tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-386095232024-03-14T04:19:56.061+00:00Maxted Travels, Trinidad8th to 28th February 2007Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comBlogger8125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38609523.post-89682794889827038662007-03-07T11:07:00.002+00:002009-06-02T13:44:24.655+01:00Ian's map of Trinidad<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPkScIUQIIia3pml0eXpuQGzJmoxEi2E6GPtieMXba6Lfzcy5H2xNJo0ps1ifpB0Lvszg7tvLQuIfplaV2ZaO63JMyJIQTxIcinFU9KSQKDxCx0Oprtilj31zk4HeCPsUmW5PQzA/s800-h/TRINIDAD2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPkScIUQIIia3pml0eXpuQGzJmoxEi2E6GPtieMXba6Lfzcy5H2xNJo0ps1ifpB0Lvszg7tvLQuIfplaV2ZaO63JMyJIQTxIcinFU9KSQKDxCx0Oprtilj31zk4HeCPsUmW5PQzA/s400/TRINIDAD2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5039138316287770242" /></a><CENTER>Map of Trinidad showing places visited.<br />Click on map to see full size</CENTER><br />Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38609523.post-55871154714672904082007-03-02T14:59:00.000+00:002008-12-11T22:46:25.998+00:00Travelling with royalty - no ants in our pants<B>28th February 2007, Exeter</B><br />We arrived home yesterday landing at Heathrow to a chilly damp morning where the air felt wonderfully clean and fresh after the suffocating warmth of Trinidad. There is much to appreciate in Britain but it passes unnoticed unless you've been away for a little while. The streets seemed so clean after the rubbish everywhere in the towns of Trinidad. It also sounded very quiet!<br /><br />Our flight was not due until the evening of the 26th so while David and Karl spent the morning packing their ants and caterpillars, we hosed some of the accumulated dirt off the car and then hosed the accumulated dirt off ourselves. Mid morning we went up to Asa Wright to pay our bill and enjoy a final coffee on the fantastic veranda where the humming birds and agoutis did their best to make us regret that it was time for us to leave.<br /><br />Mid afternoon the heat at Simla got too much for us all so we packed the car and moved down to the air conditioned airport to pass the few hours until our flight. Here Ian and I managed to have our two small bags and hand luggage searched five times! It's surprisingly embarrassing having people wearing rubber gloves tipping out your dirty laundry and rummaging through your cosmetics bag. Needless to say all they found to confiscate as an illegal export was our bottle of water. Why they kept picking on us we cannot imagine but it worked to the benefit of our scientific friends who walked serenely through as we occupied the search team, saving them some possibly awkward questions that may have arisen concerning their insects. Although regarded as a pest and not an illegal export, the airline may possibly have been unhappy had they known several thousand non-fare-paying ants were on board.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiytR1UZorsjOPyTdtDPyhKohBAcGU5Z43YR48H0HDsZ4CQ1DfWi6PPNKmHxta97LPIrbyumCn846reAFU_hgf5Xi3lFSxE6K6kqVuhLJVcG0xznjp0FUWUciKw02JCRY1YGhhJTQ/s640-h/YIMG_0387.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiytR1UZorsjOPyTdtDPyhKohBAcGU5Z43YR48H0HDsZ4CQ1DfWi6PPNKmHxta97LPIrbyumCn846reAFU_hgf5Xi3lFSxE6K6kqVuhLJVcG0xznjp0FUWUciKw02JCRY1YGhhJTQ/s400/YIMG_0387.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037342578583920226" /></a><CENTER>Bachac ants are definitely not wanted. Wall poster in Valencia, Trinidad</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-wbhyphenhyphenqekzdtKyRWNjNlzPh9dgyY4RpXh2SdW3Mjujz3yt2fD713KqcP-L1iV20R1pVz1PpcF5nxzQ28agEOq69u49DLFs6lW0_g-bK6gbPqFquiEzp5wC_NfdlaT7ZuoMO9TA0w/s640-h/YIMG_0529.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-wbhyphenhyphenqekzdtKyRWNjNlzPh9dgyY4RpXh2SdW3Mjujz3yt2fD713KqcP-L1iV20R1pVz1PpcF5nxzQ28agEOq69u49DLFs6lW0_g-bK6gbPqFquiEzp5wC_NfdlaT7ZuoMO9TA0w/s400/YIMG_0529.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037342582878887538" /></a><CENTER>Caribbean Airlines flight from Port of Spain to London</CENTER><br />Our flight was uneventful. We touched down briefly in Barbados where three Glaswegians got on and sat nearby. They were typical stereotypes spending the journey speaking loudly and incomprehensibly as they purchased alcohol from the stewardess as well as consuming all the cheap gin and rum they'd been allowed to bring on board. (Unlike us with our dangerous bottle of water!) We understood only one word of their vocabulary but it's quite likely it was the only word they knew. It didn't really make us proud to be British. Trinidadian English is far more comprehensible to our ears. Around 3am they eventually burped their way to sleep and the rest of the trip was peaceful. <br /><br />Representatives from London and Whipsnade zoos should have been meeting us at Heathrow to collect their quotas of ants but the timing was wrong. With 25 nests and limited suitable short-term storage facilities we decided to return to Exeter via Bristol where several containers were needed at the zoo. We travelled with royalty, carrying 25 huge queens in margarine tubs complete with their thousands of attendants. We eventually reached Exeter late afternoon. The ants still had to be taken on to their temporary home in Paignton but for us the holiday was over.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha4kHRioL0kAcVjRKkA6FCNpk-8kc2ighNFYejbNiHEyj7v8oms_ECKdSde8PcVLWz1gTZMRM3NycHTOmvcYuZHS6qfbp3082wS_Y6_8HvRhXKqOc4uJC_u6v9SVWsgfvYh0zTOQ/s640-h/YIMG_0519.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha4kHRioL0kAcVjRKkA6FCNpk-8kc2ighNFYejbNiHEyj7v8oms_ECKdSde8PcVLWz1gTZMRM3NycHTOmvcYuZHS6qfbp3082wS_Y6_8HvRhXKqOc4uJC_u6v9SVWsgfvYh0zTOQ/s400/YIMG_0519.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037342587173854850" /></a><CENTER>All that remained of our money, about £2.20</CENTER>Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38609523.post-27335991260602404262007-03-02T13:53:00.001+00:002008-12-11T22:46:26.374+00:00Village school in the rain forest<B>Tuesday 20thth February 2007, Simla, <br />William Beebe Tropical Research Station, Trinidad. (Continued from previous entry)</B><br />Once we'd met up with David and Karl we set off to explore the East Coast which we followed down from Matura to Mayaro. We purchased shark and bake, the traditional seaside meal of a cornbread roll filled with fried shark and salad topped with hot chilli sauce. Together with a beer it made a delicious lunch on the beach beneath coconut palms with the shallow white waves breaking on an empty sandy beach that stretched endlessly right down the east of the island. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNfbrX_hHi6IJbgJoG_UMGccun1xpDTscI0AX1YdvJZmR6GTL1E3u11VVWTHO_VQ_18sXWOAOKs5Nj1GpepmNneosYta6VFsRVupmZYeAbGTwt93Sc83RwTBRkjHyR9suy7wQ11g/s640-h/YIMG_0389.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNfbrX_hHi6IJbgJoG_UMGccun1xpDTscI0AX1YdvJZmR6GTL1E3u11VVWTHO_VQ_18sXWOAOKs5Nj1GpepmNneosYta6VFsRVupmZYeAbGTwt93Sc83RwTBRkjHyR9suy7wQ11g/s400/YIMG_0389.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037339615056485970" /></a><CENTER>Beach party for the elderly, East coast near Mayaro</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMGRaGcuDd-LqoLjsm00gEtHAMJTWXIAlmyd8ReE59InMr4IFYyT1TGId5tqck6LYuIdw0VBw_CSC5BVNFQKrSmjhmma29NIcwt2YGh6HID3TXxPKUIhfqUFqQhGtUdRNYOhBkyA/s640-h/YIMG_0393.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMGRaGcuDd-LqoLjsm00gEtHAMJTWXIAlmyd8ReE59InMr4IFYyT1TGId5tqck6LYuIdw0VBw_CSC5BVNFQKrSmjhmma29NIcwt2YGh6HID3TXxPKUIhfqUFqQhGtUdRNYOhBkyA/s400/YIMG_0393.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037325720837282642" /></a><CENTER>Coconut trees along the beach, East coast near Mayaro</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXTvXlf8Ne2_6TfdGKP3vsINxqA3ojPAnFt_kruuOQIcbUBItposh7TGXDkWr4uXzODPeUmKq9Or7tg_XL6Hh4Lgnm65hXrEnkBtn-ywR8Qpv0kWlVBB_ixc3Q6Bg15hVjL6OBzQ/s640-h/YIMG_0400.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXTvXlf8Ne2_6TfdGKP3vsINxqA3ojPAnFt_kruuOQIcbUBItposh7TGXDkWr4uXzODPeUmKq9Or7tg_XL6Hh4Lgnm65hXrEnkBtn-ywR8Qpv0kWlVBB_ixc3Q6Bg15hVjL6OBzQ/s400/YIMG_0400.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037325720837282658" /></a><CENTER>Empty windswept beach scene, <br />East coast near Mayaro</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSMoeGb1gXkYA1n52McQ4EHn0G2uEAb_l_4Dg61qgJU3pKaIi1r5mbfX3F7opyObkwqNRNq7yNoEhsQ9xfF1thSj6YrF3dhNOG4NcDvHXvkcQYzO-yCXDzXHQNunSLVimvqzXhZw/s640-h/YIMG_0402.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSMoeGb1gXkYA1n52McQ4EHn0G2uEAb_l_4Dg61qgJU3pKaIi1r5mbfX3F7opyObkwqNRNq7yNoEhsQ9xfF1thSj6YrF3dhNOG4NcDvHXvkcQYzO-yCXDzXHQNunSLVimvqzXhZw/s400/YIMG_0402.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037325725132249970" /></a><CENTER>Off shore oil rigs, East coast near Mayaro</CENTER><br />The afternoon was interspersed with squally showers and bright sunshine. There was a permanent warm wind that tossed and bent the thousands of coconut trees to be found here. As we splashed in the receding waves, dozens of little fish were left on the sand where they rapidly flipped their way back into the waves. These are anableps and have eyes with split lenses that enable them to see both above and below the water at the same time. Higher on the beach we collected pretty small flat sea urchins known locally as sand dollars. Unfortunately they turned out to be very fragile and most have now turned from dollars to pieces of eight! <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwM5vWoaRGHYgcRX7vdj_qLve1jda7xXPqZI7R9EoTWa6Q7-IQXsCIcfTgxP7STkn5hiIeo8aIFuE4jfaKEuDPs56UFbAUESYpRMiHt_qZy9cvyivT723GI7YFFmezjy5bPl5i8g/s640-h/YIMG_0403.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwM5vWoaRGHYgcRX7vdj_qLve1jda7xXPqZI7R9EoTWa6Q7-IQXsCIcfTgxP7STkn5hiIeo8aIFuE4jfaKEuDPs56UFbAUESYpRMiHt_qZy9cvyivT723GI7YFFmezjy5bPl5i8g/s400/YIMG_0403.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5049613394171708690" /></a><CENTER>Can't resist adding another one, East coast near Mayaro</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7RcHjqAcR05z1DVcukxMQjB9N3ycyaCZx1w6GaI3ZhQxAyLtuV8TB0k1RamGq5-H3jm0JxFblbR9q3mPWiYuo7dpAH9pqFX247bC28l48xgM6P0X81X_CSuu8lgIc0jR-NIf2cQ/s640-h/YIMG_0405.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7RcHjqAcR05z1DVcukxMQjB9N3ycyaCZx1w6GaI3ZhQxAyLtuV8TB0k1RamGq5-H3jm0JxFblbR9q3mPWiYuo7dpAH9pqFX247bC28l48xgM6P0X81X_CSuu8lgIc0jR-NIf2cQ/s400/YIMG_0405.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037326042959829906" /></a><CENTER>Anableps in the receding waves, East coast near Mayaro</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaTW_ufDADvNMctjW8odB0jV1-7mBhM_Fo1IVAkPG6SKLaClmopEiKSsUMN-GA0eDpD8htf4dpOhxlwwLGGjBVYj-9UsX96HoTL7KUvj1pJZRzHmscwLZF_u0GlOB3utc1On7Wyg/s640-h/YIMG_0531.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaTW_ufDADvNMctjW8odB0jV1-7mBhM_Fo1IVAkPG6SKLaClmopEiKSsUMN-GA0eDpD8htf4dpOhxlwwLGGjBVYj-9UsX96HoTL7KUvj1pJZRzHmscwLZF_u0GlOB3utc1On7Wyg/s400/YIMG_0531.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037326042959829922" /></a><CENTER>Sand dollars, shells, corals and other treasures <br />gathered from Trinidad's beaches </CENTER><br />We were eager to see one of the very special sights of Trinidad, not known about, even to most people living here. High in the rain forest at Brigand Hill stands a lighthouse, set back from the sea on the easternmost point of Central Range to the north of Nariva Swamp. Here there are still a few red howler monkeys to be found in the wild. They are new world monkeys with prehensile tails and bright red coats. The area is difficult to approach and not normally open to the public. The lighthouse keeper remembered David from previous visits and permitted us to enter the site and climb the lighthouse steps. From here we had a spectacular view across the Nariva swamp - Trinidad's most inaccessible nature reserve and home to caiman, boas and even anacondas! Special permits are required to access the area. From the lighthouse we searched the tree canopy below us for ages before Ian spotted something red amongst the trees. It turned out to be a mother howler with a tiny baby she was feeding. Nearby we then saw a young one from an earlier birth. These three were however, all we saw. Nevertheless, there is a magic in seeing such creatures in their natural habitat and we were really fortunate to find them with so much forest to roam in. It is to be hoped the few remaining here will continue to live peacefully in the forest but it seems there is no law to protect them and they are being hunted to extinction because of the taste for bush meat.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3FbwwQUIn7VzE2CEL9qJyNgD9BVg2paJlIL4NFFvI-jF9HSSBh5MjyzdfGfJ0E9S373umvXZ533o2GTCd6apC24j1o6LErp2ItO3f-CAYYQy-7mrX7keEnB6n4sKUgw5Itl-f0g/s640-h/YIMG_0407.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3FbwwQUIn7VzE2CEL9qJyNgD9BVg2paJlIL4NFFvI-jF9HSSBh5MjyzdfGfJ0E9S373umvXZ533o2GTCd6apC24j1o6LErp2ItO3f-CAYYQy-7mrX7keEnB6n4sKUgw5Itl-f0g/s400/YIMG_0407.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037326073024601010" /></a><CENTER>View from Brigand Hill lighthouse over Nariva Swamp, East coast</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFr84nm4M_ChZfq7wy5-iXmFNMUfViLuFMxQ-K2jffmo_B943kPudDwtEZxuOrCW7rDw2pECDLZ5oEMRK-kvRC3FW8FP_KcuNlONtsynY50ad-XvBj4mcdmBxw5hD2tlumydc3SQ/s640-h/YIMG_0409.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFr84nm4M_ChZfq7wy5-iXmFNMUfViLuFMxQ-K2jffmo_B943kPudDwtEZxuOrCW7rDw2pECDLZ5oEMRK-kvRC3FW8FP_KcuNlONtsynY50ad-XvBj4mcdmBxw5hD2tlumydc3SQ/s400/YIMG_0409.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037326081614535618" /></a><CENTER>Howler monkeys in the wild, East coast</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-_eiOyaVYL2-q49nwj2aYoX9CsucANTRsQabAw-QDxPB1hSFBCY9T1L9g9yEG5eFot1s3HCCwBZUoIKm6GgFABo_kz0wtJsZfn_VUJScf2vcScHW9_lwvzRoKePCXPoBzLqsCdQ/s640-h/YIMG_0410.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-_eiOyaVYL2-q49nwj2aYoX9CsucANTRsQabAw-QDxPB1hSFBCY9T1L9g9yEG5eFot1s3HCCwBZUoIKm6GgFABo_kz0wtJsZfn_VUJScf2vcScHW9_lwvzRoKePCXPoBzLqsCdQ/s400/YIMG_0410.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037326085909502930" /></a><CENTER>Young howler monkey in the wild</CENTER><br />There are two sides to a coin. We've shown you the lovely bits. However, the greater the natural beauty of a country, the more it seems to be abused by its population. Below is a photo the holiday brochures won't show but which we feel is, regrettably, an equally valid view of Trinidad. Just out of range of some of our pictures you can see countless eyesights like this.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNYsQyAUv5d7iiL0QucD9X_4r27Na8-1CdhMBmQTkB124HtdTHepdXuMfYiTIHNAulJTQmVu1LUVqKZWUp0y9YLm-5Vop1rs52ZsRmA96iGkEIKm9lBPYmriZHCDNDS6oa6u-IFg/s640-h/YIMG_0398.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNYsQyAUv5d7iiL0QucD9X_4r27Na8-1CdhMBmQTkB124HtdTHepdXuMfYiTIHNAulJTQmVu1LUVqKZWUp0y9YLm-5Vop1rs52ZsRmA96iGkEIKm9lBPYmriZHCDNDS6oa6u-IFg/s400/YIMG_0398.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037326429506886626" /></a><CENTER>Estuary of the Nariva river, East coast near Mayaro</CENTER><br /><B>Wednesday 21st February 2007, Simla, <br />William Beebe Tropical Research Station, Trinidad </B><br />This morning we had the use of the car for a couple of hours while David and Karl were each occupied with their projects at Simla. Our map showed a village isolated high in the forest about fifteen miles from here so we set off to discover it. The route wound through the forest towards the north coast before branching off for ten miles along a broken road that led to nowhere beyond the village of Brasso Seco. On arriving we found several people washing clothes around the pump in the centre of the village and a formidable water buffalo tethered in the field beside the village bar. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNnwTfcqHlpfY50g3hcoALg1SR-0nC61WTJiWWcZKTb2y1olEYwOPsv6vibv0pEF8A-WxqMahHqVUogGPD9g2c204s7K-uvwh2UFweXZC4adnkWZvj3YjxFiDxPu22V_MeGWzaJw/s640-h/YIMG_0411.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNnwTfcqHlpfY50g3hcoALg1SR-0nC61WTJiWWcZKTb2y1olEYwOPsv6vibv0pEF8A-WxqMahHqVUogGPD9g2c204s7K-uvwh2UFweXZC4adnkWZvj3YjxFiDxPu22V_MeGWzaJw/s400/YIMG_0411.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037326433801853938" /></a><CENTER>Water buffalo, Brasso Seco</CENTER><br />Nearby was the Roman Catholic church and as the door was open we looked inside. There was an Ash Wednesday service for the village school in progress and all the children peered around at us. We slipped quickly away but a teacher followed and invited us to return and listen to the service with them. The Principal of the school welcomed us from the altar and after the service the children sang a special hymn for the visitors. They all looked adorable, clean and smart in their blue and white uniforms with red hair ribbons for the girls. After they had filed out and walked up the village street back to school the two lady teachers invited us back to see the classroom. Even here, in this isolated mountain village there was a uniformed guard on the gate! We were taken into the airy classroom with its open sides and the children gathered around to talk to the strange white visitors. We explained we came from England, did they know where it was? There was much head shaking so we explained it took ten hours on the plane and it had been snowing when we left England wearing thick coats but we didn't need them now with all the warm sunshine they had here. Their teacher asked if anyone had ever seen snow. One young lass shot up her arm to say she's seen it on television! Another little girl was blind but here there is no special medical treatment or education for such children. Her teacher said since her parents had been persuaded to send her to school she had improved greatly and frequently answered questions correctly even though she had to remember everything she was taught and relied on other children to help her, leading her around the school and village. The school is one big room with four teachers, housed in temporary premises in the community centre while the school is being rebuilt. Children are grouped by age and the areas separated by blackboards. With sixty pupils the noise is rather loud and teaching conditions are not ideal. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3zF-r24Uh6OPJSSsyHbf66RkZJuvqB9tIZcJ_QoJ3ca9HXaNJPf5dcljmmIoayHZ00hnPdFBCojO0_m86bsx0e2DP0rt8onaSfJdwayYqyLyfwCyU9Os1A-DaCD3TeIJubluG-A/s640-h/YIMG_0412.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3zF-r24Uh6OPJSSsyHbf66RkZJuvqB9tIZcJ_QoJ3ca9HXaNJPf5dcljmmIoayHZ00hnPdFBCojO0_m86bsx0e2DP0rt8onaSfJdwayYqyLyfwCyU9Os1A-DaCD3TeIJubluG-A/s400/YIMG_0412.