thepancollective

you're invited to the wedding

Saturday the 5th of August 2006 was the first time She asked for a commitment.  

Saturday 2nd of September 2006 will be the second time ... and not the last. 

something to do on saturday

For those of you who would love to wake up early on Saturday morning and do something different, there's always the Greenlight REvolution. Have a click on the link and see if it appeals to you. Since it will involve being outdoors for at least two hours, from 8 - 10 a.m., let's hope that the weather will be ideal (i.e. light grey skies to filter out harsh sunrays and keep us cool ... but no rain to drench our placards or our guitars). Of those who have said they are coming, two have specifically REquested 'RE' words that they like from the list. If you are coming to be a part of the project, you can also book a word beforehand ... or you can just turn up on the day and choose one word at random. Who knows ... the random word you get may be just the word you need to apply to yourself: RELAX ... (been working too hard? stressing yourself out about a certain situation when you really don't need to worry?) RECONNECT ... (with yourself? with someone who's been on your mind?) REFOCUS ... REWARD ... REFLECT ... REUSE ... REGENERATE ...

Some people may wonder about the reason for the whole REvolution. The only true answer will come from experiencing it. 

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.)

you could call it mobile radio

So there we were taking the scenic route down to the south of the island.  We were driving through the plains of Central Trinidad, enjoying the breeze and the sight of gayaps - a collective effort in which residents of a community come out and help a neighbour build a house.  Food and rum and music flow freely and everyone is doing something.
I'm  not sure exactly where we were and then all of a sudden I caught sight of a some commotion in the middle of a field. I thought it was a Hindu wedding, but it was just under a tent literally in the middle of a canefield, one side shooting up fire blackened stalks, the other dotted with white egrets picking gracefully through the freshly ploughed dirt for lunch. One of the fellars in the car says it's a mike competition. Huh?  Us town people never hear about that. We keep driving but of course by now half my body is hanging out of the car.  So we forget about the meeting that we're already half hour late for and head back to check out the mike competition.
It's the strangest thing. Anybody who's ever lived outside of the city should be familiar with the cars and their loudspeakers. They are particularly popular for funeral announcements but they really kick in around election time. It's really the ultimate form of noise pollution, which is why, I guess they have the competitions for these in the middle of a canefield. It's also a kind of mobile radio station that caters to the peculiar needs of the community it serves.
In the mike competition it's not just about the power of the mike.  Some of the speakers atop the cars are slamming. Fancy paint jobs and interesting depictions of life.  Some carry the name of the owners, others say things like 'No Fear' and 'Bomb'.  It's a very masculine space, rum and beers flow and there's a lot of loud shouting.
However they were all blasting the sort of nasal and elegiac Bollywood film standards that took me    back to my childhood growing up in San Juan, listening to Lata Mangeshkar and other luminaries popular Indian music that filtered into my experience of life. 
We walked in, in the middle of a heated discussion about if judges from the audience should be used.  Would the audience ajudicators be clued into what the main judges were listening for?  I couldn't really tell.
It's a really refreshing to discover a whole new aspect of Trinidad culture by accident. I mean I knew these mike cars existed and they are still a very formidable means of communication in rural areas, but I didn't know this was an art that was taken so seriously by its practitioners.
It's a little surreal to be in 33 degree heat in the middle of a canefield with ghazals blasting into the universe. It would be interesting to investigate the connection of this form of communication to India. Was it always an exclusively  Indian Trinidadian thing?
Seeing as I was one of three women in the field I was invited to the finals of the mike competition, which is going to be held at the Hindu Credit Union's headquarters at 10.30 on Tuesday, which is Indian Arrival Day. No coincidence surely.   The melancholy tunes, the New World men with old world inflections.  Displaced people making a new life for themselves having crossed the Kala Pani.
My cultural education continues...

inviting you

On Thursday 25th May 2006 at the National LIbrary in Port of Spain there will be a photography exhibition entitled "The Caribbean in the Age of Modernity", organized for the 31st Annual Conference of the Caribbean Studies Association. See attached invitation here: Download online_invitation_to_exhibition.doc The image shown here is one of four of my photographs which will be shown, along with the work of other photographers and artists (listed on the invitation).

