thepancollective

sun lover

 

The weather is starting to cool down over here and I'm not pleased. We had a gorgeous few days of Indian summer last week, but it is time for me to come to grips with the idea that Fall is here, and here to stay (well atleast until winter rolls around). This is the time of year when I am very happy that I have beautiful beach and tropical photos to scrapbook. Just looking at them makes me feel warm. I think I'll be keeping this particular page hanging over my desk until May next year.

birth of a day

Two days at Balandra for a friend's birthday turned out to be just what I needed to relax and reconnect. And this morning, perhaps as a 'birth of day' gift to all of us, we were treated to a spectacular sunrise over the ocean, viewed from the window of the beach house (see short sunrise video here). Being there, we felt as though we were somewhere else other than Trinidad, especially as the beach lower down from the house was one we had never come across. Because it was fairly tucked away from public thoroughfare, it was clean and quiet. We enjoyed the tranquil green river, perfect for floating in the inner tubes of large tyres (the ones I drive around with in my car trunk for exactly that purpose) ... and the sea: blue and clear with enjoyably rough and playful waves. I think the Salybia/Balandra/Toco coastline in Trinidad has the best beaches. The drive: scenic, rural, still charmingly untouched by the concrete and condos of modernity. The sea: beautiful, often deep blue or green with stark white wave crests, quite rocky in areas, a bit rough, often with strong currents, but enjoyable nevertheless. You just have to be careful.

If you are one who loves to collect beach rocks and driftwood (as I do), that coastline is where you will most likely find your greatest treasures. I got quite a few this weekend: those black rocks with the striking white markings and also many heart-shaped finds.

the turtles of grand riviere

This past weekend, my husband, daughter and I went to the north coast of Trinidad to witness the nesting of the giant leatherback turtles.  There's something about going out onto the beach at nightfall with one of the local guides, and watching the dark, lumbering shadows make their way out of the water, find the perfect spot, and each laying 80 - 100 eggs, before making their way back to the deep. 

It makes you feel small.  Tiny.  But important.  And part of something so huge as to defy comprehension.

At dawn the following morning, we awoke and made our way back to the beach to see the last of the evening's turtles returning to the sea.  And lest my husband and I think that we were the only ones who understood the significance of what we'd witnessed, as we watched one of the turtles make her way into the waves, our little daughter, Alex, suddenly waved her two-year-old arms and cried out:

"BYE-BYE, MUMMY TURTLE!"

(This post is also cross-published at BlogHer.)

calm ... before the storm?

Yesterday afternoon (prior to attending a public consultation in La Brea hosted by the EMA), two friends and I went to Union Village to have another look at the criminally cleared 1,000 acres of land (once peaceful virgin forest and dams). We chatted with one or two villagers, bought some plants from a young woman whose home overlooks the ravaged expanse and learnt that there was a beach a little further up the road that ran by her house. As we had some time before the meeting, we drove to the end of the road, which took us to a kind of cliff overlooking the peaceful waters featured in the photograph. To our right was a simple, well kept wooden house with curtains blowing in the wind, bareback children running around in their shorts or diapers, playing with a motley band of protective pothounds and little white puppies. I looked at the large window of the house which overlooked the bay and said to my friends: "Imagine waking up to that every morning." One of them made the comment that the people probably take it for granted as they are used to it, but I don't think so ... They must know what they have. The children certainly looked very free and were shining happy. Maybe what they, in their innocence, don't know is what they stand to lose if the smelter is indeed 'a done deal' and their houses (along with all others on that quaint little street to the beach) are cleared away ... perhaps overnight, as the forest was.

bathsheba

The rugged east coast of Barbados.

sandcastles

There's nothing like being on a beautiful Caribbean beach to turn you into a child again. My husband Lucas didn't go to the beach much when growing up, in fact when we met he told me that he didn't like the beach at all (which gave me a serious moment of pause, being such a beach baby myself). Having been to the beaches on the coast in Marseille I totally get it now.  Luckily he changed that tune after his first "real" beach experiences in Grenada and Barbados about two years ago.

While on my favourite beach in Barbados, Payne's Bay more popularly known as Coach House Beach, I started telling him about how as a child my favourite thing to do on the beach was to build sandcastles. Another fun activity was "digging for water"; we'd dig and dig into to the sand until we got to the water level (how ironic that in my first job after graduating from UWI I had to do this to collect water samples?)

So we decided to build a sand castle that day. No doubt the other beach-goers were extremely amused to see two grown adults scrambling around the sand, using a plastic drinking cup for a mold, and seriously discussing how our castle should look. Lucas also decided to sculpt a sea turtle. It was the best fun I'd had in ages. Ahhhhhhh, the simple pleasures in life! 

on spirituality

As is common in Trinidad, I was raised Catholic, by my good Catholic mother.  I went to a good Catholic school.  I attended good Catholic mass.

And as sometimes happens in life, I'm not such a good Catholic anymore.  I don't remember the last time I attended a Catholic mass.  My daughter was baptized an Anglican.  My mother has just given up.

Even so, my lack of Catholic observance doesn't make me any less spiritual.  I pray -- and pray every night with my daughter.  I do believe in God.  And I do see His work in my life.