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037326433801853954" /></a><CENTER>Children in church on Ash Wednesday, Brasso Seco</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGFPL4ZiXmO9lNQhKng7FW9ZMnyJqZ1g7aZhDUkRz1WBYLswCQ9M4aqcPc8lT1dqGllXokmjoCxn0Qmw5kqZM8ryLejnsw2JAnaB42v0SwA6-edQFCX-FdXIniCDU8WMcShEEn0g/s640-h/YIMG_0415.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGFPL4ZiXmO9lNQhKng7FW9ZMnyJqZ1g7aZhDUkRz1WBYLswCQ9M4aqcPc8lT1dqGllXokmjoCxn0Qmw5kqZM8ryLejnsw2JAnaB42v0SwA6-edQFCX-FdXIniCDU8WMcShEEn0g/s400/YIMG_0415.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037326438096821266" /></a><CENTER>Primary school classroom, Brasso Seco</CENTER><br />The teachers themselves included two sisters and a brother. They lived with their mother in the house beside the school. They asked if we would visit their mother who would be very pleased to unexpectedly have someone to talk with during the day and would take care of us. One teacher put a monitor in charge of her class and took us over to her house and introduced us to her mother, a delightfully friendly lady in her seventies. Leaving us in her care, the teacher then returned to the school.<br /><br />Our hostess immediately made us feel comfortable. Our heads were reeling at the way our visit had turned out. What we expected to be a pleasant time-filling interlude visiting a village had changed into a warm, friendly, wonderful experience giving us a deeper insight into life in rural Trinidad than any visitor could hope to experience. She showed us her wooden home, simply furnished, spotless, cool and comfortable. A cool terrace overlooked the lovely front garden filled with bougainvilleas in pinks, reds and oranges and there were citrus and coconut trees. Inside, the window openings were hung with pretty curtains but several lacked glass or indeed frames as they were unnecessary in such a warm climate. On the wall were several family photos showing the three teachers at the school next door as they grew up. Our hostess explained her husband had recently died but that she kept herself busy baking cakes and snacks for the children at the school and that she ran the school tuck shop. Her children lived at home, as did her 25 year old grandson who drove one of the maxi-taxis for the village and was their link with the outside world. She talked about the village and its history and how the mobile phone had completely changed the way village life had developed since a transmitter was placed above the village – unfortunately right next to the school and they had only since learned of the possible radiation risks to children of such masts. She sat us down and served us fresh grapefruit juice from her garden with slices of iced sponge cake topped with sugar crystals from a batch she'd just prepared for the schoolchildren! We talked so easily with her that it was a surprise to realise it was time to return to Simla. We left after exchanging kisses, clutching oranges and grapefruit from her garden she insisted on giving us as gifts! We feel so honoured that complete strangers could treat us with such charm and warmth for no other reason than that it is in their nature. A truly moving experience.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0UF-RScRwBhFYnaZ0ulNMB4pjbvE4n6Lc3MgakJSIk6mJDbG0a36rVaUrDqpwWy4IuCxzsUAadbnEwCFlUBHdeozvjlFCXV0tI-hqHOcQ7cOXQzxiHsxJZJMuM1RtSufjoJbgQg/s640-h/YIMG_0416.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0UF-RScRwBhFYnaZ0ulNMB4pjbvE4n6Lc3MgakJSIk6mJDbG0a36rVaUrDqpwWy4IuCxzsUAadbnEwCFlUBHdeozvjlFCXV0tI-hqHOcQ7cOXQzxiHsxJZJMuM1RtSufjoJbgQg/s400/YIMG_0416.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037326438096821282" /></a><CENTER>Our hostess and her grandson outside their home</CENTER><br />We collected Karl on our way past Simla and went down to lunch in Arima where we joined people crowding into a restaurant serving roti and buss-up-shut for lunch. With guidance from the staff we ended up with rather nice lunches consisting of curry, chicken, potatoes in coconut sauce, mango chutney, green beans and warm, pancake-like bread. We returned to Simla mid-afternoon and David joined us for a trip to the Caroni swamp, an area of mangroves and overgrown waterways covering some sixty square kilometres, designated a nature reserve. We travelled on flat-bottomed barges through the dark shady channels between the massed dangling roots of the mangroves, frequently encrusted with oysters, while fiddler crabs, tree crabs and land crabs clambered around the trunks and branches. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCb7qw3wQItlr8vT_Yzsr0_0UQ2jPFHqXZmjCFlHpJzl5UHFGHWhqkux5ZQKn_CkySUnlhm7dZZqjNehXbrWdqDI0KYQOkvRaxjKKhrp0KiBHDqRX2k2LDofQbW_ZkWWn9-EBuaQ/s640-h/YIMG_0418.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCb7qw3wQItlr8vT_Yzsr0_0UQ2jPFHqXZmjCFlHpJzl5UHFGHWhqkux5ZQKn_CkySUnlhm7dZZqjNehXbrWdqDI0KYQOkvRaxjKKhrp0KiBHDqRX2k2LDofQbW_ZkWWn9-EBuaQ/s400/YIMG_0418.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037326785989172274" /></a><CENTER>Mangrove swamps, Caroni National Park</CENTER><br />Looking up, just above our heads we saw a tree boa coiled around a branch, fast asleep. We searched unsuccessfully for spectacled caiman until eventually the swamp opened out into a lake where we were able to watch as the birds flew in to roost in the mangroves for the night. There were black cormorants, blue herons, white egrets and scarlet ibis. These last are the gem of the swamp and arrive at sunset in their thousands. They are quite large and really are a vivid scarlet. As they land to roost in the green leaves they look like bright blossoms on the trees. It is a magnificent sight. Too soon however, dusk turned to night and we were obliged to return as quickly as possible through the mangrove channels, our pilot scanning the nearby roots with a powerful torch in the hope of seeing a caiman. It was dark before we reached the landing stage.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikw_lyWySb8XQyy3HhWfPMIRr7OeOxs-TfqdodRFyrMfoi6Tif9UjMCeYEkinyImTlVUDgYWTlAM8gtyn1j_GK3io8yGUAltDJx_aMYnHAiSjQAi5IwpxBPTTl4nSvZxA1kcdkhA/s640-h/YIMG_0420.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikw_lyWySb8XQyy3HhWfPMIRr7OeOxs-TfqdodRFyrMfoi6Tif9UjMCeYEkinyImTlVUDgYWTlAM8gtyn1j_GK3io8yGUAltDJx_aMYnHAiSjQAi5IwpxBPTTl4nSvZxA1kcdkhA/s400/YIMG_0420.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037326794579106898" /></a><CENTER>Tree boa, Caroni National Park</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiM-UQDBk_857ODv5BOdyw9vhEQMKru9a8wNKYJL0LSd5DXvaCLHb0yKQkcVzB-D-1fegqFOoxUazMk2yoEgd2gP65iOslMVDYHQzBBrioMY9wi-ye4D4jOfMmreUhDKLaHSsScQ/s640-h/YIMG_0425.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiM-UQDBk_857ODv5BOdyw9vhEQMKru9a8wNKYJL0LSd5DXvaCLHb0yKQkcVzB-D-1fegqFOoxUazMk2yoEgd2gP65iOslMVDYHQzBBrioMY9wi-ye4D4jOfMmreUhDKLaHSsScQ/s400/YIMG_0425.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037326794579106914" /></a><CENTER>Lake and Northern Range, Caroni National Park</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggrD7qwqaB4UY5XdqB9nbMcuFeeNcD3ShCnx4bPMpZcEzfzixtVFE1LTLzfG4A08IUeNq87mL5IQSjOubL1BLnOFpVikmLPJolqVA-shiwnzEuhsgAi7_2IYCNwqHEd8Gec2Z7Xg/s640-h/YIMG_0427.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggrD7qwqaB4UY5XdqB9nbMcuFeeNcD3ShCnx4bPMpZcEzfzixtVFE1LTLzfG4A08IUeNq87mL5IQSjOubL1BLnOFpVikmLPJolqVA-shiwnzEuhsgAi7_2IYCNwqHEd8Gec2Z7Xg/s400/YIMG_0427.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037326798874074226" /></a><CENTER>Scarlet ibis returning to roost, Caroni National Park</CENTER><br /><B>Thursday 22nd February 2007, Simla, <br />William Beebe Tropical Research Station, Trinidad </B><br />We had use of the car today so headed to the far north eastern tip of the country at Toca. The roads are in a parlous state so progress was slow as we twisted our way between potholes and oncoming vehicles doing likewise. We are very impressed with the friendly way Trinidadians drive. Okay, on the main highways you are sure to be overtaken on the hard shoulder and many of the vehicles are battle scarred, lacking headlamps and bumpers. Generally though, there is much give and take and everyone takes their time.<br /><br />The road follows the coast right to the NE tip and then westwards towards Matelot where it peters out. Further along it starts again at Blanchisseuse but the only way between the two places is a two day hike on foot along the coast. Toco therefore is an isolated fishing village with a lighthouse and we wonder how the inhabitants cope with the practicalities of living so cut off from the rest of the country. The coast is something of a surprise. It is wild and rugged with the sea rolling in as huge white breakers that crash over rocks just off shore before surging onto the clean sandy beaches edged with dark green vegetation, palms and coconut trees. Such seas are not at all what one expects of a Caribbean island where the holiday paradise of Tobago with its calm waters and delicate coral reefs can be clearly seen just a few miles offshore. Several of the beaches along here are used by turtles which come ashore at night to lay their eggs in the sand. We saw almost nobody on the beaches today and generally they were much cleaner than those we saw recently further down the east coast between Manzanilla and Mayaro. They were though, dangerous and quite unsuitable for swimming. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-kyDrBE6SEK3o6hdSRcw5w9dYwYZRJdsnuPWDDOcQqQ6r_8jxm-hvwG1tLw98fzN1SkwpnkTdAiJA7U1OmYkZl3-roaxatHW17tCa-89bh2WtjtHSluacv3WhnnHYMfMxJVFTkQ/s640-h/YIMG_0437.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-kyDrBE6SEK3o6hdSRcw5w9dYwYZRJdsnuPWDDOcQqQ6r_8jxm-hvwG1tLw98fzN1SkwpnkTdAiJA7U1OmYkZl3-roaxatHW17tCa-89bh2WtjtHSluacv3WhnnHYMfMxJVFTkQ/s400/YIMG_0437.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037327189716098178" /></a><CENTER>North east coast near Matura Point</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIMtcTF6EsaTuk2dc8DvkjnL-Qm7FmAx5kK4bppsbkYxnu0UTU32Uww_8KnkXAMHezBuBNVLOZd5Juwx6L6UfmSms2eqhUEJL9QpYElMsXd-jGMYeFLSNO6PfR3gGfOFpCv2wnSw/s640-h/YIMG_0438.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIMtcTF6EsaTuk2dc8DvkjnL-Qm7FmAx5kK4bppsbkYxnu0UTU32Uww_8KnkXAMHezBuBNVLOZd5Juwx6L6UfmSms2eqhUEJL9QpYElMsXd-jGMYeFLSNO6PfR3gGfOFpCv2wnSw/s400/YIMG_0438.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037327194011065490" /></a><CENTER>North East Trinidad, with Tobago in the distance</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvzVIGZdkcZlGv-hTuFUtxb0s2pEbVIpop-L4ORtyZqpDxh43J2NCMERGuo13SJXIV9_bOuHzAzIvaDV8LAObtvV8ZnqblfjOn3YGoMFJ4EDf6C6O1XfaZu-2zDyok1xmt1tpIKQ/s640-h/YIMG_0439.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvzVIGZdkcZlGv-hTuFUtxb0s2pEbVIpop-L4ORtyZqpDxh43J2NCMERGuo13SJXIV9_bOuHzAzIvaDV8LAObtvV8ZnqblfjOn3YGoMFJ4EDf6C6O1XfaZu-2zDyok1xmt1tpIKQ/s400/YIMG_0439.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037327198306032802" /></a><CENTER>Protecting the beaches where turtles lay their eggs</CENTER><br />With nowhere open near the beaches to eat or drink we continued to Sans Souci before returning to Cumana where we discovered a new, cool and clean restaurant that answered all our needs providing us with cold drinks and the dish of the day – chicken, lentils and macaroni pie. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHX9kc8sz4rlw-plpNgI-6_rBbqrNu3nhAoSxBBIgBhvtXU8AuY61nxDkb747-zpV5Q8LvuojGQ7yFKP6yqZrw5aO6bkIGphp_xfHANJ3Tde72kP6GAUtoJHuVOXAVCV7BH-_MAw/s640-h/YIMG_0443.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHX9kc8sz4rlw-plpNgI-6_rBbqrNu3nhAoSxBBIgBhvtXU8AuY61nxDkb747-zpV5Q8LvuojGQ7yFKP6yqZrw5aO6bkIGphp_xfHANJ3Tde72kP6GAUtoJHuVOXAVCV7BH-_MAw/s400/YIMG_0443.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037327202601000130" /></a><CENTER>Convenient lunch spot with specific rules and an unusual address</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVdz1MU7PiG_y-XrEWDMAIfX0KwNQFHtdIxntCHb6WD7rAHDI1bEKKwkUSRldwcJXSRf0bgvdfa3VZ6IDKO6fpBblw9d9UjUlqak7I-qen3uCKY0Eoo0zP7FMLfTlKL-V5ovTfug/s640-h/YIMG_0445.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVdz1MU7PiG_y-XrEWDMAIfX0KwNQFHtdIxntCHb6WD7rAHDI1bEKKwkUSRldwcJXSRf0bgvdfa3VZ6IDKO6fpBblw9d9UjUlqak7I-qen3uCKY0Eoo0zP7FMLfTlKL-V5ovTfug/s400/YIMG_0445.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037327627802762450" /></a><CENTER>Coast at Cumana Bay</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSyv3SKBQvGb4B9cI4bsQp6ag-tqrD6P7I2tPqZdzfx64Dl0EuFgglpkW1O4R-k4nvtUAZGlhzgmC40cQCycU5x39jPN9Xt3GicQNEcC8yTJp8fgueMQ9un25RNfimzxgn1_n6qQ/s640-h/YIMG_0446.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSyv3SKBQvGb4B9cI4bsQp6ag-tqrD6P7I2tPqZdzfx64Dl0EuFgglpkW1O4R-k4nvtUAZGlhzgmC40cQCycU5x39jPN9Xt3GicQNEcC8yTJp8fgueMQ9un25RNfimzxgn1_n6qQ/s400/YIMG_0446.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037327636392697058" /></a><CENTER>A hot wait in the car while the cement set on the only bridge across the river</CENTER><br />Further along we decided to try the tourist experience when we discovered a very smart spa and nature complex at Salybia. It reminded us of the Taj Exotica in Sri Lanka, being a wonderfully cool, luxuriously appointed complex with a shady terrace overlooking a bright blue pool with a bar at one end and waterfalls to each side. It was set in beautiful gardens leading down to the sandy bay with a vista of the turquoise Matura Bay stretching to Manzilla point. We relaxed in cane chairs on the veranda admiring the view while we were served coffee by a smart waiter who looked askance at the heap of dried sand falling from our feet over the polished wooden floor. Fortunately for us staff assumed we were resident guests and our hour of luxury cost us 17TT dollars - around £1.50.We decided against pushing our luck using the swimming pool - though nobody would have realised - and asked if we could pay to do so as outsiders. We were told we'd need day passes at £20 each but it would include drinks, meals, jacuzzi etc. It might have been good value if planned as a day out but not for an impromptu bathe.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5P-b7NL0yKpJjDJDYTrDyjlcAOSHCT-pLKYIr017F8K_8EouEXcA-eWzFJYhJkUB_cbCkYqJFB2ma37O7JaMbf2EqjjEd9vaGCOOR2WMCvLqS35dx4L3fFsp8kICJbDh1c97jBg/s640-h/YIMG_0447.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5P-b7NL0yKpJjDJDYTrDyjlcAOSHCT-pLKYIr017F8K_8EouEXcA-eWzFJYhJkUB_cbCkYqJFB2ma37O7JaMbf2EqjjEd9vaGCOOR2WMCvLqS35dx4L3fFsp8kICJbDh1c97jBg/s400/YIMG_0447.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037327640687664370" /></a><CENTER>View from the patio at the Salybia spa and leisure complex</CENTER><br />It was 6pm by the time we returned to Simla to join the various researchers here for supper. David had been on a successful ant hunting foray with his liverwort sex therapist, and they were excitedly discussing the sighting of an ocelot at the nearby reservoir and wondering how to get closer to such rare Trinidadian wildlife. At this point Ian joined in the conversation naively suggesting that the best way to titillate an ocelot might be to oscillate its tit a lot, but as he wasn't a scientist he may be wrong! <br /><br /><B>Friday 23rd February 2007, Simla, <br />William Beebe Tropical Research Station, Trinidad </B><br />At last there is a sufficient quota of ants safely gathered in. There seem to be far more nests than we expected, and collecting them has taken David almost the entire time of our visit. This has been rather frustrating for the rest of us as our only means of transport has been unavailable. Karl is less mobile than us and has spent far longer than he ever imagined "confined to barracks" here at the centre. At least for us it has been possible to be dropped off on bus routes as David goes off on a foray and we have been able to find our own way about. Thanks largely to Nazir and Shirley we have managed to have a very enjoyable and varied time. However, there have been a few problems with staying at Simla without our own transport or telephone as we like to discover how a country ticks and to be free to make our own plans. We've certainly enjoyed the unusual experience of living so close to nature though and it's cooler up here in the hills.<br /><br />Today we all decided to spend the day together, enjoying the beauty of the north coast. Neither David nor Karl have ventured very far from Simla since we arrived and were keen to see the coastal scenery. The day has been enjoyable but the pace rather slower than we are accustomed to. Basically we visited most of the same places as last time and enjoyed another swim at Las Cuevas beach. There were no pelicans today and the sea seemed calmer until Ian got knocked down by a sudden large wave. As I stood laughing I was pulled under by a huge wave and carried way in to shore before being pulled way back out again. My head hit the bottom and I feared I'd never surface again! It was quite frightening. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrLsnewKvgJNVfwOtkoe8eAxe6sQUO28j-TrDP3ArcXrWmfepBaTYiy6fDCq_sJyc3fW_3WmcDe0ayTSoJatvD_SK5kraWpsL3a8BwIk9f93B7FTIQO7daM-b-agAaLIviXEx2Qw/s640-h/YIMG_0449.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrLsnewKvgJNVfwOtkoe8eAxe6sQUO28j-TrDP3ArcXrWmfepBaTYiy6fDCq_sJyc3fW_3WmcDe0ayTSoJatvD_SK5kraWpsL3a8BwIk9f93B7FTIQO7daM-b-agAaLIviXEx2Qw/s400/YIMG_0449.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037327640687664386" /></a><CENTER>National flag, Trinidad</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDe1BnOFQ9rlpPKUEWprznOmh659VfCk1Qw6wREGPK1s4p5eut12q-6qjPYz9T3vXprxGPRUIW9_IJp7-ETpnNd_esqxL8AUY5Ayt9WM5K0uniQgHnrA1ZWxKlbmJXIhOXWUWM1w/s640-h/YIMG_0456.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDe1BnOFQ9rlpPKUEWprznOmh659VfCk1Qw6wREGPK1s4p5eut12q-6qjPYz9T3vXprxGPRUIW9_IJp7-ETpnNd_esqxL8AUY5Ayt9WM5K0uniQgHnrA1ZWxKlbmJXIhOXWUWM1w/s400/YIMG_0456.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037327644982631698" /></a><CENTER>Bourganvillia near Maracas Bay</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilmrtca0EoqXNKfYGd0-bF5bQNo1IrPjAS3bkp3SFBW69uB-5azLl16dGkHP0_Wy78jlQslczll0EbnbwWTYbMzilcXOy695ckppvfXargIpVFgVOyeYMskLLA7MNd0jMo0v1AWg/s640-h/YIMG_0459.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilmrtca0EoqXNKfYGd0-bF5bQNo1IrPjAS3bkp3SFBW69uB-5azLl16dGkHP0_Wy78jlQslczll0EbnbwWTYbMzilcXOy695ckppvfXargIpVFgVOyeYMskLLA7MNd0jMo0v1AWg/s400/YIMG_0459.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5049613398466676002" /></a><CENTER>Probably the only photo of us together in Trinidad! La Vache Bay</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFGoeAMpv-6s6rtpVAu7hal-saSDFTAb0Z7MxtWwzKAR9IEG6tq4KAyxNFLWAIMCe1XLm_BUcmncc9e3nGkrgr2PQsyJvuIsDFYIfv4XMP4UzixnqmDgefpVc_9vAD6M4qsVp-Fw/s640-h/YIMG_0454.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFGoeAMpv-6s6rtpVAu7hal-saSDFTAb0Z7MxtWwzKAR9IEG6tq4KAyxNFLWAIMCe1XLm_BUcmncc9e3nGkrgr2PQsyJvuIsDFYIfv4XMP4UzixnqmDgefpVc_9vAD6M4qsVp-Fw/s400/YIMG_0454.