This site also gives more insight into what the exhibition and conference are about. For me, the theme 'Caribbean in modernity' conjured up images of the construction crane which has become such a common part of the landcape, sticking out like eyesores all over the skyline and rapidly replacing old buildings and trees. I find them to be strangely picturesque, annoying and invasive all at once. In keeping with the theme of modernity, I used my digital camera (not film) and did not take straight shots. I combined two shots per image to make my statement. In the photo featured here (Once upon a time), a crane from the new port is reflected in the glass of the building across the road. To show 'the good old days' being taken over by the construction boom, I inserted a piece of another photo (of a rural family from Kernahan liming in the porch of their simple wooden house). The arm of the crane seems almost continuous with their roof ... yet the two worlds are vastly different. The values inherent in the family's simple, humble world are being quickly swallowed by the construction and fast-paced, commercial madness. It will be interesting to see what other interpretations of 'The Caribbean in Modernity' are. 

parke arikok

On Good Friday I visited Parke National Arikok, Aruba's only nature reservation.

We drive past the rangers' kiosk. Like always, they raise their hands in greeting as we head on in to the dirt roads. We notice that the roads have been somewhat improved. I am so happy that they don't make these roads asfalt. The only way that a lot of drivers will respect that they are in a nature park is if they are forced to drive slowy because they are looking out for holes in the road that can damage their car.

Tourists seem to love the fact that they are going off-road. I suppose that in the cities of Boston, New York and Chicago there aren't many dirt roads that wind their way through hills.

It is noticeable that the rainy season is all but over. The brown is now dominating over the green, which makes the view a bit desolate. It is not a forgiving terrain. It is not sweet. It is not gentle. Yet its starkness is beautiful in its own way.

The pitas are in bloom. Their long stalks are filled with bright yellow flowers, reminding me of the color of the midday sun.

As usual, we stop at the hill of Miralamar, which is the narrowest point on the island, where you can see the sea in the front, and if you turn, you can see the sea as well. We pass the dunes of Boca Prins, which are snowy white. I once again marvel that they exist at all amidst these brown rocks.

We finally reach our destination, the restaurant where we are going to have a traditional Aruban meal of fish, fried funchi (yellow cornmeal) and pan bati ( typical Aruban bread made of maize).

I look to my left and see the waves crash on the rocks, I smell the sea air and I feel privileged that I live here.

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).

river lime

It's a national pasttime.  On a weekend or a public holiday, shed the constrictions of a hectic work week, forget your high heel shoes and abandon city life.  Pack your car and head for the mountains.  The Northern Range of the island is criss-crossed by clear rivers and some astonishing waterfalls.

The river lime is an important thing to Trinis, particularly in the East and particularly to the Indian population.  It's not uncommon to see a river lime in progress, a pot of curried duck bubbling on a tradition three stone wood fire and lots of rum flowing.  When the combined heat of pepper, the fire under the pot and the fire in the rum get to the limers, they head for the water.  It hits your skin with a startling coolness that refreshes and cleanses and rejuvenates.

We didn't do a typical river lime this Saturday. My sister friend and her family who know these hills as well as their Carib ancestors. 

We left Arima in the early afternoon, climbing through the mountains into a cloud of mist that transforms the ridge into some surreal landscape, full of the sounds of unseen birds and the rustling of ferns.  We got to the river and began to walk upstream in search of the water fall.

Rivers here are well-revered by practitioners of traditional religions.  It's not uncommon to turn up at a river bank and witness a spectacular and moving ceremony of Baptist, Orisa, Hindu devotees paying obeisance to river spirits, which are usually feminine.

