And then I got a phone call. It was my good friend from Connecticut. You know him as Generous Laptop-Refurbishing Guy. We spoke for an hour, and hearing his voice and kind words totally grounded me. And made me cry.

Then I got a surprise phone call from my mother’s friend here in Trinidad, and she dropped the most amazing gift in my lap – she was coming to ‘rescue’ me. She’d decided that I was going to stay with her, for free, until I got all my ducks lined up. I couldn’t believe it. She literally swooped in to save the day. And I started to cry again.

The only thing I needed to do now was talk to my drum instructor’s wife, who’d gotten in late last night, after I’d gone to bed. I dreaded telling her that I wanted to move, because I didn’t want to disappoint her. But the conversation went amazingly well. She was very understanding and supportive, and even gave me my security deposit back, which now meant that I could eat again.

And then I cried for the third time this morning.

So my mother’s friend picked me up a couple of hours later (about an hour and a half later than she’d told me she was going to arrive, which I’ve quickly learned is Standard Trini Time, and which, incidentally, happens to go very nicely with Standard Giovanna Time) and told me to bring something formal, as well as my swimsuit, because we were going to the theater tonight and the beach tomorrow.

Course, I don’t have anything formal with me and I balked at the idea of being seen in a swimsuit in public, but no matter.

When we got to her apartment I nearly cried again. I walked in, and the first thing I noticed was the ocean. The second thing I noticed was the air conditioning. The third thing? Flat screen television (which meant cable television to my sadly media-starved brain). And lastly, but perhaps most importantly – wireless internet. In two weeks I will once again be able to connect to the world I knew, whenever I want. Sigh.

Later, while standing on her balcony staring at the ocean, I was introduced to my first taste of Carib Shandy, a soft drink with a little bit of beer added to it, that serves to cut the sweetness. Seriously delish.

Then we went to see a performance at the brand new, and controversial, sixty million dollar Performance Arts Center that just opened up this week. Part of the controversy stems from the fact that all the construction work was done using Chinese labor, as opposed to hiring local labor.

Before the performance I tried another first – a traditional Christmas drink, made from the sorrel flower, with some spices, particularly clove, added to it. Very different and yummy.

Now, this was the first time in a week that I’d been around other Caucasian people. During the week prior, when I was the only one around for miles, I never once felt odd about it. And that is, in part, a testament to all the Trinidadians around me, who didn’t seem to care. So it was actually quite a shock to see other white people at the theater. In fact, it was kind of disappointing. Shit, I could’ve stayed at home and seen that.

The performance itself was meh, but during the show my mother’s friend’s driver kept explaining to me the meaning behind several of the inside references that everybody but me was laughing at, so I learned a lot.

But by far the coolest part of the evening was that the freaking Prime Minister of Trinidad was in the audience, and in fact nodded to me on his way in to the theater, before I realized who he was. And he sat about six rows in front of me. I’ve learned since that he is quite a controversial figure, as are all politicians, but at the time I was definitely a bit awestruck.

Later on as we were driving home I was informed by our driver that there was nothing you could get in the States that you couldn’t get here. Naturally I took that as a challenge and proceeded to quiz the hell out of him. Turns out the only thing I could stump him on was Taco Bell. Obviously, no big loss. Apparently you can even get canoli’s here.

First chance I get, I’m gonna eat one of them for you, Mom.

So I woke up this morning thinking I was about to starve to death in a foreign land, and went to bed having just spent the night at a brand new multi-million dollar world class theater, in the company of the prime minister of the country.

Huh.

Words I learned today:

Lime – to hang out, socialize

Hash – a cross country foot race, involving drinking and socializing
Mark – to trim one’s facial hair

Mash Up – to break up

Lonely Lonely Lonely

Had a Kind of Blue day today. Not nearly as cool in real life as the album would lead you to believe.

I keep waiting for signs of Thanksgiving, which of course, I will never see. Didn’t realize how attached I was to that holiday. I’ll have to find some way to have my own personal celebration next week.

Along those same lines, it’s a very lonely-making thing to realize that all the horns honking around you will never come from cars driven by people you know. Those honks will never be one of your friends saying hello. It’s kind of horrible, actually.