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037328160378707250" /></a><CENTER>Trees stripped of leaves and wide track cleared by leaf-cutter ants, northern coastal road</CENTER><br />David said he knew a good restaurant in Blanchisseuse with fantastic views. We were a bit disappointed as the rest of us fancied shark and bake and a beer on the beach. Things are not always as you remember them and unfortunately, although the view was indeed fantastic, we had to wait well over an hour for our meal to arrive and when it came it was not what we'd ordered. We suspect they had to go off in search of the fish as they'd not actually expected anyone to arrive for lunch today! There were some American diners there with us and we all shared their bag of plantain chips together as we waited with rumbling tums to be served! The service was slow and sulky, the portions small and served in relays. The bill, for Trinidad, was astronomical and we all felt very irritated and still hungry when we left.<br /><br />We returned over the northern range along the broken twisting route through the rainforest. Seeing a bachac's nest near the roadside David decided he had room for an extra ant's nest in his luggage and stopped to excavate. Ian and I were longing for some exercise so left the car and walked on ahead up the road for a few miles before they caught up with us. It was extremely cool and pleasant walking under the thick canopy of trees but we are more wary now, looking carefully at the verges and up into the overhanging bamboo in case there are snakes around. <br /><br />As we passed the Asa Wright Centre we turned in to watch the humming birds, motmots and mocking birds taking their evening feed. We pooled what meagre resources we still had after our lunch and scraped together enough for coffees all round. It is such an enjoyable experience sitting watching the sun set over the green-clad mountains with dazzling, iridescent birds feeding and gathering nectar almost within touching distance! <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2sFWrOM-j-Wz_EieSH4_2cR9I8ePeVd_icjB6ikfyab2k5RcVlxjQoWrrf28impxicFewrdqOcAKrGNv8h-YgXRfrjoU8N0U0X0otahX4d88QWfIszKp-H4tOXNWDbWzk2KtslA/s640-h/YIMG_0465.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2sFWrOM-j-Wz_EieSH4_2cR9I8ePeVd_icjB6ikfyab2k5RcVlxjQoWrrf28impxicFewrdqOcAKrGNv8h-YgXRfrjoU8N0U0X0otahX4d88QWfIszKp-H4tOXNWDbWzk2KtslA/s400/YIMG_0465.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037328164673674562" /></a><CENTER>Humming bird feeding, Asa Wright Centre</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcmoCUcRLKUCsD5Lm7-BecprgtkU-yE4qB1MlZRyZWDsM2wXqQDfiTnVAf8CG7jjLV0OaugYuHc1pmVFQmp_CK8zRToiLSlq4Xtk2y-E4-MBZWyZzOGrFoWbEgX92HEDK0QQQgug/s640-h/YIMG_0471.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcmoCUcRLKUCsD5Lm7-BecprgtkU-yE4qB1MlZRyZWDsM2wXqQDfiTnVAf8CG7jjLV0OaugYuHc1pmVFQmp_CK8zRToiLSlq4Xtk2y-E4-MBZWyZzOGrFoWbEgX92HEDK0QQQgug/s400/YIMG_0471.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037328168968641874" /></a><CENTER>Inches from us! See its tongue?</CENTER><br />We learned too that the guest bitten by the Bushmaster snake recently is still in hospital and her liver has been affected. However, her blood is now starting to coagulate again which is a good sign and she should be well enough to be flown back to Denmark in a day or two.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDTNrZ9e8_jmkuARPTe-rahwX-Go4i8qd5c3F6b38w6TcBXlNweAoqwFz238DgRhvvyHCSkmNnnDQyywsewrhwozywPgDmV14UZ4w62PuzdAtG8EiTPJAAKnH6sf_TYLsCQVdXKA/s640-h/YIMG_0448.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDTNrZ9e8_jmkuARPTe-rahwX-Go4i8qd5c3F6b38w6TcBXlNweAoqwFz238DgRhvvyHCSkmNnnDQyywsewrhwozywPgDmV14UZ4w62PuzdAtG8EiTPJAAKnH6sf_TYLsCQVdXKA/s400/YIMG_0448.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037328168968641890" /></a><CENTER>Frog by moonlight, Simla</CENTER><br /><B>Saturday 24th February 2007, Simla, <br />William Beebe Tropical Research Station, Trinidad </B><br />Our visit is gradually drawing to a close and we are winding down. We are finding it increasingly difficult to discover new things we can do from here using public transport or walking. We started the day with a mini-trek into the forest in search of brazil nuts. They grow on huge trees, all together in husks the size of large coconuts that fall to the ground, scattering the nuts on contact. Nearby a dilapidated outbuilding has been taken over by a colony of bats that fly around Simla at dusk. It's an entire ecosystem with giant cockroaches that live off the bat guano covering the floor. We didn't go in! It smelt too high and was pitch black inside where the bats were flying around!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwfoCS4BbR0y08x-hRSVP0mRPNTNzi_u0GUmf77TV5T-9jxM6DKnRbpTY7mX2OSqgC4ga3xONiM49VgeCv2C4q0wvDGx7ZCcFFTm1Y1KdsHLyVMGF4ZSVgJT0CoxeMZlKtS5F3Bg/s640-h/YIMG_0473.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwfoCS4BbR0y08x-hRSVP0mRPNTNzi_u0GUmf77TV5T-9jxM6DKnRbpTY7mX2OSqgC4ga3xONiM49VgeCv2C4q0wvDGx7ZCcFFTm1Y1KdsHLyVMGF4ZSVgJT0CoxeMZlKtS5F3Bg/s400/YIMG_0473.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037328508271058290" /></a><CENTER>Brazil tree with ripening nut case, Simla</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh0cm6cWQypIW8PWMdowDHNiEgeDEGCSttYf601hh8benVd3ugJKMiSGG9aHeLSEoccPN-akDgcc9D8Zi8gSDLLduyJxnQPSl8XCfsDUlhfv3nLCL5FU_BUenPfb9xv7pfiaKD3g/s640-h/YIMG_0474.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh0cm6cWQypIW8PWMdowDHNiEgeDEGCSttYf601hh8benVd3ugJKMiSGG9aHeLSEoccPN-akDgcc9D8Zi8gSDLLduyJxnQPSl8XCfsDUlhfv3nLCL5FU_BUenPfb9xv7pfiaKD3g/s400/YIMG_0474.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037328508271058306" /></a><CENTER>Brazil nut case, Simla -<br />you'd notice if one dropped on you filled with nuts!</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeoe7qGZ9w2ObaPBfcdxyPpLkpEouwy0BhLQMfrtVJCGhrEqe_vR1Y-ZltIrQLoM6uagbDu6RjiYPpQTGnnj76XVCK5DnBfTywTnZFxsreOlvJvQmHhUhWuGXaqvUsLLObRswfow/s640-h/YIMG_0475.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeoe7qGZ9w2ObaPBfcdxyPpLkpEouwy0BhLQMfrtVJCGhrEqe_vR1Y-ZltIrQLoM6uagbDu6RjiYPpQTGnnj76XVCK5DnBfTywTnZFxsreOlvJvQmHhUhWuGXaqvUsLLObRswfow/s400/YIMG_0475.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5038092905075564178" /></a><CENTER>Bats at home, Simla</CENTER><br />David dropped us in Arima on his way to visit a friend and collected us during the afternoon on his return. We were relieved to find the town is much quieter and more civilised now the carnival is over and we spent quite a pleasant few hours browsing the cheap, friendly, shabby shops. We searched in vain for any evidence of adult book buying. Even in Naipaul's Book Store all they stocked were a couple of shelves of abridged, brightly-coloured cheap children's story books printed in a style reminiscent of our own childhood. Most shops had no idea how to display their wares and clothes and shoe shops were all cheap and cheerful. "Fashionable" clothes were generally displayed on white rather than black mannequins and might consist of skimpy tops and skirts for women and calf length baggy combat trousers with long, brightly coloured loose vests, baseball caps or maybe a hoodie which is all normal street wear here.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjASl2EygIdZmcxpM3qUqAo3AeSKEr7QXNxDaa3y3P0j6NqKANHxYajObnTSJu-zVO4CYYwfk0zV3JPxFHtRPyzDfEP6_n3vpt2DWRi5MGwFXcq_wGzRQWJzuLkRTKAmBi4-5TbCw/s640-h/YIMG_0484.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjASl2EygIdZmcxpM3qUqAo3AeSKEr7QXNxDaa3y3P0j6NqKANHxYajObnTSJu-zVO4CYYwfk0zV3JPxFHtRPyzDfEP6_n3vpt2DWRi5MGwFXcq_wGzRQWJzuLkRTKAmBi4-5TbCw/s400/YIMG_0484.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037328512566025634" /></a><CENTER>Most clothing is sold on the streets like this</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifAt_GkShVwb-_w8IEbQjxTYP0EVp1M6twLiD7a8XN3v6ZTaj45QTZJNxJLFnQpExcnOTPNSaVpPOFhVsgczruS0UExqBE47_bO9Io-IZBA39SUdlLX-sv6MiJ4rxJRlEf6I6qDQ/s640-h/YIMG_0518.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifAt_GkShVwb-_w8IEbQjxTYP0EVp1M6twLiD7a8XN3v6ZTaj45QTZJNxJLFnQpExcnOTPNSaVpPOFhVsgczruS0UExqBE47_bO9Io-IZBA39SUdlLX-sv6MiJ4rxJRlEf6I6qDQ/s400/YIMG_0518.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037328516860992946" /></a><CENTER>Typical street scene in Arima</CENTER><br />We coped for a couple of hours with the really slow connection at the internet shop. Fortunately the air conditioning made up for our frustration. Later we went for lunch at a crowded, cheap restaurant where we queued to be served and ended up with huge plates of dasheen in a curry sauce with chicken, rice and salad. It was really cheap and we enjoyed watching a policeman come to the door and shout out a car number as he waved his truncheon, because someone had clogged up the street traffic, parking at random while he ate his goat roti!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmaOBkBp7aD6B7BHemfQKUEq-b5AAYSYlHmJpSfNajk0IONfxyR00EHdNMsFpVXRZk_M2OwMmjbJ-JGonOce4eJPGC9GDYq6i6qYEcqaIokTWjOrCtKYRZwbAJNWcDUGcrk3LqBQ/s640-h/YIMG_0476.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmaOBkBp7aD6B7BHemfQKUEq-b5AAYSYlHmJpSfNajk0IONfxyR00EHdNMsFpVXRZk_M2OwMmjbJ-JGonOce4eJPGC9GDYq6i6qYEcqaIokTWjOrCtKYRZwbAJNWcDUGcrk3LqBQ/s400/YIMG_0476.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037328826098638274" /></a><CENTER>Maxi-taxis, Arima</CENTER><br />Once David returned we drove to the edge of the town where there is a small ethnic museum. Arima is the only place left in Trinidad where there is still evidence of people being direct descendants of the original Caribs who lived on the island before Columbus arrived in 1498. The museum is small with a few examples of cooking and fishing tools, faded photos of deceased Caribs, pieces of pottery and a dug-out canoe. Wall panels tell something of their history and the building is a reproduction of a Carib dwelling built on a wooden frame, the external walls built from tree trunks, with coconut fronds for the roof, mud internal walls and frames of woven leaves which act as room partitions. It is dark and cool inside. Two hopeful limers at the door tried to get 20US dollars from us for entering, claiming they'd had to open the building specially for us! They disappeared when we told them we knew it was unattended, free and open all day every day and we didn't carry US dollars anyway!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUA5CMvUYQc8SVdXFeYifOIeg6s6w343tgC7vXOS-Cah8o0xmGMX46_xCPXOQtW8vw0zmN5vwCzvVRhzlLRSoLqPDmnGYQGDmgKVLeQlubGA0ZHBxbgvSfWUeUB970OH_q6SLrOQ/s640-h/YIMG_0478.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUA5CMvUYQc8SVdXFeYifOIeg6s6w343tgC7vXOS-Cah8o0xmGMX46_xCPXOQtW8vw0zmN5vwCzvVRhzlLRSoLqPDmnGYQGDmgKVLeQlubGA0ZHBxbgvSfWUeUB970OH_q6SLrOQ/s400/YIMG_0478.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037328830393605586" /></a><CENTER>Carib hut, Cleavers Wood, Arima</CENTER><br /><B>Sunday 25th February 2007, Simla, <br />William Beebe Tropical Research Station, Trinidad </B><br />Today has been our last full day. Karl spent it in the relative cool of Simla hatching out the last brood of butterfly eggs and David declared his intention of visiting his friends in Tunapuna to say goodbye and return the mobile phone he'd borrowed. He dropped us down in Arima and we took the maxi taxi into Port of Spain. There is a national speed limit of 80 kilometres an hour and along the priority bus route there are signs limiting vehicles to 65 kilometres. Our driver was having none of it! Across the windscreen was a sunshield emblazoned with the statement "In God we trust" and that's what he did! Straight down the middle of the highway, overtaking everything on the road, not stopping to pick up passengers, the windows wide open sucking in the hot damp air and the speed indicator needle hovering around 120km as we tore through built up areas where mothers with small children were trying to cross the road! Of course the minibus had no seat belts so we shut our eyes and with white knuckles clutching at the seat in front, we concentrated on the "soothing" Indian music coming from the in-car sound system. The driver's trust was well placed, God was on our side today and we must have beaten the all time record for the journey between Arima and Port of Spain! <br /><br />The heat in the city was suffocating. (Away from Simla the temperature hasn't dropped below 30 degrees throughout our stay here). We walked slowly up through the town and across the Savannah to the zoo in a mop-up operation to see all the creatures of the Caribbean we have missed in the wild. We spent a very pleasant day marking off spectacled caiman, ocelots, fer-de-lance snakes, anacondas, macaws, parrots, tarantula spiders, lots more agoutis and their relatives the pacas, Brocket deer, quenks (wild pigs), otters, capuchin monkeys, tortoises and turtles, numerous species of fishes and lots more red howler monkeys. These were more sociable than their relatives in the wild at Brigand Hill and they set up an awful racket howling when we told them we'd seen their relatives who sent their best wishes! Their howling, when in the forest, can be heard up to three kilometres away – unless DJs are playing carnival music!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-LLl6dY5YxeHfoxMJ-yLsWhL8-JXhLPe_m2a3tVP6oWHRDoWhL02nkyQNq3P7c1opQHHzgCrd6P-wGAoLzvCS-pqt6bmVj9-zx6rToekudhPvG-5ZULRQ_ABuPEsZFT0YWW6dVA/s640-h/YIMG_0497.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-LLl6dY5YxeHfoxMJ-yLsWhL8-JXhLPe_m2a3tVP6oWHRDoWhL02nkyQNq3P7c1opQHHzgCrd6P-wGAoLzvCS-pqt6bmVj9-zx6rToekudhPvG-5ZULRQ_ABuPEsZFT0YWW6dVA/s400/YIMG_0497.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037328834688572898" /></a><CENTER>Macaw, Zoo, Port of Spain</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTx-r1BYGQtSt-c0CZMBPkpYugLMCoBnY3g0zDd5Ixo12W6Z_zFDe5D97XTVUFFyKgIkKV7ajsMD6WHRIwmZT8LLEyU1y3n9-n2HAm1DCOvs3Ip5oFlgq_kZUOj-CRgt9BtL4-Ug/s640-h/YIMG_0502.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTx-r1BYGQtSt-c0CZMBPkpYugLMCoBnY3g0zDd5Ixo12W6Z_zFDe5D97XTVUFFyKgIkKV7ajsMD6WHRIwmZT8LLEyU1y3n9-n2HAm1DCOvs3Ip5oFlgq_kZUOj-CRgt9BtL4-Ug/s400/YIMG_0502.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037328834688572914" /></a><CENTER>Untitilated ocelot, Zoo, Port of Spain</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-zM2drgxIEoMxdXs_l1HGtH9ETFh-ijY0ekqORj4dGi23PloOtAzmJTJqfNGDNJG_aW4_0qTTidPLKIa0H4iOMzR2HJMj4OWt3I6qFCAhRymfisD8Ct1lef57b4AXLpKc1_9EzA/s640-h/YIMG_0503.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-zM2drgxIEoMxdXs_l1HGtH9ETFh-ijY0ekqORj4dGi23PloOtAzmJTJqfNGDNJG_aW4_0qTTidPLKIa0H4iOMzR2HJMj4OWt3I6qFCAhRymfisD8Ct1lef57b4AXLpKc1_9EzA/s400/YIMG_0503.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037328838983540226" /></a><CENTER>Captive howler monkeys, Zoo, Port of Spain</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkZqc8gwrtc73dgH_1Er_v-Ii7RhK5e_eCOPxFAhlgSD0zdM8h3TFm8h5hAr4N7GMbsb5JA7NlK0Ehca6eeUAFFOZJVu21r9VzN95VOo4U1JU6y-o1q78qGBmWgxBY9L4cNE8hyw/s640-h/YIMG_0508.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkZqc8gwrtc73dgH_1Er_v-Ii7RhK5e_eCOPxFAhlgSD0zdM8h3TFm8h5hAr4N7GMbsb5JA7NlK0Ehca6eeUAFFOZJVu21r9VzN95VOo4U1JU6y-o1q78qGBmWgxBY9L4cNE8hyw/s400/YIMG_0508.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037329092386610706" /></a><CENTER>Agoutis are cuties, Zoo, Port of Spain</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhktX22JrY8XhmQn6ydD7xDHcNoGr0sO3nhSF3MoFvkxI7yiRG2plHMD42F0SnXlPZfgPd4AeS7hcCDgKcjZIMEzpdfbX-TBwkYSwZ07JdXSGAA0xA5-vnMjscQxPRicVUU3ZmjgQ/s640-h/YIMG_0512.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhktX22JrY8XhmQn6ydD7xDHcNoGr0sO3nhSF3MoFvkxI7yiRG2plHMD42F0SnXlPZfgPd4AeS7hcCDgKcjZIMEzpdfbX-TBwkYSwZ07JdXSGAA0xA5-vnMjscQxPRicVUU3ZmjgQ/s400/YIMG_0512.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037329096681578018" /></a><CENTER>Spectacled caiman, Zoo, Port of Spain</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJt9vmCVt4I2uT02W-7XoesTMIG6CHzY-SJraTxy9DwxSHk_Qck-ccdADcKxvIshnavrcYmZjFoDApYKn-q0WmSuBEkJ38nRBja-Ppez8PjhHH1xxVIEct8UiBWZEIp9vFIWZitQ/s640-h/YIMG_0507.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJt9vmCVt4I2uT02W-7XoesTMIG6CHzY-SJraTxy9DwxSHk_Qck-ccdADcKxvIshnavrcYmZjFoDApYKn-q0WmSuBEkJ38nRBja-Ppez8PjhHH1xxVIEct8UiBWZEIp9vFIWZitQ/s400/YIMG_0507.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037329100976545330" /></a><CENTER>Quenks, Zoo, Port of Spain</CENTER><br />We were weary by the time we left the zoo. It took over an hour for us to walk slowly back to the bus station by which time we were exhausted. The return bus journey was nearly as terrifying and we reached Arima so traumatised and hot we headed for the nearest bar for ice cold beers. Bars in Trinidad are not the friendly, sociable places they are in England and all have an iron grill to protect the barman. You pay your money first and he will then pass the bottle through the grill to you. We were lucky today and found a battered stool each amongst the hundreds of bottle caps at the counter where we drank directly from the bottle. Glasses are never provided. Around us crowded the young men of Arima with their braided hair, large trainers, huge baggy trousers and equally large vests. The place was somewhat lacking in finesse but as good as you will find anywhere in Trinidad, except for the tourist hotels.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_aYCCyOeqNUheeDXX9JaNGSxnITfUTD2DaOi3Gj6uzz0JTbRJiDha6G1Nv4KiyhyphenhyphenrAz0fGiyRCbxWMYlkMMGTo5ZWL9HdbosprUo4yaWWyltDLDwvuTFbH9JglcJBXSPaatFrIA/s640-h/YIMG_0516.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_aYCCyOeqNUheeDXX9JaNGSxnITfUTD2DaOi3Gj6uzz0JTbRJiDha6G1Nv4KiyhyphenhyphenrAz0fGiyRCbxWMYlkMMGTo5ZWL9HdbosprUo4yaWWyltDLDwvuTFbH9JglcJBXSPaatFrIA/s400/YIMG_0516.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037329100976545346" /></a><CENTER>Typical bar, Arima</CENTER><br />We met with David and Karl for supper in town. Everywhere except the Chinese place was closed and we couldn't face that yet again. So we ended up with Kentucky take away! It will be a long time before we will want to taste pizza, Chinese or KFCs once we return home!Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38609523.post-63511148012720709292007-03-02T11:13:00.000+00:002008-12-11T22:46:26.721+00:00Fire and Brimstone<B>Saturday 17th February 2007, Couva, Western Trinidad</B><br />This morning David dropped us at the airport where shortly after we were collected by Nazir and Shirley who are hosting us for a couple of days and showing us around this area of their country. Just before we left Simla there was high excitement. A lady guest at the Asa Wright Centre had accidentally stepped on a six foot long bushmaster snake (aka mapepire). She'd been bitten and rushed to hospital as this is one of the four species of dangerously poisonous snakes to be found in Trinidad. (There are also boa constrictors that hide in the huge bamboo trees that abound in the rain forest around Simla!) It was not thought that the bite was too serious and the snake had been killed by a guide with a cutlass. It was packed up in ice and brought down to Simla where the warden intended keeping it in the deep freeze for research purposes. As we left he called after us to say he'd prepare a barbeque for our return, which bit of the snake would we like to eat! We hope he was joking!