thepancollective

rubbish

Whenever I have a job to write something for tourism (as I do now), I find it a challenge to fully comply with the client's request to 'make T & T look good'. All glossy colour, nothing ugly. Of course, it's not impossible to make T & T sound pretty - we still have a lot to offer in many areas. But ... it's very unlikely that a client would say: "Make sure to include the parts about carelessly strewn garbage floating in water, cluttering forest floors and choking our mangrove areas. Oh! And emphasise that the proposed smelters will slowly kill our flora, fauna and general population!"

Reading tourism-type descriptions of T & T, I realise that no matter how many forests are ravaged, wild animals slaughtered and green spaces invaded by concrete monstrosities, our ecological statistics remain frozen in a tourism time warp, simply to make T & T look like the premiere exotic eco-destination: 'X amount of birds, butterflies, reptiles' ... 'Y amount of rare species of this or that' ... 'Z amount of exotic flora'. How can these figures remain constant in light of 'development'?

What steps are being taken and what is being put in place to clean up our image? Can our 'tourism truth' continue to lie in pretty cliches, unchanging statistics and glossy, tropical images Photoshopped to seduce foreigners?

soufriere rumbles again

Over the last few days, I tagged along with a girlfriend of mine to Miami to do some shopping (you can get just about everything here in Trinidad -- nonetheless, sometimes a girl just needs a Target).  On Saturday, just as our plane was about to roll away from the gangway on its way back to  Trinidad, the pilot of our aircraft suddenly came over the intercom:

"Ladies and gentlemen, we're going to take a bit of a scenic route to Trinidad today -- instead of our normal route, we're going to head towards Haiti, and then towards Aruba and Bonaire and follow the north coast of Venezuela into Trinidad.  This is because of the eruption of the volcano in Montserrat this morning, which is spewing volcanic ash into the atmosphere, and it is against FAA regulations to fly through volcanic ash."

My friend and I were shocked, to say the least -- we hadn't heard anything about a volcano!  But sure enough, a few hours later, we found ourselves flying past the ash cloud far in the distance; according to the pilot, the cloud had then reached 60,000 feet.

While it took forever for the international press to do a story on the collapse of the Soufriere Hills laval dome, I was finally able to find one.  The good news is that all the inhabitants of Montserrat are expected to be safe.

Thank goodness.

(Photo courtesy of the Montserrat Volcano Observatory.)

the nature isle

I made the resolution a couple of years ago, after a disappointing holiday visit to Canada, to begin taking my vacations in other Caribbean countries instead of in North America.  Until then, the only other Caribbean country I'd been to on a pleasure (i.e. not work-related) trip was Puerto Rico.  And as most Caribbean readers might guess, that was a shopping trip, not really a vacation getaway.  All these fantastic destinations, the stuff of cold-country residents' dreams, just a hop, skip and jump away, and I'd only been to one of them.  That's a bit shameful, isn't it?

So last year, I went on a three-day holiday to St. Lucia, all organised by a travel agent.  This year, I thought I'd try planning my vacation myself, a five-day trip to Dominica.  I just got back, and it was wonderful!  Activities began just as soon as we got there, and every day things just got better and better and better.  I had myself a fabulous time, and Dominica is an incredibly beautiful place.  It's the kind of beauty that you can't really appreciate by just looking at it from the inside of a tour bus — you've got to get out and be in it: walk in it, run in it, trek it, hike it, dive into it, soak in it, swim in it, sail it, climb it, even drive it (and believe me, the roads in Dominica, with their narrowness and slopes and curve, are an experience in themselves). 

For someone from Barbados, which is flat and almost completely deforested, the mountains and greenery of Dominca were absolutely awe-inspiring.  As the plane descended to the Melville Hall airport, I kept craning my neck to peer out the window and marvel at the sheer number of trees.  It was evident even before we'd landed why Dominica is known as the Nature Island of the Caribbean.  And after hiking to over 3000ft above sea level, on the way to the famous Boiling Lake, it was also clear why the original Carib inhabitants called it Waitukubuli, meaning Tall is Her Body.  That climb is something my legs will not soon forget! Fortunately there was also an abundance of wonderful natural hot pools in which to soak and soothe my aching muscles.

All in all, I don't think I've ever had a better holiday.  I've already begun planning my return trip.

takes me back

When the cold days, the grey days, the short days of winter seem like they will never end, all I have to do is put on my David Rudder CD and I am immediately back in the warmth, hearing the waves crashing gently on the beach. 

So says the journaling under the top left photo (the view from Grand Anse Beach, Grenada). It sounds corny but it's true. David Rudder never said a truer thing when he wrote Song for a Lonely Soul.

The other photos were taken in Barbados (the bird of paradise) and Martinque (the fishing boat and the hibiscus).

When I last listened to the CD, I toyed with the idea of doing a scrapbook page based on this song. So when I was recently challenged to create a page using the colours of blue and orange and including the lyrics from a song, I knew immediately that these photos combined with this song would be perfect.

After looking at my photos from my recent trip home a friend remarked that I had more photos of scenery than of people, and that I'd become a real tourist! In a way this is true, but what I've realised is that living outside the Caribbean has given me an appreciation for all the little things I took for granted. What I used to consider "just bush" has now become stunning landscape. The hibiscus has to be the most beautiful flower created, how come I never noticed that before?  Or saw how many different shades of blue and indigo make up the Caribbean Sea?

We took close to 1000 photos, digital and print, on that trip home. Stay tuned for more pages as I scrapbook my favourites.

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.