Today’s Trinidad Impression: Christmas is a huge deal here. Which is interesting, because I think it’s a good indicator of how Christian the country is. Apparently Christianity is the number one religion here. I wouldn’t have guessed that.

More of the Same

Same deal as yesterday, practiced my drum for a bit longer, went back to the library, e-mailed a friend of my mother’s who’s living in Trinidad for a year, and didn’t sweat quite as much. Initially I thought this was because the weather was cooler, but when my roommate told me that it hadn’t changed, I realized that my body must already be acclimating.


Other than that, starting to go stir crazy. How can someone be completely stressed and completely bored at the same time?


Sadly, the best parts of the day were: counting how many times a commercial for a flu-reliever called Panadol came on while we were watching our nightly glut of television (twenty times), and staying up too late watching an old favorite, “War Games”.


Greetings, Professor Falcon. Would-you-like-to-play-a-game?


Today’s Trinidad Impression: All the signage appears to be written in slang. The words are spelled out phonetically, the way they’re pronounced. For example, I saw a sign in the Maxi, warning passengers not to touch the driver, which read, “Doh touch meh!” Makes me wonder if this is the future of Ebonics in the States. Although here the slang appears to be an integral part of the national dialect. It’s what makes the dialect, I think. I’ll have to do some research on its origins.

Getting Mobile

Had a brutal night last night, getting little to no sleep. Had a mini panic attack early on when I realized I simply couldn’t escape the heat, and the feel and sound of the fan blowing air onto me was getting really abrasive. Then at one point, around 5:30 in the morning, on my way to the bathroom, I nearly stepped on a monstrous, red, upturned cockroach.

Good times.

Nevertheless, today was productive. Took the Maxi taxi (once again the prepubescent side of me cracks up at that name, thinking of sanitary napkins every time) to the capitol to meet with the guy who’s helping me find a job, and he got me an interview next week with a company that might be looking for a freelance video editor.

Then I decided to walk to the library, and when I asked a stranger how to get there, instead of just giving me directions, she actually walked me most of the way there. Never had an experience like that in the U.S.

The library was air-conditioned and I got a free hour of internet time, and all of that – being in a library, one of my favorite places on earth, in air-conditioning, one of my favorite things on earth, and connecting with some of my favorite people on earth … all made for a good afternoon.  Then I triumphantly navigated my way back home, stopping to buy the Delicious-Looking Fruit I’d seen yesterday.

Yup. Today was a better day.

Today’s Trinidad Impression: There appears to be a large Muslim contingent in the area, because every day at dawn, noon and dusk I hear what I think is a daily call to prayer.

Depression Sets In

Made a desperate call to my niece today, letting my depression outweigh the price of the call. Nine minutes (and $20) later, I felt a little better. She convinced me to pick up my drum, and although it was half-hearted, it did help to play for a little bit.

Also made it to the NetCafe today. $5.00 TT for 30 minutes of service. That comes out to, oh wait, only $.90 US for a half hour’s worth of internet. Okay, that’s cool. I feel better about that now.  On the way home I was going to buy some delicious-looking fruit, but when the guy told me it would cost $8.00 for a bunch of bananas, I thought he was trying to rip me off and sanctimoniously huffed away empty-handed. It wasn’t until I got home and did the math that I realized that the price for that bunch of bananas came out to $1.33 US. Ah. I see. Well, then. Tomorrow I buy us some fruit.

Then tonight three drummers stopped by the house to buy some drums and when one of them tested one out, I got all toe-curly and thought, “Oh, that’s right. That’s why I’m here. I remember now.”

Walked to the Chinese restaurant with my roommate and spent $16 TT ($2.75 US) for a good-sized combo plate that allowed for leftovers for tomorrow. This was a good thing.

Until I worried about what would happen if I got food poisoning in a foreign country.

Sigh. It never ends.

Today’s Trinidad Impression: No flying insects! Back home I would never open a window with no screen on it, because of the bugs. But here? Not one screen, and no flying bugs in sight. It’s hot as poop, but there are no flies, no mosquitoes, no moths, nada. Craziness.

PART TWO – TRINIDAD

WEEK ONE – BUYER'S REMORSE

I think I made a huge mistake.