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAPvHFak4ZrMU_HLAPHltgvrq35tpjTGqJRf33Nv8dMqlaDo_bOo6lDxdvD8LxLmD1f4V_08s0BQYhqJSs2gdBVIbzQjBCcJ02YWC0s-RyjjXGrT2ho3YqpJydoyrsDciCqyN2RA/s640-h/YIMG_0268.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAPvHFak4ZrMU_HLAPHltgvrq35tpjTGqJRf33Nv8dMqlaDo_bOo6lDxdvD8LxLmD1f4V_08s0BQYhqJSs2gdBVIbzQjBCcJ02YWC0s-RyjjXGrT2ho3YqpJydoyrsDciCqyN2RA/s400/YIMG_0268.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037284467676403730" /></a><CENTER>One very dead mapepire</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4o5uUB2Q7wFLO7LqRg11tiY-VoMsae7NO0LmBrwR1LHOcz8GnnGvnnvhvbGfPLKb1qu2bjLWwlHUSmVzkZYrWShO8U2p9YtCUcz-h1vBnBV5hkr2yJtMAmGXWVufcVsEQxQPDAw/s640-h/YIMG_0271.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4o5uUB2Q7wFLO7LqRg11tiY-VoMsae7NO0LmBrwR1LHOcz8GnnGvnnvhvbGfPLKb1qu2bjLWwlHUSmVzkZYrWShO8U2p9YtCUcz-h1vBnBV5hkr2yJtMAmGXWVufcVsEQxQPDAw/s400/YIMG_0271.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037284476266338338" /></a><CENTER>Laid out, showing markings</CENTER><br />It has been a lovely experience being in the company of Nazir and Shirley and they have completely spoilt us. Nazir drove us around the edge of Port of Spain which was holding the first day of its carnival. It was the day for the children and the parades we saw as we passed were very colourful. There was an amazing amount of noise involved!<br /><br />We headed for the far north-west point of the country to the Chaguaramas National Park from where boats leave to travel down the islands that lie between the coast of Trinidad and Venezuela. We paddled in the sea and collected a few pieces of broken coral washed up on the beach. They lay in profusion looking very much like a weird collection of old bones and giant mammoths teeth!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyu2shLkgHljI10OCUM0WCsMRD8hMsXUalWVqQgUrTsftZ5xIL2OMrLtnIsCZUqJYuveo8mKYgYZshvM-TnJ3n9ExjtLGH6aiJOYilUuV5RIvq2KHGD8X2PnXgMum72PnJdEMOIQ/s640-h/YIMG_0274.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyu2shLkgHljI10OCUM0WCsMRD8hMsXUalWVqQgUrTsftZ5xIL2OMrLtnIsCZUqJYuveo8mKYgYZshvM-TnJ3n9ExjtLGH6aiJOYilUuV5RIvq2KHGD8X2PnXgMum72PnJdEMOIQ/s400/YIMG_0274.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037284480561305650" /></a><CENTER>Jill on the beach with Shirley and Nazir</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqVK3atvUy8kfFlk9CC1M1JUTXla7ndRxwrakZN9bMK2Wn2bhhIB2wWa7lMJiH2q8bBgfM54odA9CNuMqM7ZRwPeSC_1GAt0jdYo0ueKUIHPDZEmhjDs_034vgzexWnnEDcMFykA/s640-h/YIMG_0275.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqVK3atvUy8kfFlk9CC1M1JUTXla7ndRxwrakZN9bMK2Wn2bhhIB2wWa7lMJiH2q8bBgfM54odA9CNuMqM7ZRwPeSC_1GAt0jdYo0ueKUIHPDZEmhjDs_034vgzexWnnEDcMFykA/s400/YIMG_0275.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037284480561305666" /></a><CENTER>Ian at Chaguaramas with Nazir and Shirley</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5TMKLwAgM9ioEhj-jpSwXQo8k5GfFAYlVUsTtfgOZdgS2pLuozoAV6c41SxAC5e9K33zGp7WEgnp8ui6NnlI0_XgJpckNKhPR2g-xVcUg6NYm0RbFCMua-SyWqMGlJcTPr_ja8w/s640-h/YIMG_0278.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5TMKLwAgM9ioEhj-jpSwXQo8k5GfFAYlVUsTtfgOZdgS2pLuozoAV6c41SxAC5e9K33zGp7WEgnp8ui6NnlI0_XgJpckNKhPR2g-xVcUg6NYm0RbFCMua-SyWqMGlJcTPr_ja8w/s400/YIMG_0278.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037284484856272978" /></a><CENTER>View over Port of Spain from Lady Young Viewpoint</CENTER><br />For lunch we drove to a modern, air conditioned shopping mall on the Long Circular Road. There really doesn't seem to be anything that parallels our idea of a restaurant or café. It's either roadside shacks with take-aways, pizza parlours, uninspiring Chinese shops, KFC or Subway. In the shopping mall however we found a pleasant if subterranean, air-conditioned place serving Creole food that was quite delicious. We even had it served on plates! Most places serve it in polystyrene boxes and give you a plastic fork even if you are eating on the premises! Of course there are never glasses or even straws with the bottles of drink you are served. We opted for cassava roots steamed in coconut milk and presented in a delicious yellow coconut sauce, served with shark, accompanied with calaloo and a bottle of chilled water. It was incredibly filling! Why Shirley found a huge box of iced American donuts irresistible after that we cannot understand! They are currently in the fridge here as nobody has yet felt hungry enough to eat them!<br /><br />Shirley and Nazir run a local shop so our next stop was the cash and carry to restock on soft drinks. Such places are probably similar the world over but for us it was curious to wander around such a huge warehouse and notice that here it seems popular to purchase huge bags of frozen pigs tails and bottles of white rum. The wine section was practically untouched but at around £9 a bottle it's not surprising! We have simply given up on all alcohol except Carib beer since we have been in Trinidad.<br /><br />On our way home we stopped to visit the Hindu temple at Waterloo on the west coast a little north of Couva. This area of the country has a high population of Indian origin whereas up around Arima it is primarily African. In this area, following the abolition of slavery, Indians were brought in on an indenture scheme to work the sugar plantations. The scheme amounted almost to slavery as the Indians were contracted for a certain number of years and replaced the slaves. The only difference was that they were not owned and at the end of their contract they could either have their fare paid to return to India, or be granted a plot of land of their own to remain in Trinidad. Most opted to stay. Shirley and Nazir are third generation descendants. Neither are particularly religious but while Shirley comes from a family of Hindus, Nazir comes from a Muslim background. Even at the time they married it was difficult as the Indian Trinidadians have tended to keep themselves to themselves rather than intermarrying with other religious sects or with the African population. Even within the Asian community marriage between religions was not acceptable in the past, though now there are no real taboos here in Trinidad.<br /><br />Under British rule the Indians were discouraged from following their own religion. One of them was imprisoned and fined heavily for attempting to build a Hindu temple at Waterloo in the 1940s. On his release he declared that even if the British owned the land, they did not own the sea. He spent the next twenty years carrying stones on his bicycle to construct a little temple a few metres out into the sea. It was later destroyed by the sea, by which time the British had left and a government project helped to rebuild it. It is a very peaceful, pretty place, standing amidst mangroves, surrounded by a smooth sea reflecting the orange of the setting sun. There are fluttering prayer flags on long bamboo poles and brightly coloured statues surrounding the building, shrines to the different Gods – Shiva, Ganesh, Kali and Hanuman. Just on shore, near the temple, a smouldering fire was evidence of a funeral pyre earlier in the afternoon. Hindu cremations always take place near water. The following day the ashes would be taken and scattered on the sea. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQOmk97sbbbk1aXNKPpmg4uEN4ij-5fqBW1fbZ8jnEWi2mWGVg4dl3grf2ScMG1kJxTpxtc5zXFeLVNGo38-EoubGNzF9lOewUaVpcYpTqYPagnttZ7ESUJf8aMKxjgUMAcrNAaQ/s640-h/YIMG_0279.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQOmk97sbbbk1aXNKPpmg4uEN4ij-5fqBW1fbZ8jnEWi2mWGVg4dl3grf2ScMG1kJxTpxtc5zXFeLVNGo38-EoubGNzF9lOewUaVpcYpTqYPagnttZ7ESUJf8aMKxjgUMAcrNAaQ/s400/YIMG_0279.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037292950236813730" /></a><CENTER>Hindu temple in the sea, Waterloo</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC0BIxekGlm_cW1S-XMuAwf5UySPav1_kGutwULl9D_-AnG-HDmzhq7qz11DZ2qO-nkn22-IoZhyphenhyphenr9UFLexcSyrqwyWTlGkZTlW8F4PkaIOg0l4HVRuOPOWjAC8IHVIiqv4EPpxg/s640-h/YIMG_0282.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC0BIxekGlm_cW1S-XMuAwf5UySPav1_kGutwULl9D_-AnG-HDmzhq7qz11DZ2qO-nkn22-IoZhyphenhyphenr9UFLexcSyrqwyWTlGkZTlW8F4PkaIOg0l4HVRuOPOWjAC8IHVIiqv4EPpxg/s400/YIMG_0282.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037292950236813746" /></a><CENTER>Shrine to the god Shiva, Waterloo</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj353fyEggNGMXReRzuWpyO2ZtOx3MW66rEtQBy0YqKW0eFgjhpj_Os4dLQ8_rE-kMaTxj3URimY5_yVkLBqndpyusodIPGW6gl4orviVEmFOFV4VOSAe73ACTF38syiS0Zlj_Aw/s640-h/YIMG_0284.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj353fyEggNGMXReRzuWpyO2ZtOx3MW66rEtQBy0YqKW0eFgjhpj_Os4dLQ8_rE-kMaTxj3URimY5_yVkLBqndpyusodIPGW6gl4orviVEmFOFV4VOSAe73ACTF38syiS0Zlj_Aw/s400/YIMG_0284.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037292954531781058" /></a><CENTER>Hindu gods on the walls of the temple, Waterloo</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsr5ytoWfLQYUFjwqaByk2LJrASvrhaZe1Rgr49RdsYPmue7be5-MatT_uXWrzeDqR-IYJ1xaO1gxmBgWTYfGmReMA5IGDjoUOMgFyP-OkOfDscCR6dcUVYxaCYkYeyoZDhHO-Bw/s640-h/YIMG_0285.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsr5ytoWfLQYUFjwqaByk2LJrASvrhaZe1Rgr49RdsYPmue7be5-MatT_uXWrzeDqR-IYJ1xaO1gxmBgWTYfGmReMA5IGDjoUOMgFyP-OkOfDscCR6dcUVYxaCYkYeyoZDhHO-Bw/s400/YIMG_0285.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037292954531781074" /></a><CENTER>Prayer flags in the sea, Waterloo</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1vqEraYr7zpdu_4lJ5l-GCI_AaBRUMyj-ndp8hSmIYMMdCeXemJfe6a0cTgioz2TKdMIxV7muqtBCgsW4Ha3QIYZieb2F6rJks5U1S48UWwIEQXgRtR9QX_G6PU8dUUvgBLxw3g/s640-h/YIMG_0287.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1vqEraYr7zpdu_4lJ5l-GCI_AaBRUMyj-ndp8hSmIYMMdCeXemJfe6a0cTgioz2TKdMIxV7muqtBCgsW4Ha3QIYZieb2F6rJks5U1S48UWwIEQXgRtR9QX_G6PU8dUUvgBLxw3g/s400/YIMG_0287.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037292954531781090" /></a><CENTER>Sewdass Sadhu, who built the original temple, Waterloo</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrbHh17hFagXfTOIIz7B1H-HFJetoPrQez_7pMZAeG5LOsFgieSdVvtRWQbcqE8JVg6s5AtRWtgQ9k8PADetlog24rjvd3N-eYuteEth_-X5GxwT2YGVaZzCi_yi6d03g7EdvSlw/s640-h/YIMG_0288.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrbHh17hFagXfTOIIz7B1H-HFJetoPrQez_7pMZAeG5LOsFgieSdVvtRWQbcqE8JVg6s5AtRWtgQ9k8PADetlog24rjvd3N-eYuteEth_-X5GxwT2YGVaZzCi_yi6d03g7EdvSlw/s400/YIMG_0288.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037287980959652018" /></a><CENTER>The temple with a funeral pyre in the foreground, Waterloo</CENTER><br />We returned to Couva and all showered away the sticky heat of the day before struggling to find room for Shirley's roti with spiced pumpkin, sausage and eggs with onions. From the town the sound of carnival could be clearly heard so we set off to walk into town to see the fun. The house is very securely barred and everyone we meet seems frightened of theft and attack. Because of the shop this is an additional worry and there are internal bars at all the windows and iron grills outside every door. Shirley discovered a pane of glass had been removed during the afternoon and although the internal bars prevented entry, it worried them both greatly. Nazir used to work as a policeman and is only too aware of the high violent crime rates in Trinidad related to drugs and alcohol. They decided it would be unsafe to leave the house unattended so Shirley stayed while Nazir drove us down to the town. Once there the streets were packed and many people were very drunk indeed. The noise was seriously deafening, the car shaking with every thump of the base music blaring from the tannoy systems the length of the main street. Already, inside the car, we were attracting attention and we had absolutely no desire to get out. We would certainly have been pestered and deafened. Several people were too drunk or high on drugs to get out of the road and staggered around in our way. We got the flavour but were happy to return home and watch the finals of the steel pan bands live from Port of Spain on the TV. Around midnight we all went off to bed where we slept peacefully under our mosquito net.<br /><br /><B>Sunday 18th February 2007, Couva, Western Trinidad</B><br />In daylight we discovered the missing pane from the louvered window. It had been carefully removed and placed to one side. Naturally the confidence of our hosts had been shaken and they were reluctant to leave the house unattended to take us out for the day. Being Sunday their daughter Prudie and her husband Roger agreed to spend the day at the house. So we set off together down to the south of Trinidad, passing through the industrialised areas of oil refineries, steel works and cement factories as well as several small towns – California and Point de Pierre. None of the towns in Trinidad are particularly attractive to our eyes being frequently shabby and run down with large billboards, rubbish in the gutters, broken bottles and packs of emaciated dogs. They are also very noisy with blaring soca music and many of the male population liming on the streets with bottles of alcohol.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzMzVZj7ScyA7BvnlJ8YgOSp2n0U29lNCqhx08XQsTNdh_gHWW3kkpKj3Ssex0dhg2ka6P3qC220GxBi7LoozJCPZSZglyyjmSPoe3xkjzJNn5sLksumbYm6Z59AJcic4sTEwkzw/s640-h/YIMG_0290.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzMzVZj7ScyA7BvnlJ8YgOSp2n0U29lNCqhx08XQsTNdh_gHWW3kkpKj3Ssex0dhg2ka6P3qC220GxBi7LoozJCPZSZglyyjmSPoe3xkjzJNn5sLksumbYm6Z59AJcic4sTEwkzw/s400/YIMG_0290.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037287985254619330" /></a><CENTER>Crime is an increasing problem in Trinidad</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuP4O_XarKQowH8VSb3Gc3WIMHuuVt0VTGTeDbkB9HfcltqNBQu7hXKRAb7vWYqsFVhmWIUVwaGAqjnubefZw1oAXINZgWLiDz9Q4kliCAw_DPZKSeQktSEwykYpkDIQ8QXYK-6g/s640-h/YIMG_0312.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuP4O_XarKQowH8VSb3Gc3WIMHuuVt0VTGTeDbkB9HfcltqNBQu7hXKRAb7vWYqsFVhmWIUVwaGAqjnubefZw1oAXINZgWLiDz9Q4kliCAw_DPZKSeQktSEwykYpkDIQ8QXYK-6g/s400/YIMG_0312.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037287989549586642" /></a><CENTER>Industrial landscape south of Couva</CENTER><br />Our destination was the pitch lake at La Brea. As we skirted the coast we could see Venezuela on the horizon. As we reached the village of wooden houses, amongst the woods the road became really bumpy and distorted. This time there was a very valid reason. The whole village is constructed at the edge of the lake and the pitch bubbles up, twisting and moving the ground so that the houses are quite prone to move gradually down over the edge of the lake.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9qksaEjQ7mRnqJ9punw74weObUMLwVBnJ3TvxJYNAdqlc1IJ1AuAMyhir_GoVqAqoLXboaY4CiR1B1fSSOjTnAcBEpt3W5oHEagil7nZksunGt4M-k3AGcVCSXcd47nAV1Q94JA/s640-h/YIMG_0303.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9qksaEjQ7mRnqJ9punw74weObUMLwVBnJ3TvxJYNAdqlc1IJ1AuAMyhir_GoVqAqoLXboaY4CiR1B1fSSOjTnAcBEpt3W5oHEagil7nZksunGt4M-k3AGcVCSXcd47nAV1Q94JA/s400/YIMG_0303.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037287989549586658" /></a><CENTER>Pitch lake at La Brea</CENTER><br />We'd jokingly said it would probably look like a giant sized car park, and at first appearance it was so. The lake is one of only two or three naturally occurring sources of asphalt in the World and Trinidadians refer to it as the eighth wonder of the world. They claim the asphalt was first successfully used by Sir Walter Raleigh to caulk his ships. The lake appears to be a subterranean mud volcano that throws up the pitch, a form of liquid coal. It rises to the surface and forms a thick crust resembling elephant hide which is permanently warm but can generally be walked on, except at certain points where it remains liquid and viscous and impossible to remove if it gets on your skin. People could walk onto the lake unaccompanied but we had a guide called Neil to show us around and we were glad we did. Recently someone accidentally stepped into the melted pitch and was sucked down, rather as with a quicksand. He was in fact rescued but spent weeks in hospital recovering from the damage the pitch had done to his skin and internal organs! The lake is estimated to be around 55 metres deep with enough pitch to last at least three hundred years. The surface is soft and yielding. We wouldn't want to stand too long in one place and poor Shirley was wearing heeled shoes which kept penetrating the surface causing spurts of gas and liquid to sizzle out. When it rains, water gets into fissures in the pitch and forms small craters where methane and hydrogen sulphate bubble through from below. People often choose to bathe there as a cure for skin complaints. Shirley has a persistent rash on her arm so happily coated it in yellow sulphur or brimstone and filled a water bottle with the green/yellow water to bring home to try washing with. Beside the lake stands a rather ugly factory where the pitch is taken, when scraped from the surface each day, to be refined into pure asphalt for exportation world wide. Around the edge of the lake grow pretty mauve, pink and white lotus flowers and trees bearing cashew fruits and nuts.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtUsBHe8S6mcrl7aT7uiMTtK147hWC6hlK-nlS6x6Yaslpk7z1UXie4MIbzCagIPGBvXLdAk7DAMwuNiJw1qHe_GG-_T7ENb0AAh3Zi9s9SIMotiKy8U3wNCfCMfPD7-hG774b1w/s640-h/YIMG_0301.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtUsBHe8S6mcrl7aT7uiMTtK147hWC6hlK-nlS6x6Yaslpk7z1UXie4MIbzCagIPGBvXLdAk7DAMwuNiJw1qHe_GG-_T7ENb0AAh3Zi9s9SIMotiKy8U3wNCfCMfPD7-hG774b1w/s400/YIMG_0301.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037287993844553970" /></a><CENTER>Sulphuric water gathers on the lake, La Brea</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmQroQeRaKAnBQoKMAs1pKiJf17ppmX6hKRlygS8D1nGMwgthrLu5Zwn5BxPyaJWKfhFq9kR5A5zbuWO5aX3qMqJaH7NzY-GZE4HWdu1dNKh6Z7L7zKDjt7yauqCVMXKO0F5hW9A/s640-h/YIMG_0302.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmQroQeRaKAnBQoKMAs1pKiJf17ppmX6hKRlygS8D1nGMwgthrLu5Zwn5BxPyaJWKfhFq9kR5A5zbuWO5aX3qMqJaH7NzY-GZE4HWdu1dNKh6Z7L7zKDjt7yauqCVMXKO0F5hW9A/s400/YIMG_0302.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037289720421406978" /></a><CENTER>Shirley coats her rash with sulphur, La Brea</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiofVa34IihIuHUhPmWN-noyd2kNR1FW_i3J7ie6t2RPiEeIFf7zVCnYsSBSrrwc-HfIIOzgyAkMItTGMHLj4qYNT4haRA84NlOP5YONyk-JfQ_1kgwOGxGbp21QwnF7xxD_RXHBA/s640-h/YIMG_0297.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiofVa34IihIuHUhPmWN-noyd2kNR1FW_i3J7ie6t2RPiEeIFf7zVCnYsSBSrrwc-HfIIOzgyAkMItTGMHLj4qYNT4haRA84NlOP5YONyk-JfQ_1kgwOGxGbp21QwnF7xxD_RXHBA/s400/YIMG_0297.