It makes sense, I think as I traverse the Marianne River.  The nature of this river as it cuts a path through the mountains is round and sensuous. Tempestuous in parts, deep green pools in others. Curves and secret hiding places.  Soothing the city chlorine out of my skin, I am pleasantly surprised at how the water softens me.

We walk along a path cut and maintained by a shaman.  And I feel like I'm walking through history.  This place remains fairly untouched by the hands of industrialisation and the noise of too many irreverent river limers.

We hear the waterfall long before we can see it. It is an insistent roar, spitting spray when we finally get around the corner and face its majesty. We go for a closer look and I shed my clothes and head for the deep green pool that receives the full brunt of the water fall.  It's cold here, colder than downriver.  We dance about, not daring experience the fullness of the water.  The wind begins to blow, whipping up the water and making the roar even louder in my ears. I feel I need to sing a song for Osun, Lady of the Rivers, of fertility and grace and love. Just to say thanks for being so beautiful.  The sun comes out and my heart sings.  We head back at sunset.  It's still raining at the top of the mountain.  We drive through a thick bank of clouds, awed again by how much more vibrant the forest greens look in the twilight.  Night falls and fireflies come out to light our way.

vehicular advice

Vacation is usually not cheap, and unfortunately, I can't claim that Aruba is an exception. People who haven't visited Aruba yet but wish to do so often ask me if they should rent a car.

To which I answer: "If you dare to drive in a foreign country, absolutely. And rent a jeep*".

Now, that fortunate (?!) soul that receives my advice, upon consulting with any of the car rentals, would inmediately find out that jeeps are more expensive than regular cars. My popularity usually gets a dent at that point.

However, if you don't rent a jeep, it would be very hard for you to see what I saw when I took the picture above.

You would  probably miss out on this view, as well.

A jeep gives you freedom, and more choices without a high probability of being stuck in a hole or mud. As Martha would say, that's a good thing.

Trust a local. Get the jeep.

*I have no affiliation with any car rental on the island, just so you know.

all i need

Just off the northwestern coast of Trinidad & Tobago, there are five tiny islands.  On these islands, many rich and wealthy Trinbagonians have their vacation homes; so for those ready to "get away from it all" and escape the hustle-and-bustle of Port-of-Spain life, these lucky sorts need merely hop on a small dinghy to get out to their slice of paradise and while away a long weekend in their private tropical hideaways.

Last weekend, my husband Marcus and I were invited on a 3-hour boat cruise "down de islands."  The event was a going-away party for Marcus' boss (who was being transferred back to his native Venezuela), and so about 30 of his coworkers and their spouses rented a touring boat for the late afternoon and evening sunset.

Many of the houses we passed during the cruise were breathtakingly opulent -- complete with servants' quarters, huge private jetties for yachts and multiple jetskis (should the need arise), and large satellite dishes (because, apparently, what's a tropical getaway without cable?).  We were all oohing-and-aahing with each passing mansion, mesmerized by the amount of money that was being displayed on each passing island.

Finally, at one point, we passed the house you see in the picture here.  It was a large house, clearly, and had an amazing view of the ocean -- however, it didn't have the servants' quarters (as far as I could tell), nor did it have the satellite-dish-large-enough-to-contact-Neptune that most of the other homes had. 

"There, honey, you can buy me that one," I said, putting on my most winning smile.

"Oh, right," he replied.  "That one that costs only about US$ 2.5 million or so?  Yeah, no problem."

"What, are you saying that's a bit out of our price range?"  I put on my most innocent face.  I don't think he bought it.

"Umm... yeah.  By about 2-point-5 million or so."

"Hmph," I responded.  "Seems to me you need a few extra jobs, then.  I mean, really -- think of the money I'm saving you by not requiring the servants quarters!"

Because I'm low-maintenance like that.  Funnily enough, though, Marcus chose that very moment to get himself another drink.