It could have been the incessant barking of the neighbor’s dog all night, or the fact that with the windows open and the fan on I was still sweltering, or the fact that I literally had no spending money left, or the fact that I had no phone or internet access and therefore no way of contacting everyone I know in the world … could have been a combination of all these things. But the upshot was this: I woke up feeling more scared, lonely, homesick and full of regret than I ever remember feeling in my entire life.

And here’s a question for you: How did roosters get the reputation for crowing at dawn? Any time I’ve lived within hearing distance of a rooster, like this place, for example, I’ve found that the damn thing crows at all times of the day. Explain this to me.

At any rate, forced myself to get up, washed my clothes, ironed a pair of pants, took a shower, put in a call to the guy who’s supposed to be finding me a job, went over some paperwork, settled in, worked on the blog … and sweat my ass off, panicked, and tried to figure a way out of this. Either this latest struggle or the country itself, not sure which. Didn’t even play my drum today, even though this was the first real opportunity I’d had in a week.

It was a little better once my roommate came home from work. He cooked us dinner and then took me for a walk to show me where the nearest internet café is. Tomorrow I connect with the world I knew, and hopefully find some peace.

Today’s Trinidad Impression: Lots of stray dogs. It would appear that that stereotype is accurate.

Damn.

Day Seven – D Day

St. Lucia. And the day I disembark. Which means, the day I get on a plane. Yes, this also means the day I get to Trinidad, but that is incidental. Well, at least it was trying to be incidental, but my spirit was actually putting up a good fight against my anxiety this day. So I guess the Trinidad thing and the plane thing were pretty much neck and neck all day. Believe it or not, this is an impressive thing.

So I took my time packing up the Piece of Shit Piece of Luggage – oh wait, did I tell you about this? The piece of luggage whose left wheel melted off as I was trucking it all around Ft. Lauderdale, and specifically while I was making the thirty-five hundred mile trek from the Port Everglades security checkpoint to the actual Carnival port? You know, the trek I arrogantly thought I could make? The trek I had to stop halfway through to take a Dew and Donut break because I was on the verge of passing out? The trek that, when I noticed the bag seeming to get heavier and heavier, and before I realized this was because the wheel had been obliterated, made me think I was having a stroke? The trek I finally bailed on ¾ of the way through, allowing a passing taxi to take me the rest of the way, while still paying the flat $10 fare I would have even if he’d picked me up three thousand miles back? Yeah, that trek.

Now, lest you feel bad for this poor, maligned, over-burdened piece of luggage, that literally burned my hand when I touched the mangled mess where the wheel should have been, let me also say that this was the piece of luggage that kept flipping the f*** over every time I let go of the frigging handle. Poor engineering, not poor packing, damn it. That’s my story.

At any rate. Took my time packing up the P.o.S.P.o.L., getting cleaned up, eating my last cruise meal, then, with the hour I had left, decided to take a walk around the island. Which, I soon discovered, was not nearly as “friendly” a place as St. Maarten. Almost immediately regretted leaving my mace back in the room. The “Naïve Tourista Gets Mugged” headlines running through my brain were not at all mollified when I was accosted by a couple of taxi drivers looking to get a fare out of my lazy American ass.

As an aside, one of the drivers told me I looked “special”. Which was fine, until he followed it up with the statement that I looked like I was “from the moon”. From the moon, the man said. The man said I looked like I was from the moon. Anybody who can tell me what the hell that means, please do feel free to share.

Then – it started to rain. Initially I thought, “Oh look, a delightful mid-afternoon island drizzle”. “Isn’t this all so native and quaint”, I thought. A half hour later, however, when the drizzle had turned into a downpour, and the rain had started to threaten the integrity of the last meclizine and xanax I had tucked in my pocket, the ones that were going to get me through The Dreaded Flight, this was no longer a quaint island rain. This was now Lucifer’s Spit.

Trying not to lose my shit, I hurried back to the ship, where I was forced to change out of my now-soaked clothing. This, of course, meant I had to re-open the P.o.S.P.o.L., destroy the delicate packing balance I’d created, and then re-Tetris the entire thing with the soaked clothing on top.