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037289720421406994" /></a><CENTER>Peeling off the top asphalt layer, La Brea</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcV3ANIh4I-TOsUKmT9yGIIdvHSbd8F0ZSaaEeLHd786oV7J-P41fpWOB4i91iemQ3exHmcSn6CwWCJP-THqQWTdOGW7n7J74SSZRcay1_SDMLJzvOpuxSzIAcImxN7XSlTpbskg/s640-h/YIMG_0299.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcV3ANIh4I-TOsUKmT9yGIIdvHSbd8F0ZSaaEeLHd786oV7J-P41fpWOB4i91iemQ3exHmcSn6CwWCJP-THqQWTdOGW7n7J74SSZRcay1_SDMLJzvOpuxSzIAcImxN7XSlTpbskg/s400/YIMG_0299.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037289724716374306" /></a><CENTER>Most of the world's asphalt is processed here! La Brea</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk0MgJCGv3FtTiN9k7jWyMJMDfXJk2PHRyI_zYyc2o9CH4f9VzeDmIU26xUtRhVWTbsIl1DtN39AdsX1PbzGkxeY_Cd2s7nKOp1pRVkQBqjVmCIHFytmr9n4hJZdGx5ZqFP60MsQ/s640-h/YIMG_0300.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk0MgJCGv3FtTiN9k7jWyMJMDfXJk2PHRyI_zYyc2o9CH4f9VzeDmIU26xUtRhVWTbsIl1DtN39AdsX1PbzGkxeY_Cd2s7nKOp1pRVkQBqjVmCIHFytmr9n4hJZdGx5ZqFP60MsQ/s400/YIMG_0300.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037289724716374322" /></a><CENTER>Viscous pitch, La Brea</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibyusiycUPCuqCvLVdHe6zt9cYRDXOACAYti1YzlrsSy7MMQ-HroCaxCtMlr6FkDWGzSAwn8AMIWR3Z_501tzGpvgcvwJpf8xZi22v0as8MYC35lI0DBf2UYWmp6Yqzppgm68g8Q/s640-h/YIMG_0304.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibyusiycUPCuqCvLVdHe6zt9cYRDXOACAYti1YzlrsSy7MMQ-HroCaxCtMlr6FkDWGzSAwn8AMIWR3Z_501tzGpvgcvwJpf8xZi22v0as8MYC35lI0DBf2UYWmp6Yqzppgm68g8Q/s400/YIMG_0304.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037289729011341634" /></a><CENTER>Cashew nuts growing around the lake, La Brea</CENTER><br />We had intended to continue to a nearby mud volcano, but first Shirley rang home to check all was well. It has astonished us just how anxiously people here live and how nervous they are of crime and attack. The news was bad. Arsonists had ignited the grass in the field adjoining their home and the flames were fast spreading towards the house, fanned by the breezes that until now we have regarded as one of the redeeming features of the country, helping to mask the hot, humid climate. Prudie had rung the fire brigade who told her all vehicles and firemen were attending similar fires started elsewhere around Couva. Roger and Prudie were busy hosing the grass around the house in the hope of holding back the flames.<br /><br />Nazir broke Trinidad's speed record all the way home. Quite something for a law abiding ex-policeman! As we arrived ash and smoke were blowing towards the house and there was a loud cracking from the fast approaching band of scarlet flames as they encroached across the field. Grass fires are probably not terribly intense but it really was a horrid experience to watch the flames drawing nearer every minute to the house and to be unable to do anything much about it. We moved flammable things from the garden and Nazir took over from Roger spraying water along the boundary of the garden. The fire was within feet of the lawn, crawling with long red tongues through the roots of the waving grass, when the firemen finally arrived with beaters. Wetting the grass had certainly helped and just as we really thought the flames would reach the house the fire was brought under control. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLTDvi2PSoCJFJS2CAVC0FimV_Ud9b7NB7Nd4Ole8LQiZuZMj1GJ97WKg5UtUKlV3tghfvgqgpwbNRDTc8QD3pbyvNCfHQQOPPSYu30h1Mpr7hdZbp4M1vgKinhEyeOAZn63Mjnw/s640-h/YIMG_0316.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLTDvi2PSoCJFJS2CAVC0FimV_Ud9b7NB7Nd4Ole8LQiZuZMj1GJ97WKg5UtUKlV3tghfvgqgpwbNRDTc8QD3pbyvNCfHQQOPPSYu30h1Mpr7hdZbp4M1vgKinhEyeOAZn63Mjnw/s400/YIMG_0316.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037290158508071250" /></a><CENTER>Roger tries to hold back the flames</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPH6TMQLdOpHq6tPpFXEGs8CIMpN5Q7jDkgdufnLt3YGcnAI3RdFw07OT-Bsi_vChZ-e3yXHFgaXsqf3EgH5b_cn1evPSD-jE3K9nuNNLHrUoFwbcjy2v45atrRXoiSASN6viQ3g/s640-h/YIMG_0320.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPH6TMQLdOpHq6tPpFXEGs8CIMpN5Q7jDkgdufnLt3YGcnAI3RdFw07OT-Bsi_vChZ-e3yXHFgaXsqf3EgH5b_cn1evPSD-jE3K9nuNNLHrUoFwbcjy2v45atrRXoiSASN6viQ3g/s400/YIMG_0320.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037290162803038562" /></a><CENTER>Nazir takes over</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsSJmSKwS1cPHfC8Xol6kKHjdZkc7Hm-48l2SV3XxPYwIbiBVblFKF-OmX041CN6FHQAjN75Fwo4vhTAV6PYHhdQfo_t1OQ2N_KepuZcempTXf0o_aNp_FQU8mOoToJqLuhe4_iw/s640-h/YIMG_0319.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsSJmSKwS1cPHfC8Xol6kKHjdZkc7Hm-48l2SV3XxPYwIbiBVblFKF-OmX041CN6FHQAjN75Fwo4vhTAV6PYHhdQfo_t1OQ2N_KepuZcempTXf0o_aNp_FQU8mOoToJqLuhe4_iw/s400/YIMG_0319.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037290162803038578" /></a><CENTER>Even Ian does his bit</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgifwrpjlzkcwKcmw_UVIDudrMXNGJ6qNnOcDqDIWB6aQX86EZtLZmt7E5aSL6GCdujfHbOe98uMfkHbKLbBeg1Bb75aeB0F64hMKcVPJRjVQVSscDuRMGg73u9_DzbTjQhg92-eA/s640-h/YIMG_0318.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgifwrpjlzkcwKcmw_UVIDudrMXNGJ6qNnOcDqDIWB6aQX86EZtLZmt7E5aSL6GCdujfHbOe98uMfkHbKLbBeg1Bb75aeB0F64hMKcVPJRjVQVSscDuRMGg73u9_DzbTjQhg92-eA/s400/YIMG_0318.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037290167098005890" /></a><CENTER>Firemen arrive in the nick of time</CENTER> <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTYAYCOPLopcPDSk4ZxGoL5PCYngGVG4cVQkO6zLGPPT7H3i6gJW_jdoLS2hA_D4UH0UNPfGLOMxk-WDrUhphZfz_qM_lOdJYua4CISSR-Eb6V7QI8h20PlIhM7JRhqwnXKDBQ7A/s640-h/YIMG_0321.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTYAYCOPLopcPDSk4ZxGoL5PCYngGVG4cVQkO6zLGPPT7H3i6gJW_jdoLS2hA_D4UH0UNPfGLOMxk-WDrUhphZfz_qM_lOdJYua4CISSR-Eb6V7QI8h20PlIhM7JRhqwnXKDBQ7A/s400/YIMG_0321.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037290167098005906" /></a><CENTER>Safe at last! Thirsty work for the firemen!</CENTER><br />So fears about danger to property are not unfounded! How awful to live with so much anxiety and to feel it is impossible to ever leave your home completely unattended. It could have been far worse if Prudie and Roger had not been house sitting!<br /><br />Everyone seemed to take it in their stride. Once the danger was over we all had a drink, including the firemen, and Shirley and Prudie set about cooking a wonderful meal as in the panic we'd all forgotten about eating during the day. We sat down to Creole chicken, red bean stew, rice, vegetables and salad. A magnificent meal!<br /><br />In the evening we watched the Calypso finals of the Carnival and our hosts explained the political jibes or sexual implications behind the words. Without their guidance it would have been fairly meaningless to us but the music was pleasant enough anyway. Finally they televised some of the costumes live from Port of Spain. They were indeed lavish, costing thousands of dollars to produce and up to 30 ft wide by 20ft high! A glittering array of brightly coloured fabrics, sequins, feathers and glitter.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOmYMH28aTHXhgxip5GvY5X5z7-yhG2i5QgFrt9w7wBWhgciXk0-B58ZAYFrvAMC4lR1ByTudwKLFR6QndZXoSfFGHP5M0ZmQ7Uy4xpn967GoOdXlbUTJTXttBg_3Zdes2FZaD5Q/s640-h/YIMG_0385.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOmYMH28aTHXhgxip5GvY5X5z7-yhG2i5QgFrt9w7wBWhgciXk0-B58ZAYFrvAMC4lR1ByTudwKLFR6QndZXoSfFGHP5M0ZmQ7Uy4xpn967GoOdXlbUTJTXttBg_3Zdes2FZaD5Q/s400/YIMG_0385.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037294324626348530" /></a><CENTER>One of the costumes for the 2006 carnival <br />displayed at Piarco airport</CENTER><br /><B>Monday 19th February 2007, Couva, Western Trinidad</B><br />This morning we were woken at 4.30am by the start of the carnival. It opens with what is known as Jouvert or "dirty-mas." Generally it is an excuse to sling mud and paint at anyone who comes within range, play ear-splitting soca music over tannoys mounted on the backs of lorries that drive slowly around the town, dress up in fancy costumes and show off in front of a panel of judges who will choose a king and queen of the carnival according to the quality of the display. Shirley warned us that at this event, anything goes short of displaying your private bits and she was pretty well right! One entrant quite angered us when he appeared on the platform with a live cockerel tied to a string and danced frenziedly to the music, throwing the bird into the air and pulling it back on its string to rub it around his genitals, ensuring everyone knew he had an active cock. Crude, cruel, pointless and ugly. There were also several transvestites, one very much a "ladyboy" the other more like a pantomime dame wearing a bra and miner's helmet.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtXi-ZqATkFgPC8Dn25nSwqqAZXnsKJMfTELG2D1sZgFihZiqjFxMCnRNzsY-8Lra74QGiJQlAM0vc5DWSudViaeOQsvDNK84DiHJSKdz5hANi2F5xqgdXrFYYKs8RkLOpKI1HZQ/s640-h/YIMG_0326.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtXi-ZqATkFgPC8Dn25nSwqqAZXnsKJMfTELG2D1sZgFihZiqjFxMCnRNzsY-8Lra74QGiJQlAM0vc5DWSudViaeOQsvDNK84DiHJSKdz5hANi2F5xqgdXrFYYKs8RkLOpKI1HZQ/s400/YIMG_0326.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037294328921315858" /></a><CENTER>Celebrating Jouvert at 6am. Couva</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-T8r-aK3_B_9BTaeNjGJVhs4s9e_8ZVBCzNVy_UKokOB6Hz0eWSFFlvkPhvG0gpBBE8qAAmNYhoRaO9dSv5abYzF4TUymZjLAQy7VER_w7nwogmeGHK8fkrnr9gtTxmsqCDGDPg/s640-h/YIMG_0331.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-T8r-aK3_B_9BTaeNjGJVhs4s9e_8ZVBCzNVy_UKokOB6Hz0eWSFFlvkPhvG0gpBBE8qAAmNYhoRaO9dSv5abYzF4TUymZjLAQy7VER_w7nwogmeGHK8fkrnr9gtTxmsqCDGDPg/s400/YIMG_0331.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037294333216283170" /></a><CENTER>Shirley and friends celebrating Jouvert, Couva</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPXVz-veKj7rsMvzmlKTXKAdRC8G2pffJa_SnlrTfARLk568tGnbvsZDi2xfX6xlhJ3xK8HsZlpbUHV9l9hhiyN3FARHzY5I6DJ282AmT3r3C8SFKmXnFflHofTl-dt3UTQK2LNw/s640-h/YIMG_0338.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPXVz-veKj7rsMvzmlKTXKAdRC8G2pffJa_SnlrTfARLk568tGnbvsZDi2xfX6xlhJ3xK8HsZlpbUHV9l9hhiyN3FARHzY5I6DJ282AmT3r3C8SFKmXnFflHofTl-dt3UTQK2LNw/s400/YIMG_0338.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037294333216283186" /></a><CENTER>Cracking whips on the street during Jouvert, Couva</CENTER><br />"Wining" we discovered is rolling your hips around and crushing them very tightly into those of your neighbour in the crowd. This is all done rhythmically to the pounding music and as most people were covered in mud and not wearing very much, was quite a spectacle for unaccustomed visitors like us! Many of the parade events were of a political nature mocking the police, the health service, the indecisions of the government and the general malaise and corruption throughout the country. Much we didn't understand, most seemed very badly expressed but some of the home-made banners were really rather clever. <br /><br />Amongst the better displays were a crowd of people wearing skull masks and dressed in white. They all carried scythes and cutlasses. (Cardboard this time we were relieved to discover!) They represented jumbies or disturbed spirits that are eventually destroyed by other spirits representing Death. They carried banners claiming "4 whom the bell tolls." Of course it was all accompanied by the same winding up, fast loud music and the platform shook as the crowd joined them all on stage. This habit is part of the festival and known as "Jumping up". Other displays were far worse and it all degenerated into a noisy, muddy, chaotic shambles with everyone jumping up and down and waving beer bottles at 7am. The streets were filthy and there was a mass of broken glass but the entire town seemed to be thoroughly enjoying itself. For us though, it was all a bemusing chaos completely lacking in finesse.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0oSt5BG0VUgahBi4gnMQOWt_k4le8q7-2F5JUX9eZbxM4SGgnsTYsXnU6INYs81PnXN9FqV-_UV9XuvqxllcAkJM8aCZvbZ2qFi2oUlc_rMwO0ErKI3umzYwWAk4cYtNd1beKYA/s640-h/YIMG_0336.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0oSt5BG0VUgahBi4gnMQOWt_k4le8q7-2F5JUX9eZbxM4SGgnsTYsXnU6INYs81PnXN9FqV-_UV9XuvqxllcAkJM8aCZvbZ2qFi2oUlc_rMwO0ErKI3umzYwWAk4cYtNd1beKYA/s400/YIMG_0336.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037294646748895810" /></a><CENTER>Not particularly grim reapers, Couva</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghBcZxN0G3X2wkeGkrbsrVQFmq5iEp_OS7iPiKyGHDoKCEce7bRRIdRYuo04Gs94lb9sDFmPFOXjMO1cWX2ZcVVUuIlMNR5XFmC3ijJ-NeZtuGbHCb9nMJ5uyyV7xHXrip022P7g/s640-h/YIMG_0339.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghBcZxN0G3X2wkeGkrbsrVQFmq5iEp_OS7iPiKyGHDoKCEce7bRRIdRYuo04Gs94lb9sDFmPFOXjMO1cWX2ZcVVUuIlMNR5XFmC3ijJ-NeZtuGbHCb9nMJ5uyyV7xHXrip022P7g/s400/YIMG_0339.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037300715537685282" /></a><CENTER>4 whom the bell tolls, celebrating Jouvert, Couva </CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMwzfsjaKX8VQOYk7iRyML5tgWPS59evBV8uT9a_6kxbEM7iiXSlVoETeSKEm1r9R_Nm3lYfsR5k7fBOeBqL4qpEJQMs6nefe0VbzrhIq-fNBNgJEbBbeqE1S4SmcTd9nh8b0AGQ/s640-h/YIMG_0346.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMwzfsjaKX8VQOYk7iRyML5tgWPS59evBV8uT9a_6kxbEM7iiXSlVoETeSKEm1r9R_Nm3lYfsR5k7fBOeBqL4qpEJQMs6nefe0VbzrhIq-fNBNgJEbBbeqE1S4SmcTd9nh8b0AGQ/s400/YIMG_0346.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037300719832652594" /></a><CENTER>Jumpin' up with D band, Couva</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjDix0q9FGRRTQy3AM56JjeAFDTgZPcC0HShx5WFREl04a06P09ak8IqEOJGEJaE7c2yIRrKRFVUUK0UmO0BVyPxM49LNacsxRUVjE-2MJbEWX-Z7GMuxSfPWGqHjw54RAQl8lwQ/s640-h/YIMG_0347.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjDix0q9FGRRTQy3AM56JjeAFDTgZPcC0HShx5WFREl04a06P09ak8IqEOJGEJaE7c2yIRrKRFVUUK0UmO0BVyPxM49LNacsxRUVjE-2MJbEWX-Z7GMuxSfPWGqHjw54RAQl8lwQ/s400/YIMG_0347.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037294651043863122" /></a><CENTER>Well dressed Trini workman! Jouvert, Couva</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh50ItjN81l2prH8Zudrj5guqv4rCzGIDs8B5FKgWx0w-SRZxHkY_p9LInsRzIB5FxBoDyxYIW9KIsgqCabQroS34-8YYxKeD7nUCeZKYIurvljZyfNFcB063DtMr8ixq1bRjN6Zw/s640-h/YIMG_0348.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh50ItjN81l2prH8Zudrj5guqv4rCzGIDs8B5FKgWx0w-SRZxHkY_p9LInsRzIB5FxBoDyxYIW9KIsgqCabQroS34-8YYxKeD7nUCeZKYIurvljZyfNFcB063DtMr8ixq1bRjN6Zw/s400/YIMG_0348.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037294651043863138" /></a><CENTER>Ladyboy in her best frock, Jouvert, Couva</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsTVcSOwaWz9PNJ7k9e71GisYK0-wpn80asqGpjYrN_-ToaMHba_0GLOvOp38QtpJjGtkXG64K7dthVy1djzDAao5JwjmN8iIcypSAIVuV6MB64Q-pRUGO5Es4IkNdoVrB69TnYg/s640-h/YIMG_0350.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsTVcSOwaWz9PNJ7k9e71GisYK0-wpn80asqGpjYrN_-ToaMHba_0GLOvOp38QtpJjGtkXG64K7dthVy1djzDAao5JwjmN8iIcypSAIVuV6MB64Q-pRUGO5Es4IkNdoVrB69TnYg/s400/YIMG_0350.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037294655338830450" /></a><CENTER>Waving home-made political banners on the platform to pounding music is all part of the fun at Jouvert, Couva </CENTER><br />We returned to the house for brunch and the noise continued the entire day. On the way home Shirley invited us to visit the pluckin' shop. She explained that live chickens are kept in a run and you select one. It is then pushed into a metal cone so its head sticks out the end. This is chopped off with a cutlass and the still kicking bird thrust into the plucking machine. Finally it is gutted and cut into pieces to take home. We declined the invitation! <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBEPW6l7z8BNtKB_zD9unuDoy1qIdRyZ0QF6cez2rfCNOLKK6lbeIzpLjPxw9cesxGULPAKO4Ka8oYtn7K1Fz4vtwEfj1R_S_Xye0kNJd0MvYXgTreuHkv9TsGoh5TEYhTA2qeAQ/s640-h/YIMG_0352.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBEPW6l7z8BNtKB_zD9unuDoy1qIdRyZ0QF6cez2rfCNOLKK6lbeIzpLjPxw9cesxGULPAKO4Ka8oYtn7K1Fz4vtwEfj1R_S_Xye0kNJd0MvYXgTreuHkv9TsGoh5TEYhTA2qeAQ/s400/YIMG_0352.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037294655338830466" /></a><CENTER>Chickens and metal cone at the Pluckin' shop, Couva </CENTER><br />In the garden we chopped down a sugar cane and cut up pieces to suck. Shirley and Nazir really like it but to me it was like sucking very sweet chewey wood. On the television we watched the main events happening in Port of Spain. The costumes looked quite spectacular but again, the only sound was of the same blaring soca tunes selected for the festival. Right across the country, in every town and village, similar parades and music were taking place. If friends in England had their windows open they could probably have heard it! It rained in torrents during the afternoon and we all took the opportunity for an afternoon sleep to be on good form for the evening performance known as "pretty mas."<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPXxr8WfIXERn-lOEAohK6sM0me3WvnqarkeASBjYcfvVpCI5l5hQPnShlj0Y2fgkvXg1rV-oZLNOveK0NnvWRP6PL3rOO4ql47t7Oq8Lk7KB7PutjKoWNcFE3_tqeAGi757iPTQ/s640-h/YIMG_0353.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPXxr8WfIXERn-lOEAohK6sM0me3WvnqarkeASBjYcfvVpCI5l5hQPnShlj0Y2fgkvXg1rV-oZLNOveK0NnvWRP6PL3rOO4ql47t7Oq8Lk7KB7PutjKoWNcFE3_tqeAGi757iPTQ/s400/YIMG_0353.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037294964576475794" /></a><CENTER>Our hosts' home</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmBGh1NeWvW-ff9vzF8ToYv-l5DMjUahd9IBj0E7d69NS7Zc5APE8WAX4L6BD8A-LxpOUNxrqvqJcBtmL3Q1RYv5PiSeELCsgtVJTiQRsBt8glwXWoEQVF9GoEnNRUz-qfan4Fxg/s640-h/YIMG_0357.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmBGh1NeWvW-ff9vzF8ToYv-l5DMjUahd9IBj0E7d69NS7Zc5APE8WAX4L6BD8A-LxpOUNxrqvqJcBtmL3Q1RYv5PiSeELCsgtVJTiQRsBt8glwXWoEQVF9GoEnNRUz-qfan4Fxg/s400/YIMG_0357.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037294968871443106" /></a><CENTER>Nazir peels the sugar cane</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-_0ui4i1RpbQF6FNXT086IOYRM4rRFQ-Fv_aB_C1JV1k2X8YJq6wRkkNbUhigZvj91XwWyC5aySd4p5y8EpOr1_c_5b5CFAUktAchGIya2elk0j9Lt8bVUIaPl3NHNioQPbEIxg/s640-h/YIMG_0359.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-_0ui4i1RpbQF6FNXT086IOYRM4rRFQ-Fv_aB_C1JV1k2X8YJq6wRkkNbUhigZvj91XwWyC5aySd4p5y8EpOr1_c_5b5CFAUktAchGIya2elk0j9Lt8bVUIaPl3NHNioQPbEIxg/s400/YIMG_0359.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037294973166410418" /></a><CENTER>Shirley chops up sugar cane</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8O2eujhdjALJceLAXIknPnVGILwT4t8YSekR17cVVwUzNfHBpkZTnFNFPpBhBnNIm9Cwgqqaslu0TUi2T49dHIxu_RYLf-1qSOJxoyYYihlJEJLZPHVpfB1KZYFk6eo-bZacduA/s640-h/YIMG_0360.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8O2eujhdjALJceLAXIknPnVGILwT4t8YSekR17cVVwUzNfHBpkZTnFNFPpBhBnNIm9Cwgqqaslu0TUi2T49dHIxu_RYLf-1qSOJxoyYYihlJEJLZPHVpfB1KZYFk6eo-bZacduA/s400/YIMG_0360.