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.