Fast forward to the airport, where I discovered, after five months of planning and research, that I’d overlooked one crucial detail: apparently you can’t enter Trinidad with a one-way ticket without having a work visa. Or, if you say you’re going there to study drumming, a student visa. Or even a letter from your drum instructor. And apparently offering to call your instructor right there on the spot won’t quite do it. So you suddenly find yourself having to either buy a return ticket or remain stuck in St. Lucia for all eternity. Goddamnit. So the guy asks, When do you wanna return? You respond, I dunno, uh, three months from now. You seem to remember something about your passport being good for 90 days with no worries. February 8, 2010, it is, then.

And with that ticket goes your spending money.

F**********************************CK.

Now. Despite this abysmal setback, the plane rides, shockingly, went quickly and smoothly, apart from the fifteen seconds of terror I had right as the plane started to warm up and I seriously considered jumping out the door and finding a charter boat to take me the rest of the way.

But – the meclizine, the xanax, the meditation, the self-talk, they all managed to get me through. The rum and coke I stupidly splurged on during the 2^nd leg of the flight (the ‘long’ leg, the forty minute one), from St. Vincent to Trinidad? That was just icing.

By the way – including that rum and coke, in the past five days I’d spent exactly $8.54, a fact for which I was exceedingly proud, especially with the severe chocolate jones I was suffering from during the duration of the cruise. And $4.54 of that was for the 1.5 liter bottle of water I accidentally bought when I found it in my cabin and assumed it was complimentary. That’s the only time those Carnival buggers got me.

And then da da da daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa … suddenly I’m in Trinidad, and feeling profoundly triumphant because I did it, damnit. Got picked up by a driver who was initially told by my drum instructor to hold up a sign so we could identify each other, until I suggested that all I had to do was hold up my right forearm. Sure enough, the driver saw me before I saw him.

Turns out he’s a historian, and I got an amazing history lesson about Trinidad on the way to my new home. Too bad I was too doped up at that point to remember it clearly.

Got in, met my new roommate, got a cursory tour of the house, went to my bedroom, plopped down on the bed, opened my trusty laptop … and passed out. To yet another episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm. That show has defined this trip.

What does that say about this trip?

Day Six – Sci-Fi Love, Ocean Water, and Adult Toys, Oh My!

Today – St. Maarten. First day at port. Grateful to be able to skip a dose of meclizine and xanax for the day. Although my head actually started to get wonky on me by the time it was time for the next dose, and I realized just how quickly a body can get used to that shit. My liver’s going to need a month to recover from all the crap I dumped into my system just to get me through a week’s worth of travelling. Argh.

I went up to Deck 9 for breakfast, got a full view of this island laid out before me, and immediately started laughing. In that “Where the hell am I, what the hell am I doing, how can I possibly be here” kind of way.

But I quickly shook it off, because I was on a mission today – to go to the shop of “That Yoda Guy”. Yes, in the pamphlet listing all of the places to visit in St. Maarten, nestled among all of the gemstone shops (which, by the way, gave me a horrible, icky feeling, thinking about all the native labor abuse that was undoubtedly taking place in order to bring those sparkly baubles to the hordes of unknowing, or uncaring, Caucasian clientele), was a shop purporting to be the place where one could meet one of the creators of Yoda. YODA. And not the b.s. c.g.i. Yoda travesty, either – we’re talking the Yoda here. I was positively giddy.

So I headed out, ready to let my geek flag fly. I walk into port, my first contact with a Caribbean Island, mind you, and the first thing I heard … was System of a Down. I heard System of a freaking Down blaring from one of the booths. I was horrified. They already suck on American soil, so hearing them in a lush tropical setting was a real pisser.

At any rate, I pushed past my disgust and started walking to the downtown area. I was in a suspiciously friendly mood, so I ventured smiles at everyone I passed. And not one of them was returned. (I even had a “Hey, my eyes are up here, buddy” moment when one guy I was trying to coax a smile from couldn’t drag his eyes away from … my tattoo. That incorrigible attention whore. It actually made me think, “Ah, so this must be what it’s like to have breasts.”) Finally I realized that the reason I wasn’t getting any responses to my social advances was because I was wearing my Goofy Chinese Restaurant Hat with the brim pulled down to my nose. Nobody could tell that I was looking at them. Duh.