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037294973166410434" /></a><CENTER>Tropical rain shower with burnt field beyond</CENTER><br />Around 7pm we returned to the filthy, wet town centre filled with paper plates, cups, bags, half eaten food, cans and bottles to watch the colourful, evening spectacular. People had been drinkin' and winin' all day and there were some drunken sights around but generally it was good natured and we felt quite comfortable despite being the only white people around. We found the noise, chaos and lack of style as awesome as the morning experience. Nazir used to have to control these events when he was a policeman so he didn't really enjoy it either, but Shirley was obviously very happy and having great fun. The first display we saw was a mixture of children and adults, each doing their own individual thing to the music, jumpin' up, winin', hip wriggling, running around the stage and doing heaven knows what. It's quite beyond us to describe or explain it. Dante's Inferno is the expression that comes to mind! <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK4wI2-rOmjlEbrewMA5_lCQs1LA51Zys9a3C0RdotSrwFzxeYwhpip8Qp4GJUhYohE5c9JCX5bIBaoFVGSe2mOE_MK4O7Tzhp9WDEeNaPxfGLBSLHmhOsD5HNTj8hoBsu0LZrUQ/s640-h/YIMG_0368.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK4wI2-rOmjlEbrewMA5_lCQs1LA51Zys9a3C0RdotSrwFzxeYwhpip8Qp4GJUhYohE5c9JCX5bIBaoFVGSe2mOE_MK4O7Tzhp9WDEeNaPxfGLBSLHmhOsD5HNTj8hoBsu0LZrUQ/s400/YIMG_0368.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037294977461377746" /></a><CENTER>Pretty Mas, Couva </CENTER><br />Next we were treated to the best event of the carnival. Stilt-walking jumbies! Huge characters strode down the street, white and ghostly with long flowing robes and skulls for faces. They danced amongst the crowd waving their long legs in all directions, swaying and writhing to the music as only people of African origin seem able to do. It was scary, clever and completely fascinating. If the music had been less painful we could have watched them for hours. Eventually, to our relief, our hosts took us home. It has certainly been an experience and hopefully our ears will eventually recover, but one thing is for sure – we'll be taking ear plugs should we ever attend another carnival in Trinidad!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8faWO0z2UjzCi94-Os0k3mAzZESrH5ukp4pZJTu8bqEHbD93mRzc6qk-BflMrDoCXkFArnFZUeZ-pk2nFE0976OmToDd0FBq2NuqDzX-lpKk_3GhtRk5zjt6atHgXZsFESxMi2w/s640-h/YIMG_0371.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8faWO0z2UjzCi94-Os0k3mAzZESrH5ukp4pZJTu8bqEHbD93mRzc6qk-BflMrDoCXkFArnFZUeZ-pk2nFE0976OmToDd0FBq2NuqDzX-lpKk_3GhtRk5zjt6atHgXZsFESxMi2w/s400/YIMG_0371.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037295308173859554" /></a><CENTER>Stilt-walking jumbies, Couva carnival</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgac9F70u6A-eSNrB8BPM0nUwm7c1E0G9A2fZ8XuSjr9tmq15je7BiLxTLOi_Aeer0YYbdmFfo5FsaXPcHgZ1wpH3dbMPsNn5T9PZh_ArUMsnM-Tz6mVyz0srz8DmIeBbBDggi2Pw/s640-h/YIMG_0374.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgac9F70u6A-eSNrB8BPM0nUwm7c1E0G9A2fZ8XuSjr9tmq15je7BiLxTLOi_Aeer0YYbdmFfo5FsaXPcHgZ1wpH3dbMPsNn5T9PZh_ArUMsnM-Tz6mVyz0srz8DmIeBbBDggi2Pw/s400/YIMG_0374.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037295308173859570" /></a><CENTER>Stilt-walking jumbies, Couva carnival</CENTER><br /><B>Tuesday 20thth February 2007, Simla, <br />William Beebe Tropical Research Station, Trinidad </B><br />This morning Nazir had already been out to buy everyone spicy doubles with chick peas and lentils, baiganees (aubergines in batter) and saheena (fried spinach pancakes) for breakfast. This is the local equivalent of our full English breakfast and set us up for the rest of the day! <br /><br />Both Nazir and Shirley accompanied us back to the airport to be picked up by David and Karl. On the way we were taken to see the nearby sugar plantation and the original sugar factory, now abandoned. Nearby stands the imposing house of the original factory manager, set in beautiful parkland and now partly restored as a golf club for wealthy Trinidadians. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyVBDF7aDPen9Zp_QtSNYClafXx8R3XAnoYUGy6mnJibDYaW5XT36Hbdn59kcP9_Q6o3jg-udtQBvFPB0KztMRy030xkNrJc9kRAB38TKwTL9fZCTx4qsf17_pbn3pubJV3cHuQA/s640-h/YIMG_0376.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyVBDF7aDPen9Zp_QtSNYClafXx8R3XAnoYUGy6mnJibDYaW5XT36Hbdn59kcP9_Q6o3jg-udtQBvFPB0KztMRy030xkNrJc9kRAB38TKwTL9fZCTx4qsf17_pbn3pubJV3cHuQA/s400/YIMG_0376.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037295312468826882" /></a><CENTER>Approach to the disused sugar factory, Couva</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGTztq7xLTBfKti61GXuvI_5yvVg_8oGhFgUnSJJ51XTmybbETGZpk1ZRjf8J2to9XvOEybLH54cZVhF6rfpx00ev8tJS_LUYsSX8H2plnU66Utfk0YWSkNgmzVmaDEeFjTq95vA/s640-h/YIMG_0381.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGTztq7xLTBfKti61GXuvI_5yvVg_8oGhFgUnSJJ51XTmybbETGZpk1ZRjf8J2to9XvOEybLH54cZVhF6rfpx00ev8tJS_LUYsSX8H2plnU66Utfk0YWSkNgmzVmaDEeFjTq95vA/s400/YIMG_0381.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037295312468826898" /></a><CENTER>Abandoned home of the factory manager, Couva</CENTER><br />We saw roadside banners proclaiming sugar was the area's livelihood and condemning the government for ending subsidies for the industry after this year. Workers have been strongly resisting mechanised harvesting of the cane, insisting hand cutting ensured local jobs. Such methods are no longer economically viable so the new Tate and Lyle factory is also closing down and next year the fields will lie abandoned and the entire workforce on the land and in the factory will be without employment. It means the probable death of one of Trinidad's historic staple industries at a time when sugar prices are at a high because of its use to produce ethanol. <br /><br />At the airport we said our farewells to Nazir and Shirley who have done so much to make our visit to Trinidad special, giving us an insight into the lives and customs of the ordinary people of the country. We enjoyed our visit enormously. Thank you both very much.Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38609523.post-23488859526240975232007-02-28T12:53:00.001+00:002008-12-11T22:46:26.862+00:00Making new friends<B>Wednesday, 14th February 2007, Simla. <br />William Beebe Tropical Research Station, Trinidad</B><br />Here I am in the jungle with six men around and not a whiff of a rose for Valentine's Day from any of them! Indeed so intense has their conversation been concerning guppy fish, beetles, ants, butterflies, manhole covers and maps none of them even realised what day it was anyway! <br /><br />Today David decided his back was too painful to drive down to Couva with us so he and Karl spent the day at Simla and we had the car to ourselves for an entire day!! We were visiting Nisha's mum and dad, Shirley and Nazir whom we'd never met but knew a lot about from Nisha. (I suppose meeting Shirley on Valentine's Day is rather a coincidence if you think about it.)<br /><br />We left lots of time to arrive and decided to drive cross-country rather than down the motorway as it would be quieter and show us far more of the countryside. Our route took us through isolated dusty villages where children and dogs played in the road and young men in baggy trousers and long tee shirts lounged outside the rum shop. There are a surprising number of very heavy lorries to be encountered on these rural roads and they have really broken up the road surface so that it is pitted and potholed and in places has crumbled clean away. Navigating these lanes is a slow, jolting and very painful business. We passed fields where white cattle egrets scratched for insects. Large, ragged vultures hung in the sky overhead. In the distance the forested central mountain range showed clear against the unrelenting bright blue sky. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVZzfehW7RAEVdhR5K_S9WvNM8NeFe_uy3Lxoj9VP0SwFxcXU8-EmhjNiHNPi5-3jpgyBwJsGClqqg9KuE-YHr8tyDJcw3q_dD9Dqem8Am4dRtH5lUjkNncfrpT-LO5KlT1CFXQQ/s640-h/YIMG_0209.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVZzfehW7RAEVdhR5K_S9WvNM8NeFe_uy3Lxoj9VP0SwFxcXU8-EmhjNiHNPi5-3jpgyBwJsGClqqg9KuE-YHr8tyDJcw3q_dD9Dqem8Am4dRtH5lUjkNncfrpT-LO5KlT1CFXQQ/s400/YIMG_0209.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036568329165184370" /></a><CENTER>Northern Range seen from the Central Range</CENTER><br />As we moved south west across the island the roadsides were filled with sugar cane and there is a processing factory on the edge of the town of Couva.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5stpnDok-AOuBOz0786Hw4C0FeTRmatDfe9LDfser0iwIL7oYT3MeQAzkMkz4m6Cx8nvXUsDPAMkKZpbBFeWz7CgM_hgLe_pFOrRs9if7EhW1BLLX3CctzsyFoyae8t_kVQsKXQ/s640-h/YIMG_0210.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5stpnDok-AOuBOz0786Hw4C0FeTRmatDfe9LDfser0iwIL7oYT3MeQAzkMkz4m6Cx8nvXUsDPAMkKZpbBFeWz7CgM_hgLe_pFOrRs9if7EhW1BLLX3CctzsyFoyae8t_kVQsKXQ/s400/YIMG_0210.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036568333460151682" /></a><CENTER>Sugar cane field near Couva</CENTER><br />It took us a couple of hours to reach our destination and a little longer to locate our host's home as road signing is almost non-existent here. We found it by chance when Ian knocked at a house to ask directions only to be happily embraced when the door opened. Surprisingly we'd actually found the right house! On the front is a little shop where Shirley sells ice cold drinks and essential supplies to the neighbours and children taking part in sports activites on the savannah opposite the house.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhADEKiUaCQvAQVEGsmwGQO6lW9jZ1iVU2bVU0i3CPdISk8hhpTZOZZNJ3yUhWeqAiy6eiT4P7lde-nXj5knRwDiBmgJBxAVFFwpcAprB78Qc0bDdMyqY_kpyGlc_Zt_FIWeaeTfw/s640-h/YIMG_0214.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhADEKiUaCQvAQVEGsmwGQO6lW9jZ1iVU2bVU0i3CPdISk8hhpTZOZZNJ3yUhWeqAiy6eiT4P7lde-nXj5knRwDiBmgJBxAVFFwpcAprB78Qc0bDdMyqY_kpyGlc_Zt_FIWeaeTfw/s400/YIMG_0214.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036568333460151698" /></a><CENTER>Nazir and Shirley's house</CENTER><br />We've spent a very happy day and had great kindness lavished upon us. Nazir discussed Trinidadian politics and the social difficulties the country is facing as we barbequed chicken in the shady garden where banana, coconut and mango trees flourish. Ironically, as David spent the day relaxing at Simla, Nazir complained to us about the countless ants' nests that infest his garden! He also warned us of the dangers of moving around alone in a country where people get kidnapped and even murdered just because they are white and assumed to have money. It all sounded very scary but as visitors, so far we have felt perfectly safe and everyone has been friendly. We will heed his advice however and be wary.<br /> <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_-NHWc3IlQ_eZBLAIKf3fCY4xMahm5IcBC8jqdEi0U16Z07qKWgQHnJMxmHm1ARtXPAPyiMe2MDRktDj7DVKM7marMA9BQ2EK7I-OPibe-gZjN1FxzbuGpsYX1YfihM9wqfvCwg/s640-h/YIMG_0212.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_-NHWc3IlQ_eZBLAIKf3fCY4xMahm5IcBC8jqdEi0U16Z07qKWgQHnJMxmHm1ARtXPAPyiMe2MDRktDj7DVKM7marMA9BQ2EK7I-OPibe-gZjN1FxzbuGpsYX1YfihM9wqfvCwg/s400/YIMG_0212.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036568337755119010" /></a><CENTER>Cutting coconuts for coconut water</CENTER><br />Shirley prepared a range of dishes to accompany the chicken and we ate in the cool of the house where a welcome breeze blew through the large open room designed to keep out the overpowering heat of the day. With our meal we drank fresh coconut water straight from the nuts gathered in the garden. Ian and Nazir drank theirs slightly laced with rum. Nazir has suggested we go stay with them for a few days while David is ant hunting, and he will show us parts of the island visitors don't usually see. Shirley has lent us her mobile phone so we can contact her or phone for taxis if we need them, and life suddenly seems a lot more manageable. We don't really want to spend another hot day in Port of Spain at the Carnival when the streets will be packed, the calypso tents suffocating, we will almost certainly be pestered being on our own and white in such crowds and it will be well nigh impossible to get a route-taxi back to Arima afterwards. So it is highly probable that if it doesn't inconvenience Karl and David, we will find a way to get down to Couva for a couple of days to spend in the friendliest possible company and go with our new friends to see the carnival at Couva instead.<br /><br />The afternoon passed so quickly we realised it would be dark before we got back, so we took the motorway routes rather than the broken back lanes. The road surface on the motorways is fine but at rush hour it is completely snarled up. It took us three hours to get home, most of it in darkness. It's been a lovely day though and hopefully we'll have more like it soon.<br /><br /><B>Thursday, 15th February 2007, Simla. <br />William Beebie Tropical Research Station, Trinidad</B><br />This morning David wanted to search for Bachacs (leaf-cutter ants) up the Lopinot Valley. It runs along the far side of the ridge from the Arima Valley where we are staying but it's rather a long drive down and round. We accompanied him as far as the village of Lopinot leaving David and Karl to continue the few miles further to the dead end at the top of the valley. <br /><br />The village is something of a showcase for Trinidad and considerable money has been spent improving both the road up to Lopinot and the village itself. There were a team of gardeners sweeping, cutting back along the roadsides and generally giving the village a cared for look. It developed during the 18th century as a cocoa plantation and was the last place in Trinidad to abandon slavery. The house of the original French plantation owner, Lopinot, is in process of restoration and has been for several years. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQOtP7hzXJkKI-03wyfvaKfVa4DU7iXkhnuzBcPC2dVmuzJWjeddsD9QNzkJehh60-bKmLhpnrrIT_Sl1FmtrftlVIy_KEyi53GT7qFb2nhsv_EdOgolsJWC259HeT_iTwEANGYg/s640-h/YIMG_0215.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQOtP7hzXJkKI-03wyfvaKfVa4DU7iXkhnuzBcPC2dVmuzJWjeddsD9QNzkJehh60-bKmLhpnrrIT_Sl1FmtrftlVIy_KEyi53GT7qFb2nhsv_EdOgolsJWC259HeT_iTwEANGYg/s400/YIMG_0215.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036568342050086322" /></a><CENTER>Plantation owner's house, Lopinot Valley</CENTER><br />We have heard much grumbling from Trinidadians who complain of Government corruption. One claim is that the money for the restoration work on the house at Lopinot has been released but has been diverted along the way. This seems to be the case with many projects. Contractors are paid to carry out work and they then employ the cheapest labour and materials. There appears to be no control over quality and even if work is completed it is substandard and a few years later starts to disintegrate. Road works and buildings are two of the worst cases. Everyone tells us the country is awash with money and the government is dead set on turning it from a Third World country to a First World one by 2020. To this end it is undertaking massive building projects, encouraging commercial enterprises, building major highways etc, with cheap imported Chinese labour. This does little for the unemployment problem, the education system, the health service, rural isolation and deprivation and the general transport infrastructure. It causes indignation and racial tension amongst the electorate. The government is ethnically divided between members from African and Asian background and nepotism is rife. In reality the Rainbow Nation where races and creeds intermix and live harmoniously together is an over-simplification. The government is aware of public anger but ignores it. <br /><br />The Lopinot Valley is rather isolated and there is a strong Spanish influence. We met a very nice, assertive lady happy to chat with us. She told us she was president of the village council and a school governor. She also managed a little café at the top of the village. Her brother gave guided walks around the area and talks on the ecology of the valley while she arranged accommodation and meals for those attending. She invited us into the shady café garden and over freshly squeezed orange juice explained she was from Spanish/Amerindian descent and was determined that the valley would retain its old traditions such as the Parang – the performance of Spanish Christmas songs with violins and maracas, rather like wassailing in England. She showed us some of the instruments used and then explained how she could make drinking chocolate from cocoa beans using a pestle and mortar. Once a week she taught the children of the Catholic primary school opposite the café to speak Spanish and traditional Spanish dances. She even showed us some photocopies made in England – presumably of Treasury papers - detailing every slave working on the cocoa plantation at the time of emancipation. It showed that the slave owner – a successor to the original Lopinot – took pains not to divide families, keeping children and parents together.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4iXZjkSp5JHBt8SG7nutHOUNGXapjAdsOzlxUqAR9FZI44gIU76zlzTOnZJsXZm0slVVH4aJ-hhgRQQZ04R-p3idnitLs_u8Nq5PzGYgR6SIo98RzdAkGBE5nI9mfz7wUKTEopg/s640-h/YIMG_0216.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4iXZjkSp5JHBt8SG7nutHOUNGXapjAdsOzlxUqAR9FZI44gIU76zlzTOnZJsXZm0slVVH4aJ-hhgRQQZ04R-p3idnitLs_u8Nq5PzGYgR6SIo98RzdAkGBE5nI9mfz7wUKTEopg/s400/YIMG_0216.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036569609065438658" /></a><CENTER>Maquette of Parang players, Lopinot Valley</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihlekr3khC_CF_WhJWOU9SuVwWtqEta2cH24AD7H3NWjiPlV3h84-r-L9O7SWMMiugV1389hO-oNc13HurOnkl6P_cZ2xHiZaTjPgl0b4-mlAyFznZQscATIxUhDzPpimgjWB4Vg/s640-h/YIMG_0226.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihlekr3khC_CF_WhJWOU9SuVwWtqEta2cH24AD7H3NWjiPlV3h84-r-L9O7SWMMiugV1389hO-oNc13HurOnkl6P_cZ2xHiZaTjPgl0b4-mlAyFznZQscATIxUhDzPpimgjWB4Vg/s400/YIMG_0226.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036569613360405970" /></a><CENTER>Children at the village school, Lopinot Valley</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUJAEE4kZYSGXBCdujolN2obWJ_1i1ESgJwbi-j5y5RU7qNefpcdMkR9ImVV1cuqkDSwBVRoVtjwY26x-ryxiucY9icJGRXlYZG-asLspnsh_ZqqaQJmo8cIKQv0fu_tpV8mYpAg/s640-h/YIMG_0227.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUJAEE4kZYSGXBCdujolN2obWJ_1i1ESgJwbi-j5y5RU7qNefpcdMkR9ImVV1cuqkDSwBVRoVtjwY26x-ryxiucY9icJGRXlYZG-asLspnsh_ZqqaQJmo8cIKQv0fu_tpV8mYpAg/s400/YIMG_0227.