The one thing that has never changed, never once, though my growth from young Catholic girl into not-so-Catholic woman, is the fact that I always ... ALWAYS! ... feel closest to God when I'm near the ocean.  I don't know if it's the power of the waves, or the serenity of the water, or the sound ... but it never fails.  For me, God is in the ocean.

When we were in Tobago this past weekend, I looked out over the ocean, and there, in front of me, was a glass bottom boat.  The name of the boat?

"Fear Not."

Indeed.

what lies beneath

This past weekend, my family and I decided to spend the Easter holiday in St. Lucia.  We had an amazing time -- partly because we went with some great friends, but partly because my husband, Marcus, and I were able to go diving for the first time in three years.

We were supposed to go on Good Friday, but for various reasons, the trip was cancelled. (Turns out it might have been a good thing, since Simone of Simone's Belize Blog tells of a Belizean legend that says those who dive on Good Friday will turn into mermaids!)  We did finally make it out on Saturday morning, however -- and it was heavenly.

While many people believe that scuba diving is an thrill-seeker's sport, I find it quite the opposite -- for me, diving is particularly meditative.  To conserve air, a diver is required to breathe...very...slowly.  For me, this slow breathing, accompanied by the complete absence of sound (save for the bubbles being released from your regulator), the sensation of flying, and, if you're lucky, the breathtaking scenery -- it's a time of complete relaxation. 

It had been a long time since I breathed that deeply. I wish I could've stayed longer.

not too far

Nowhere in Trinidad is "too far away."  In my experience, everything is within 3 - 4 hours (max) away by car (traffic notwithstanding). However, whereas those of us from "East" and "South" are accustomed driving long distances, most "town"/West people don't seem to know their way past the lighthouse in Port of Spain. They refer to anything beyond it as "bush" and exclaim that it is "too far."

So ... if you're in the POS area and looking for a good beach that's not "too far" away, Tairico Bay is a good choice. Getting there involves a pleasant 30 minute cruise along winding roads and touristy scenery (vast blue ocean, thickly forested mountains, panoramic skies, the undulating green of Moka Golf Course, wooden roadside 'shacks' selling local goodies like salt prunes, preserved plums, jewelry, etc.).

Just after Maracas Bay, Tairico appears. It is not as popular (populated) as Maracas and that's why I like it. I find it a humble beach, offering a bumpy dirt track entrance, open sand with hardly any stones (although the 30 foot 'Trini tsunamis' of late 2005 brought in quite a bit) and water that's mostly blue-green, clear and cold. The beach is normally dotted with families or small groups playing in the water, building sandcastles, liming near cars or lounging in the sand. The atmosphere is not invasive. No matter how many people are there, there is always a sense of privacy and 'ownership.' As a result, my friends and I, who end up there mostly on spontaneous afternoon jaunts, refer to Tairico as 'our' beach.

The water is rarely too rough -- it presents itself as either large, smooth swells that break close to shore or, rarely, as clear smooth glass. It was on one of those rare, glass-like days that my English friend/video-project-partner Rose and I bobbed for hours (from mid-morning until sunset) in the inner-tubes of tyres (which I keep in my car trunk). Unafraid of the depths below us, we drifted, chatted, laughed, lazily soaked in sun, marvelled at rainbows in moments of light rain ... and ignored the persistent pick-up lines from the rasta who clearly felt that our day was incomplete without him.

I don't go to Tairico that often (as I prefer Toco and Manzanilla/Mayaro which are 'far')... but every time I have been there it has struck me as a beach of simple moments, deep conversations, deep silences, natural baptism, renewal of spirit, relaxation, creation, laughter, memories and magic. My friends who have gone with me will agree ... as I'm sure you will also.

(For those who don't know what it is, the second photo shows a jellyfish on the sand).

what's in a name?

Isn't this a lovely picture? This beautiful strip of blue sea belongs to a beach at the most eastern end of the island. The water is very clear, not rough at all, and generally not too crowded.It is also a source of irritation to me.

But, arubagirl! you might think reproachfully, How can this beautiful beach be a source of irritation?  Before you move on to call me nuts, let me explain.

I've known this beach all my life as Roger's Beach. That's how it appeared on maps, that's how locals and tourists would refer to it. "Oh, you're going to Roger's Beach?" "Excuse me, can you tell me where Roger's Beach is?" "Girl, you totally should come to Maria's party at Roger's Beach".

At some point, however, somebody in a position of power decided that 'Roger's Beach' simply wasn't sexy enoughfor this beach. Their choice? 'Coco Beach'. How original. Not to mention that there are hardly any palm trees there, so the name is a bit misleading.

Ordinarily, at the news of a name change I would shrug my shoulders, roll my eyes, and sigh. However, Roger's Beach is not the first place to have to change names in order to suit somebody's notion of what 'cool names' are.

Perhaps it's a sign of me getting older, this clinging to the names that I'm used to from my childhood. However, I also fear that this cavalier changing of names of streets, buildings and now beaches is being done without realizing that we're removing a bit of history, a bit of uniqueness from our island. And neither Arubans or Aruba deserve that.