I eventually found That Yoda Guy, after wandering down all the wrong streets, through all the wrong construction, taking sad notice of the KFC and Burger King, and mortifying myself when I saw a Shell sign and felt the pull to go in and buy something to drink (because it was familiar, shame on me).

So as I said, I found the place … by literally backing into it. I was standing on the sidewalk trying to get my bearings when I heard this pre-recorded voice start talking to my back. I turned around, and lo and behold. A makeshift museum dedicated to this guy and his story. Seemed pretty self-serving, actually, which initially turned me off, but once I went upstairs and met the guy, it was all gravy. Primarily because, and I had to ask him about this … ahem … he was ANTI-CGI YODA, THANK YOU VERY FREAKING MUCH. All y’all neo-Star Wars-phytes can suck it. I win.

Of course, my sci-fi street cred was ruined when he showed me a photo of one of the original Yoda models in a deteriorated state, and I said what a shame that was, and he said we all have to deteriorate sometime, and I said - quite cleverly, I thought - “But we don’t all make it to 300” (attempting to reference Yoda’s age at the time of his death, yuk yuk), and he was kind enough to laugh, but then I quickly remembered that Yoda was 900, not 300 when he died, and so then I said, “I mean 900”, and f’ed the whole thing up. Nothing worse than a geek who screws up an inside reference. Tut tut.

Went back outside, shamefacedly, my time at St. Maarten’s complete as far as I was concerned, but then I figured that while I was here I may as well check out this whole “ocean” thing. So I walked along the beach with my shoes off and my pants not quite rolled up enough (because I hadn’t shaved my legs in weeks, an upside to being single), collected seashells for my sister, and mused, as I sloshed through the beautiful water, that prior to this, I’d always considered “tepid” a bad thing.

As an aside, did you know that there’s a Ben & Jerry’s Caribbean knockoff called Ben & Marco’s? I didn’t. Same font and color scheme and everything.

After an hour or so, I started heading back to the ship. Now, on the way into town I’d seen a store called the Adult Toy Box. Very intriguing, I thought, wondering if Caribbean adult toys would be any different from American adult toys. Naturally, on the way out of town, I had to see for myself. I walked up the steps, opened the door … and walked right into it. No exposition, no foreplay … just dildos. I’m pretty sure I said “Whoa” out loud. And as open-minded and bold as I may be, I immediately felt uncomfortable, because it was just the woman behind the counter and me, with nowhere to hide. I couldn’t simply scurry away now. No, now I was committed to “looking around”. Which I did, feigning interest in this or that item, trying to determine which section I’d be looking in if I were actually looking for something, while at the same time trying to figure out how much time I needed to spend in there before I could safely excuse myself … and then that damn woman asked me if there was anything specific I was looking for. I tried to work out how to answer that safely, but quickly realized that my brain had gleefully decided to throw wooden shoes into my machinery, because I couldn’t for the life of me come up with any non-double entendre response to that question. So I simply said “No, I just came in”, and left it at that. Then I accidentally kicked over Adam’s Cock as I was examining the Pin The Macho On The Man game, and decided to call it a day.

And that is when I stepped out into the glaring sunlight, in plain view of some passing fellow cruisers, who wouldn’t have known who the shit I was if it weren’t for this DAMN ATTENTION GRABBING TATTOO.

Ahem.

Back on the boat that night I forced myself to stay up late, because I was going to go dancing at the club before I left this ship, by god, and although the music was good this time, the crowd was non-existent. Apart from a handful of black people, who cared not a whit that they were the only ones on the floor, and who, upon seeing me bobbing around near the perimeter, wanting to dance but too white to enter the dance floor unafraid, beckoned me onto the floor with them. I dutifully obeyed. And let me tell you - it was just the best. Because: a) they got me to dance, and b) didn’t make me dance with them.

The best, Jerry, the best.

So it was just me and them for song after song, they taught me some of the new line dances I’m woefully unfamiliar with, and then it was time for them to go. As they passed me on their way out, one of the women thanked me for sharing her birthday with her and another told me I was a fun dance partner and that they’d be there again the next night. And it made me think of the time I went dancing by myself while I was living in Alamogordo, New Mexico, for three months, and a black man came up to me and said “You take the party with you, don’t you”.

It would appear that I am a hit with the black crowd. Which is a good thing, considering the venture I was about to embark upon.