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036569613360405986" /></a><CENTER>Gardening lesson at the school, Lopinot Valley</CENTER><br />Apart from the tombs of the Lopinot family in the village cemetery, there is still much evidence of the former plantation. Wild cocoa trees abound with cocoa pods lying by the roadside. As a result of our recent visit to the museum in Port of Spain we were able to recognise several old drying lofts. Once the beans are extracted from the pods they are left to ferment before being spread out on flat lofts to dry in the sun. There are sliding roofs on metal rails that can be moved across to shelter the beans when it rains.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ErQPfPPF8_VGY0ruIpVjmRkEpAQNywFyV-OAie2UFi166454bz8jn34K6VdBm_70nfolLmxSg1cl3-QGTl8SW-5Vthyphenhyphenpk-e51v4TRPVv7d6jpmwgmFltnwQyLqeESl17BZkz6w/s640-h/YIMG_0228.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ErQPfPPF8_VGY0ruIpVjmRkEpAQNywFyV-OAie2UFi166454bz8jn34K6VdBm_70nfolLmxSg1cl3-QGTl8SW-5Vthyphenhyphenpk-e51v4TRPVv7d6jpmwgmFltnwQyLqeESl17BZkz6w/s400/YIMG_0228.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036569617655373298" /></a><CENTER>In the village cemetery, Lopinot Valley</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYKIsNJWufIbV0RyBOWJaqtGIfeg-lX9VTcZhABHFNBNBIUC8Nl2DhjA-Y02rN-TMUXuMqUCu0KeC1YckdjjrnZWHlEI7JMs8VXWwCf52pQyzDu8ch21cIZ9480aqPpjxbkeg59g/s640-h/YIMG_0219.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYKIsNJWufIbV0RyBOWJaqtGIfeg-lX9VTcZhABHFNBNBIUC8Nl2DhjA-Y02rN-TMUXuMqUCu0KeC1YckdjjrnZWHlEI7JMs8VXWwCf52pQyzDu8ch21cIZ9480aqPpjxbkeg59g/s400/YIMG_0219.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036569617655373314" /></a><CENTER>Original drying loft for cocoa beans, Lopinot Valley</CENTER><br />By now it was time to rejoin David and Karl who had acquired only one more nest after toiling in the hot sun. We returned to Simla for lunch where we discovered a colony of nomadic army ants invading one of the outbuildings. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5HAmeZGkhrse-QJg825V-LaY0HbVrbLWz6E7Mm9NDHowwjcphalz2S-mpCkI9QUKnckNJyyxlt5Q7ih_z6BvXexIONBcYkzJIub8t3knJfWv5xv4sZzB3BtdAyLTeKiPI1NAnKQ/s640-h/YIMG_0232.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5HAmeZGkhrse-QJg825V-LaY0HbVrbLWz6E7Mm9NDHowwjcphalz2S-mpCkI9QUKnckNJyyxlt5Q7ih_z6BvXexIONBcYkzJIub8t3knJfWv5xv4sZzB3BtdAyLTeKiPI1NAnKQ/s400/YIMG_0232.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036570837426085394" /></a><CENTER>Army ants at Simla</CENTER><br />In the afternoon David and Karl decided they wanted to attend a seminar on bugs at the University of the West Indies. As we had no transport to do anything else, we accompanied them to the campus and killed time sheltering from the heat in the air conditioned University Library. Later we drove up to the Monastery of St. Benedict on the hill where we were served Trinidad's answer to a Devon cream tea. A little black nun served us with pots of Ceylon tea, slices of cheese with salad and fruit sponge cake with honey as we sat on the covered terrace overlooking the garden with a cool breeze moving the hot air around.<br /><br />Descending down into the dusty, untidy, ugly streets of Tunapuna on the main route between Port of Spain and Arima we stocked up on shopping before arriving at the home of David's English friend Alison where we had been invited for supper. The meal was delicious and gave us the opportunity to taste such typically local dishes as calaloo, plantain and corn pie. Alison's son – also an entomologist – and his Trinidadian wife were there, so while the men talked bugs, the ladies – and Ian – discussed local politics and Trinidadian literature. <br /><br /><B>Friday, 16th February 2007, Simla. William Beebe Tropical Research Station, Trinidad</B><br />We were allowed exclusive use of the car today as David went off with a researcher he met somewhere who is studying mosses and was prepared to help him dig up more ants nests. The toll of nests now equals fifteen so he's gradually getting there. Karl declined our offer to take him with us for a day on the north coast, preferring to remain in the shade of Simla and act as midwife to his tiny caterpillars as they climbed out of their egg cases.<br /><br />So we took the steep, broken, twisting road, little more than a track really, up through the luxuriant forest that forms a dark tunnel that is delightfully cool. Lianas brushed the windscreen and occasionally, as our route curved and dipped we caught glimpses of the steaming leaf canopy across the valley after the early morning rain. Eventually we reached the ridge at 1,800 feet and started the decent on the far side towards the sea at La Blanchisseuse. At the speed we needed to drive to preserve our axle, it took a couple of hours to travel a mere 35 kilometres. We saw nothing but a few battered trucks and jeeps owned by people living in isolated hamlets of a few equally battered shacks. As we passed we noted satellite receivers on the corrugated tin roofs. However, the only source of water seemed to be from the waterfalls and streams where we saw several people filling their containers. (The only water supply we have here at Simla also comes from a stream higher in the forest.)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoge-xiZvbXRKsxu5lv97x3VMJiC63AA8Y7pUar0ymCQ9s3Z9PoW59gMJXFd02fpGNMagKWDemwg68Eh8UotqWjaOSUfyW_ISUnsCY7C_PgSy-brgzY58024pLHntHGMcvwMo91g/s640-h/YIMG_0249.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoge-xiZvbXRKsxu5lv97x3VMJiC63AA8Y7pUar0ymCQ9s3Z9PoW59gMJXFd02fpGNMagKWDemwg68Eh8UotqWjaOSUfyW_ISUnsCY7C_PgSy-brgzY58024pLHntHGMcvwMo91g/s400/YIMG_0249.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036570841721052706" /></a><CENTER>From the forest road </CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5XXUUuUP0mXhqAzVyoAPUQ9YdPSXVwhv2YJhF_RcbkpqiVL6JMmXfzQTgtpFsQI5Dov0kT1rHnZnR-fINr3S_XONWZY7AYxOcVGFWh0h4ML1KgheJH_8CVCrMsHAkbZRRZYCo7Q/s640-h/YIMG_0251.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5XXUUuUP0mXhqAzVyoAPUQ9YdPSXVwhv2YJhF_RcbkpqiVL6JMmXfzQTgtpFsQI5Dov0kT1rHnZnR-fINr3S_XONWZY7AYxOcVGFWh0h4ML1KgheJH_8CVCrMsHAkbZRRZYCo7Q/s400/YIMG_0251.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036570841721052722" /></a><CENTER>A house in the forest</CENTER><br />Eventually we emerged on the north coast and it is indeed very lovely. Soft pale sand skirts a bay of clear, blue water. For a backdrop there are the green ridges of the northern forests and the beaches are fringed with shady palm trees. The village of Blanchisseuse does not have a great deal beyond a church, a club for the local fishermen, a couple of rum shops and a shack that serves as a vegetable stall and grocery store. Unless they are very extravagant, wealthy properties, most places in Trinidad look shabby and dilapidated and Blanchisseuse is no exception. Dogs and chickens clutter the roads or scratch, each in its own way, beneath the palm trees between the road and the beach.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoKEpCmU74jvVT0Skxcj3pALgsSrGTYb2OY2Y67ziOCgC2VofC0GCE0-s1RALW6uXbdr9seFqK5RY_DWM-TGE553k6YvtLUjGN1nXge56bN28JfgRegg1qv63UQSseftCZlmPAzA/s640-h/YIMG_0235.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoKEpCmU74jvVT0Skxcj3pALgsSrGTYb2OY2Y67ziOCgC2VofC0GCE0-s1RALW6uXbdr9seFqK5RY_DWM-TGE553k6YvtLUjGN1nXge56bN28JfgRegg1qv63UQSseftCZlmPAzA/s400/YIMG_0235.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036570846016020034" /></a><CENTER>The coast at Blanchisseuse</CENTER> <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-GU0ClE4N3drLPjOkFIgNz7Zc0jBT4UyJb88wIOx8h9pmV8p_Y6RjrcEfkUpwL6BMrfKace0Y2jDLzRZlmE9d3mFg4J14Fgd_3xZmNMPn-c9vMR5QMCs_XaoDNCs5BhtIHQOiQA/s640-h/YIMG_0236.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-GU0ClE4N3drLPjOkFIgNz7Zc0jBT4UyJb88wIOx8h9pmV8p_Y6RjrcEfkUpwL6BMrfKace0Y2jDLzRZlmE9d3mFg4J14Fgd_3xZmNMPn-c9vMR5QMCs_XaoDNCs5BhtIHQOiQA/s400/YIMG_0236.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036570850310987346" /></a><CENTER>Forest right to the sea</CENTER><br />We turned west and followed the badly maintained coast road to Las Cuevas, a beautiful beach for bathing and with very few visitors. You need to be determined to reach it and most people would approach it from Port of Spain. After we had strolled along the sand, shaded by rocks and palms, it suddenly started to rain as only the tropics can. We ran back and took shelter in a concrete shed without glass that acts as a café. Here we ate kingfish with salad and chips and looked out over the sea as the rain poured down outside. We'd planned on dining on "shark and bake", a Trini beach speciality, but "no bake today man, all you take kingfish and chips." So we did as we were told. (Incidentally, we don't always understand everything that is said to us, charming as it sounds. Compared with the perfect enunciation of our newscaster Trevor Macdonald, born in Tunapuna, this is a different language!)<br /> <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI78mH_PEgwo5sjcTMBpMOGZxC_g1Yixkx4I3AGD6EW-sHOPMW2uHuDobttTsIzlzGrqMERT69g-T2ELYKt4TMnpJSLdRTU4lp9xCbzNOvhOE_1LpyADGVPHDdJrbbLDR_yoJrCw/s640-h/YIMG_0238.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI78mH_PEgwo5sjcTMBpMOGZxC_g1Yixkx4I3AGD6EW-sHOPMW2uHuDobttTsIzlzGrqMERT69g-T2ELYKt4TMnpJSLdRTU4lp9xCbzNOvhOE_1LpyADGVPHDdJrbbLDR_yoJrCw/s400/YIMG_0238.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036572297714966114" /></a><CENTER>Las Cuevas</CENTER> <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUaNHRCtXH2rFJOyTIgOmB1oN7UZxxrwRRs4BxC-Mr5ZFjuK4E07grP-MLL1gcg5WRrRfBWBVvGgCQBClAO_PhS2s5egbli50eCx2-uiaS3WLDiEMHCiOV1e24A6Nad3UVFO0Cvg/s640-h/YIMG_0243.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUaNHRCtXH2rFJOyTIgOmB1oN7UZxxrwRRs4BxC-Mr5ZFjuK4E07grP-MLL1gcg5WRrRfBWBVvGgCQBClAO_PhS2s5egbli50eCx2-uiaS3WLDiEMHCiOV1e24A6Nad3UVFO0Cvg/s400/YIMG_0243.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036572302009933426" /></a><CENTER>Beach at Las Cuevas</CENTER><br />As we watched, just off-shore, a dozen pelicans were fishing, flying up and down across the bay before suddenly closing their wings to dive like missiles straight down into the water, surfacing with the next course to their lunch. Overhead black vultures glided without effort, sometimes alighting in the palm trees or on cliff tops. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuegJUnxPvWOaL33_Ta97dvyYxhjA7pY6k3yUxB5phw4MRkqr0ji0jlN_qj4UgRheLojOyhyphenhyphendWwvKgbt-TdJ-vCcTgIaf1w9jG-RUwmwHUFHj8B0eS281LjdBmG-aM2HoKy2O25A/s640-h/YIMG_0240.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuegJUnxPvWOaL33_Ta97dvyYxhjA7pY6k3yUxB5phw4MRkqr0ji0jlN_qj4UgRheLojOyhyphenhyphendWwvKgbt-TdJ-vCcTgIaf1w9jG-RUwmwHUFHj8B0eS281LjdBmG-aM2HoKy2O25A/s400/YIMG_0240.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036572302009933442" /></a><CENTER>A curious bird is the pelican, its beak holds more than its belly can</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2tP4TUFYGWIv0f7RG0SNx2tY6r5Xl4Dipd6cWcMUZh2J288JwPeQDuDJnwz3doeg7ld49z3boDg6JTGvY54LeT8RMy1LiOSG0mrQutshd7JenVc8AWUPsME3v7_W_ofhbl2KEoA/s640-h/YIMG_0258.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2tP4TUFYGWIv0f7RG0SNx2tY6r5Xl4Dipd6cWcMUZh2J288JwPeQDuDJnwz3doeg7ld49z3boDg6JTGvY54LeT8RMy1LiOSG0mrQutshd7JenVc8AWUPsME3v7_W_ofhbl2KEoA/s400/YIMG_0258.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036572302009933458" /></a><CENTER>Vulture on the north coast</CENTER><br />The rain soon eased and the sun steamed everywhere dry in minutes. We continued along the coast to the more popular and busy beach of Maracas where we discovered there were several white, or rather red, people sunbathing amidst the local lads playing football and children skipping in the surf. The road leading out from Port of Spain is reasonable to this point so it is a popular trip out away from the dust and hassle of the city. Views along the coast from above La Vache Bay are quite stunning with thick tropical vegetation to the very edge of the sea. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQbCeZzHXHr4dAdvmvFFkiWjtMWcUMOxvLJcSBbSr41AQuNMhPE9mOxtrrmJ3XBj1TwpBryXc3_a-EblF2EHwgzq9T3zYm1g1hfvYZ7XNyotvHTAfxCQ6RzJEvsAE13DEY3FAtJg/s640-h/YIMG_0458.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQbCeZzHXHr4dAdvmvFFkiWjtMWcUMOxvLJcSBbSr41AQuNMhPE9mOxtrrmJ3XBj1TwpBryXc3_a-EblF2EHwgzq9T3zYm1g1hfvYZ7XNyotvHTAfxCQ6RzJEvsAE13DEY3FAtJg/s400/YIMG_0458.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036575948437167874" /></a><CENTER>The coast above La Vache Bay</CENTER> <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6L1RDv5HKv1Z6yckjBL3yVrWlD_gb8QbZgPPCd2vJ8_7hNfALljCm3IuKoZGQyQ1q4-S4flsgdw71WHWse_tRVFRB8l58BwUM_RUg3BCk4K0LrLIdof46ZKkt-F3HaOuZRVnmFw/s640-h/YIMG_0455.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6L1RDv5HKv1Z6yckjBL3yVrWlD_gb8QbZgPPCd2vJ8_7hNfALljCm3IuKoZGQyQ1q4-S4flsgdw71WHWse_tRVFRB8l58BwUM_RUg3BCk4K0LrLIdof46ZKkt-F3HaOuZRVnmFw/s400/YIMG_0455.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036574612702338738" /></a><CENTER>North coast looking west, Venezuela in the distance</CENTER> <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Y2dgdqfTmPIhZ9yrVs6o12V2ZFpnTYE7MCyV6DRUpZivEjOUZtD9GjmCzxUymERcH9LwDoeIldfQAWLhrVcRFcJSV4e5vdhJnsW_lDotz7BUEH8fnIeL5Y55hSecfB7k6ND3mw/s640-h/YIMG_0256.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Y2dgdqfTmPIhZ9yrVs6o12V2ZFpnTYE7MCyV6DRUpZivEjOUZtD9GjmCzxUymERcH9LwDoeIldfQAWLhrVcRFcJSV4e5vdhJnsW_lDotz7BUEH8fnIeL5Y55hSecfB7k6ND3mw/s400/YIMG_0256.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036574616997306050" /></a><CENTER>Maracas Bay</CENTER><br />For our swim though, we decided to return to the more isolated beach of Las Cuevas. Even Ian has to admit that he enjoyed his first swim in the Caribbean! The water was pleasantly warm and the waves and breaking surf surprisingly powerful. It's an odd feeling though, being the only white people on the entire beach. We felt quite uncomfortable. Everyone around us was a wonderful shade of deep velvety chocolate while we resembled a particularly anaemic shade of vanilla ice-cream. People were friendly enough provided we accepted cries from limers of "Hey white man, how you doin' okay?" <br /><br />Too soon it was time to start the long drive back through the forest after a really lovely day. There seemed more traffic on the track at this time in the afternoon so we were frequently edging past each other with drops down into unseen leafy depths in the jungle.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaWQ2jZ20rPc85IJjCvcnnoS57k2ECQs8j-BCwQ55lHeWAzXNZvTr5AEpYqXRUpw84DgtTLQJnq2NbLTHtuAfWthcAyKjyzWjZ8RfaEQN5jSDMczCTNbKpDLcSHzW3Sc1SvOCU4w/s640-h/YIMG_0260.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaWQ2jZ20rPc85IJjCvcnnoS57k2ECQs8j-BCwQ55lHeWAzXNZvTr5AEpYqXRUpw84DgtTLQJnq2NbLTHtuAfWthcAyKjyzWjZ8RfaEQN5jSDMczCTNbKpDLcSHzW3Sc1SvOCU4w/s400/YIMG_0260.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036574621292273362" /></a><CENTER>Returning to Simla</CENTER><br />David's new friend joined us for supper after a successful day anting. He told us he is studying the reproductive system of moss in Trinidad for the next two years and treated us to a truly fascinating insight into the sex life of mosses. Apparently some species are beginning to turn hermaphrodite and his specific area of study is directed at the maintenance of sex in the liverwort!! Never a dull moment here!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQHTfaI8VL8HJKaars89zBljCVNHQleEY3qhogM0rsl25ecc89Bqi1kZDX2xOrSWRyFDlHG0a_g7kwEKUycKkshDfAQmzJ3DbkOQy8szeFXrFAQwl9WnVenB79M4z1ez47ywv59g/s640-h/YIMG_0234.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQHTfaI8VL8HJKaars89zBljCVNHQleEY3qhogM0rsl25ecc89Bqi1kZDX2xOrSWRyFDlHG0a_g7kwEKUycKkshDfAQmzJ3DbkOQy8szeFXrFAQwl9WnVenB79M4z1ez47ywv59g/s400/YIMG_0234.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036574625587240674" /></a><CENTER>Found on our car this morning </CENTER> <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAw9quAtenz6IaK6LqnbKjxwchFLYY37hB2ou8HTod0t4nrHsm9KCAQkkcoYkY6S1njM6mz5dnPxKDHGUcn0DfTfwm0IclY7zuYA-Pekm40JQS6Uj5zssp_CXsJ0cBoBsUzI3uNQ/s640-h/YIMG_0266.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAw9quAtenz6IaK6LqnbKjxwchFLYY37hB2ou8HTod0t4nrHsm9KCAQkkcoYkY6S1njM6mz5dnPxKDHGUcn0DfTfwm0IclY7zuYA-Pekm40JQS6Uj5zssp_CXsJ0cBoBsUzI3uNQ/s400/YIMG_0266.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036574625587240690" /></a><CENTER>One of Karl's moths disguised as a leaf</CENTER>Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38609523.post-41831363802443680922007-02-24T13:48:00.000+00:002008-12-11T22:46:27.113+00:00Oil birds and oil drums<B>Saturday, 10th February 2007, Simla. <br />William Beebe Tropical Research Station, Trinidad</B><br /><br />This morning we revisited the market in Arima with its astonishing variety of vegetables. Today we discovered ocra or ladies fingers, cassava roots and yams and watched a cutlass wielding stallholder hack the tops off coconuts for the refreshment of customers happy to tilt back their heads and let the sweet water inside pour down their throats. Next time we will take a bottle and ask him to decant some for us. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCK0gNLioTsYDyKDIyYe0Yg8N0JVHbPtnWPqHBr9ghKgCq6-e3mdxJlaaUqjFzBG5x0yg1xitH3iWA5_y_iPKEHCd2p6KIw_EajTu-f5scFhbWkAN3OBZgS20LA-sxo663Mwk9sA/s640-h/YIMG_0105.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCK0gNLioTsYDyKDIyYe0Yg8N0JVHbPtnWPqHBr9ghKgCq6-e3mdxJlaaUqjFzBG5x0yg1xitH3iWA5_y_iPKEHCd2p6KIw_EajTu-f5scFhbWkAN3OBZgS20LA-sxo663Mwk9sA/s400/YIMG_0105.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035098430405363474" /></a><center>Coconut man, Arima</center><br />We then drove to the University of the West Indies at St. Augustine on the outskirts of Port of Spain. Here David showed us where he spent several years working in the 1970s and we visited the library. It seems well appointed with large computer suites and complete back-runs of the major bibliographic tools. Hopefully they also have access to these online now. We were a bit taken aback to see instructions prominently displayed for self-preservation and evacuation in case of earthquakes. We'd not realised Trinidad was subject to them.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8rP9owI1u4HYeBL0C-4I7282UwcguIx5Vw14SGxojiyav4KVi543knXeFNqvrBGkzZ5uR4S6-ek9BYh63tepIuh6DdUtcbz3pSgdHzd-Iy28M_6ZsRmf29ySRsaDVBISMFyNDAA/s640-h/YIMG_0111.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8rP9owI1u4HYeBL0C-4I7282UwcguIx5Vw14SGxojiyav4KVi543knXeFNqvrBGkzZ5uR4S6-ek9BYh63tepIuh6DdUtcbz3pSgdHzd-Iy28M_6ZsRmf29ySRsaDVBISMFyNDAA/s400/YIMG_0111.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035098434700330786" /></a><center>University of the West Indies, St. Augustin</center><br />For lunch we bought "doubles" from a stall at the entrance to the University grounds. Doubles are a couple of rounds of soft dough filled with dhal and chickpeas topped with a mild curry sauce. They were cheap and very tasty – if rather messy when we ate them later beneath a shady tree on the hill high above the town at the imposing abbey of St. Benedict. The site afforded views right across the plain towards the Caroni swamp with the Gulf of Paria beyond. The abbey church had a colonial Hispanic feel and is quite recent. The air up there was wonderful with a gentle breeze to offset the sun's heat. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhih4NWnqbsBJE-qrDowmkFGr0wTpsj1cxsRDI6Otab96qNqAIIVAyPH9EOuOGfcbXk1IC2KnBVIzKPArAwBFYIU9NORWkQCt_RbJ97leavpeAabX2RDEON4bXIk7zFrMZYWUAQLQ/s640-h/YIMG_0115.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhih4NWnqbsBJE-qrDowmkFGr0wTpsj1cxsRDI6Otab96qNqAIIVAyPH9EOuOGfcbXk1IC2KnBVIzKPArAwBFYIU9NORWkQCt_RbJ97leavpeAabX2RDEON4bXIk7zFrMZYWUAQLQ/s400/YIMG_0115.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035098434700330802" /></a><center>View from the Abbey Church, Port of Spain</center><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZz6L1vymn2h7QYA9eaY0zee84pki6_2Pr3L6FYYzzh1n-Hx6z099NrVgzVniW-pfydTqK-O4knN4BmBOJVmMIQEQbqYTW8FqTYwmT7Lh9AGJLIyhd2JsibJ7CyGrzuKQnpPZa6g/s640-h/YIMG_0114.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZz6L1vymn2h7QYA9eaY0zee84pki6_2Pr3L6FYYzzh1n-Hx6z099NrVgzVniW-pfydTqK-O4knN4BmBOJVmMIQEQbqYTW8FqTYwmT7Lh9AGJLIyhd2JsibJ7CyGrzuKQnpPZa6g/s400/YIMG_0114.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035098438995298114" /></a><center>Abbey of St. Benedict, Port of Spain</center><br />On our way back we were dropped off in Arima to use the internet while David returned up to Simla. On arriving he found poor Karl in a state of agitation. One of the huge trees by the doors into the garden had suddenly fallen down while Karl was nearby attending his butterflies. He could have been seriously injured and needed to spend the rest of the afternoon lying down recovering from the shock with several Carib beers!<br /><br />Meanwhile, back in Arima we enjoyed the air-conditioned internet shop for a couple of hours. We've discovered even the computers here go in for the national pastime of liming and work just as fast as is absolutely necessary and no more!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBB8JKyjGqovUgiW9a44djwGdhzAMY9udrS1u1SZXCx58cOTahLzsxYnA-MISvJ7m9Ul-rmslLN87_mruMEwxFoWCOyjv6RgBeD_EpHJ5z5HDCu0C-JRZ-qH6aRJqkz1zLtqGHww/s640-h/YIMG_0099.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBB8JKyjGqovUgiW9a44djwGdhzAMY9udrS1u1SZXCx58cOTahLzsxYnA-MISvJ7m9Ul-rmslLN87_mruMEwxFoWCOyjv6RgBeD_EpHJ5z5HDCu0C-JRZ-qH6aRJqkz1zLtqGHww/s400/YIMG_0099.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035098443290265426" /></a><center>Street scene in Arima</center><br />Returning to the heat and noise of the crowded streets on a Saturday evening we sought out the maxi-taxis travelling to Port of Spain as we will be without any transport again tomorrow. A helpful young man wearing not a lot but a rather nice, clean bath towel to hold up his dreadlocks explained how the buses worked and where to go for them. We thanked him and he gave a cheery smile and told us we were welcome. Later we saw him collecting empty bottles from street bins to return and get money on them. He explained he lived on the street, sleeping there overnight. He was definitely not begging and it was a matter of fact statement. He accepted it and got on with earning what money he could without actually having to work! Employment doesn't seem to be a problem. There are jobs advertised at the entrances to many shops, though some are only for wrappers at the counter. (We assume it's packing rather than dancing.) However, we have been asked several times for dollars today but not at all aggressively. A lady overhearing me being asked for money turned on the young man with "Hey you, go take a walk!" and he did. Someone else warned us to take care and not to go down side-roads alone as it was getting dark. The greatest risk we run is of going deaf from the volume of noise everywhere in Arima. Most shops have ghetto blasters fixed to their entrance doors blasting out pirated cds on maximum volume all day. It's the noisiest place we have ever visited.<br /><br />We have finally managed to borrow a mobile from Mike up here at the centre and have made contact with Nisha's parents who live in Couva. We will go to visit them next Wednesday. (Nisha is from Trinidad and married Lucas, the nephew of our French friend Genevieve from Caen. We have known him since he was a small child. He and Nisha now live in Paris and Nisha has learned to speak French and cheerfully adapted to a way of life unbelievably different from here. She is almost more excited about our visit here than we are!)<br /><br /><B>Sunday, 11th February 2007, Simla. <br />William Beebe Tropical Research Station, Trinidad</B><br />We were dropped in Arima from where we took the maxi-taxi into Port of Spain. The route runs along the course of the disused railway and is reserved exclusively for public buses, taxis and official vehicles. All other vehicles and stopping taxis use the snarled up, congested main road. As the maxi-taxis, which carry around a dozen passengers, are all privately owned and the fare regulated, the faster the driver can reach Port of Spain the sooner he can return. The route therefore is something of a race track and the journey took just over 30 minutes for 5 Trinidad dollars (about 45p)<br /><br />It being Sunday, the streets of Trinidad's capital were relatively calm. From the Catholic cathedral came the sounds of Sunday mass with a sermon, prayers and hymn singing. Further along our walk we discovered the Anglican cathedral, also crowded with worshippers, the service being broadcast over a tannoy system. Shortly after we heard the sound of voices raised in religious song and peeped into what we assume was a Baptist church. It was packed with people singing their hearts out, swaying to the music, walking around, slapping each other on the back and helping themselves from a water dispenser just inside the church door. Several ladies dressed in red wearing labels saying "usher", came to welcome us and invite us to take a seat. We explained that we'd been attracted by their wonderful singing and one of the ladies then hugged us with delight! <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA0iezV7d4W1Je-3ZUcz37r7PZIkuRtk1x73NPD4BT_oE5cp-4Zxni9NqHFNDR-D7OasXW_YjXGf-jPEqpkql8AqZckvr0gjbin21HU8kQCXnQNgxVlU8i5StM3L9e8jj2z7v9Hg/s640-h/YIMG_0118.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA0iezV7d4W1Je-3ZUcz37r7PZIkuRtk1x73NPD4BT_oE5cp-4Zxni9NqHFNDR-D7OasXW_YjXGf-jPEqpkql8AqZckvr0gjbin21HU8kQCXnQNgxVlU8i5StM3L9e8jj2z7v9Hg/s400/YIMG_0118.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035099607226402658" /></a><center>Catholic Cathedral, Port of Spain</center> <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipIUlaMc6JXqnAYFXvEPhPjAnlSyep-WFMwx2F4ccJHP0MTI85HX3raS5o-VeEf9gocRxuwONNZN9XZA-Xx11B-BuD5hM45f_8j2L6Yh8VloRiv8Hew8_ZxHafGv0y86FhilLgCQ/s640-h/YIMG_0122.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipIUlaMc6JXqnAYFXvEPhPjAnlSyep-WFMwx2F4ccJHP0MTI85HX3raS5o-VeEf9gocRxuwONNZN9XZA-Xx11B-BuD5hM45f_8j2L6Yh8VloRiv8Hew8_ZxHafGv0y86FhilLgCQ/s400/YIMG_0122.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035099611521369970" /></a><center>Anglican Cathedral, Port of Spain</center><br />As we continued our walk we were approached by an elderly man in long shorts, baggy tee shirt and baseball cap. He was from yet another church we'd just passed and was anxious that we should come to no harm during the forthcoming carnival. He told to put our faith in God and warned us of the evils of drugs. He spoke of deaths of young boys in the Laventille area of the city at the hands of drug dealers and the Trinidadian Mafia. He told us he always left the carnival at 6pm, returned home and locked his door as it was at night the worst dangers happened. He said he'd always been a follower of Lord Kitchener, the calypso king, (as he said this, his whole body started to sway to an imaginary rhythm) but even for the calypso he'd not attend the carnival at night. He then joined his hands together and prayed we would have a safe time at the carnival! (Indeed, we saw a dirigible flying over the town, which is loaded with sophisticated cameras, recording street activity. There were posters up explaining it was for public security. We've also noticed a large police presence on the streets. They carry rifles and wear flak jackets, even in this heat!) As abruptly as our friend had appeared, he suddenly shook our hands, announced he was going back to his church and disappeared!<br /><br />We were making our way towards the Savannah, the huge grassy area to the north of Port of Spain where the bands were rehearsing for the carnival. Dozens of steel bands had set themselves up under corrugated iron sheeting to give shelter from the brilliant sunshine and were busy going through their music. From a distance it was a cacophony of noise but with so much space to spread out on, we could listen to each band as we strolled between them, lingering longest at those placed near shady trees rather than in the open savannah. Impossible not to be excited by the vibrant rhythm of the drums and the loose-limbed swaying of the players. There were a few other white people gathered for the free concert but mainly the audience were friends and supporters of the bands. There were female and mixed bands and many also included children. The playing continued for most of the day and was obviously enjoyed by everyone – a granddad in a baseball cap dancing to the rhythm with his tiny granddaughter wearing a carnival scarf. We were each given a bright headscarf to show our support for the banning of cigarettes at the carnival.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8bL5v4gOi_AKu0MsmqvALlxlUOIGMqio3MhdjpJi7swsLuY2a7f3J8XVwPBMR85eRIJpQP-sXcaAArswN4TcVq1pWo1AdaXTOg2C3b2lMq5Jv52JbgBOM6WDayD0bR4HZS1ZGPA/s640-h/YIMG_0135.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8bL5v4gOi_AKu0MsmqvALlxlUOIGMqio3MhdjpJi7swsLuY2a7f3J8XVwPBMR85eRIJpQP-sXcaAArswN4TcVq1pWo1AdaXTOg2C3b2lMq5Jv52JbgBOM6WDayD0bR4HZS1ZGPA/s400/YIMG_0135.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035099615816337282" /></a><center>Rehearsing for the Carnival, Port of Spain</center> <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEdMGGIZgRwiYjABzzxOaQoz-vEgLcCFwFggtTAQcAcIz3WnA9Ux6V34nOccXYATJeqj3OZxFQlfbDvkRzAaVPzWKmveqDPn07cW9s-BwMewuMVdBwZjU-m22sVNsedZKGjCJzrQ/s640-h/YIMG_0138.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEdMGGIZgRwiYjABzzxOaQoz-vEgLcCFwFggtTAQcAcIz3WnA9Ux6V34nOccXYATJeqj3OZxFQlfbDvkRzAaVPzWKmveqDPn07cW9s-BwMewuMVdBwZjU-m22sVNsedZKGjCJzrQ/s400/YIMG_0138.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035099615816337298" /></a><center>Rehearsing for the Carnival, Port of Spain</center><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0m0Mehyskw16Nonexg_JpbL6a8QP-D6F1XYAM8UE5llN0TRvpRjpGE7E6ciIR9QJoiXqxuyjlZfofO2QC6tNYI73XfskOnvUQJytK8UwYFfu56ZWyjl5Ep99IV_78BRvRzvXHxg/s640-h/YIMG_0136.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0m0Mehyskw16Nonexg_JpbL6a8QP-D6F1XYAM8UE5llN0TRvpRjpGE7E6ciIR9QJoiXqxuyjlZfofO2QC6tNYI73XfskOnvUQJytK8UwYFfu56ZWyjl5Ep99IV_78BRvRzvXHxg/s400/YIMG_0136.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035099620111304610" /></a><center>Fun for everyone, Port of Spain</center><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGaVZ1DxPQ0cqga9KoVnW_dFCDAHJg2l5ffUB0Wrd59Q5SjdIHQwXXvoKIDJGOujxGA0Ebbz5qzugmBDVEzEY8DG1qBL-CSceRau3GxvkUSbe9ODpUkZAY-cEkMV52ofvkCsqE5A/s640-h/YIMG_0140.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGaVZ1DxPQ0cqga9KoVnW_dFCDAHJg2l5ffUB0Wrd59Q5SjdIHQwXXvoKIDJGOujxGA0Ebbz5qzugmBDVEzEY8DG1qBL-CSceRau3GxvkUSbe9ODpUkZAY-cEkMV52ofvkCsqE5A/s400/YIMG_0140.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035102313055799218" /></a><center>On their way to the Savannah, Port of Spain</center><br />Around the edge of the savannah are a few old colonial buildings in a style known locally as Gingerbread. Constructed mainly in wood they have a fretwork decoration and in their time were very attractive buildings. Now though they are nearly all sadly neglected, some even hiding behind barricades of rusty corrugated iron. Further along on the western side we saw the "magnificent seven" a series of elaborate buildings dating from 1904, largely built by plantation owners.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJgQ4czYSBZ9xbJOKGr1UrljHk4QGIaWBWg_rwaaCX3uZuQavYEO7T31wq_ZKammeZaZCGlCp7ecRLce4dowPJIudLZQ-Pd8oathIHhNwTJQu_o2FYJdVU2dfJ1hQKBPCz7_i7Ag/s640-h/YIMG_0134.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJgQ4czYSBZ9xbJOKGr1UrljHk4QGIaWBWg_rwaaCX3uZuQavYEO7T31wq_ZKammeZaZCGlCp7ecRLce4dowPJIudLZQ-Pd8oathIHhNwTJQu_o2FYJdVU2dfJ1hQKBPCz7_i7Ag/s400/YIMG_0134.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035102317350766530" /></a><center>Gingerbread house, the Knowsley building, Port of Spain</center> <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGIH0-J2y3X9dEEvOsVgP4dWf2xB_T9f4W_KzLkHEcdZ6YRqheOjPsWqahzHNpHuIGz78ewKmoxBRRk7XbSPnQ2JNagvZC6JT_EnFmig_j-pKUCJG8jHAaz6WDZ3zrK_GKy31b5w/s640-h/YIMG_0150.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGIH0-J2y3X9dEEvOsVgP4dWf2xB_T9f4W_KzLkHEcdZ6YRqheOjPsWqahzHNpHuIGz78ewKmoxBRRk7XbSPnQ2JNagvZC6JT_EnFmig_j-pKUCJG8jHAaz6WDZ3zrK_GKy31b5w/s400/YIMG_0150.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035102321645733842" /></a><center>One of the "Magnificent seven, Stollmeyer's Castle, inspired by Balmoral, Port of Spain</center><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2gPNCdHmC5y8q9wr6U5ZhHhz1nVHTubYQdxwitLxzNITLSRfikcTSTCfikAqOa_5DpgH9Y0Npn-BDNK93x2JePOvs3cDgbPoQE2kMtOUDy1BW8gH64G5LqobAoch8mMUaZ0gb7g/s640-h/YIMG_0143.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2gPNCdHmC5y8q9wr6U5ZhHhz1nVHTubYQdxwitLxzNITLSRfikcTSTCfikAqOa_5DpgH9Y0Npn-BDNK93x2JePOvs3cDgbPoQE2kMtOUDy1BW8gH64G5LqobAoch8mMUaZ0gb7g/s400/YIMG_0143.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035102325940701154" /></a><center>Angostura Bitters is perhaps Trinidad's most famous export, Port of Spain</center><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtlWeeu0APip7FB1z9G3mmZL3guLcX_4UHNoTPpRTtGzYcr0b6rAtHZfKb85vn2QsL345pxo6zRgUaMX-_ZP0haHwybXRUUzXJTEH_PpxrB_USG0xLE-yjCcTwYN3evNPgaM8ihw/s640-h/YIMG_0149.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtlWeeu0APip7FB1z9G3mmZL3guLcX_4UHNoTPpRTtGzYcr0b6rAtHZfKb85vn2QsL345pxo6zRgUaMX-_ZP0haHwybXRUUzXJTEH_PpxrB_USG0xLE-yjCcTwYN3evNPgaM8ihw/s400/YIMG_0149.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035102325940701170" /></a><center>Office of the Prime Minister, Port of Spain</center><br />We found a seat in the shade and bought a plastic cup filled with crushed ice and topped with fruit syrup from a street vendor. It was horrible! But it was wet and cold so Ian stoically struggled his way through his. They were popular with the locals though. A police car drew up and three hot uniformed police approached the vendor. Fortunately all they wanted were slushy ices to cool off.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNR5y6rUuBBolgSmYExOocwUygr1hcotXIwBK4zlg-trZs790_9WloSjrfO0k3e_TfNmVsbz_wALLTtefEkcXnOBVGpAv34qtQtt4U0JK9PP70kvrijcTj9yysLj7o6NmFE6gb_g/s640-h/YIMG_0145.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNR5y6rUuBBolgSmYExOocwUygr1hcotXIwBK4zlg-trZs790_9WloSjrfO0k3e_TfNmVsbz_wALLTtefEkcXnOBVGpAv34qtQtt4U0JK9PP70kvrijcTj9yysLj7o6NmFE6gb_g/s400/YIMG_0145.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035104507784087554" /></a><center>Queuing for ices, Port of Spain</center><br />Next we visited the botanical gardens. Along with a couple of Americans who joined us later we spent two hours being guided around the large park (set up in 1818 by the British Governor Woodford) by a very knowledgeable guide. He explained the medicinal or culinary properties of almost every tree and plant in the grounds, many of which were indigenous but including species from Australia and Africa. In the grounds too, are buried the early British governors of Trinidad. It is questionable whether they really deserved the honour still paid to them by the Trinidadians as in their time slavery existed here.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwwfG3slGJDPcqxhweSd-I-PJHlSLSXc29nz__XrFnzxWaDYikhr4H_ckZJBoKSg7ye87MmitxBzelkg3yzvyOo7DZlgR0iBdxqS3p67Zps6p6huRseT2IZjKwyYOTVuTmAf86zA/s640-h/YIMG_0151.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwwfG3slGJDPcqxhweSd-I-PJHlSLSXc29nz__XrFnzxWaDYikhr4H_ckZJBoKSg7ye87MmitxBzelkg3yzvyOo7DZlgR0iBdxqS3p67Zps6p6huRseT2IZjKwyYOTVuTmAf86zA/s400/YIMG_0151.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035104507784087570" /></a><center>Natural colour of Eucalyptus bark, Botanical gardens, Port of Spain</center><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh54_7xSz6yXtEC4ddtLlCCDkKYjtQ39LLUAZSlT7kFu14bl9CN9ZvhT210r8NEHYLU4PEdaTTrKpl8riKeauSInrsPvC263nK-zS2qW6XX2lPpGPtN0hlROCwBcIc7_p1xC6-lWg/s640-h/YIMG_0152.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh54_7xSz6yXtEC4ddtLlCCDkKYjtQ39LLUAZSlT7kFu14bl9CN9ZvhT210r8NEHYLU4PEdaTTrKpl8riKeauSInrsPvC263nK-zS2qW6XX2lPpGPtN0hlROCwBcIc7_p1xC6-lWg/s400/YIMG_0152.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035104512079054882" /></a><center>Formal gardens, Botanical gardens, Port of Spain</center><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyOqXondGy0svY15arW_Teg45ipEGv8L9p8squCbWdeZDpasuvCsu_eaLU5y0gqoXUPBonr3xpns-AGyDmSLBCKW43r-3FCqxI_sYtIIBUoI8_-PWwoFA5q3m8xliS2LdZ6mj8LA/s640-h/YIMG_0153.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyOqXondGy0svY15arW_Teg45ipEGv8L9p8squCbWdeZDpasuvCsu_eaLU5y0gqoXUPBonr3xpns-AGyDmSLBCKW43r-3FCqxI_sYtIIBUoI8_-PWwoFA5q3m8xliS2LdZ6mj8LA/s400/YIMG_0153.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035112973164628322" /></a><center>Chaconia, National tree of Trinidad,<br />Botanical gardens, Port of Spain</center><br />We had been on our feet in baking heat all day with nothing to eat or drink so we were exhausted as we made our way around the far side of the Savannah and back down into the town again, passing the smart, modern, national library of Trinidad on the way. Back in town we found a non-descript but air conditioned burger bar for some chilled water, a shared chicken burger and a seat! Unfortunately such mundane restaurants are the only places that combine all these requirements. Street food is authentic and good value but there are no public loos, nowhere to sit and it is searingly hot on the streets with deafening music blaring out on all sides. Even most of the bars, where you cannot buy food anyway, vibrate to the thumping crash of the stereo at the door. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHG2s2fTBLzShbwvdF_QF2n8KxXaMSE7LOtke2_7qS2mk7Y8-s_Z2IA-gjDBNUudt-_HJ7QwjJyRnrz0_XfWXnGvEAjpjSALTzUyRfDB49mv3lsLax5SxGRpmRiQAso9DgQeQBQ/s640-h/YIMG_0154.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHG2s2fTBLzShbwvdF_QF2n8KxXaMSE7LOtke2_7qS2mk7Y8-s_Z2IA-gjDBNUudt-_HJ7QwjJyRnrz0_XfWXnGvEAjpjSALTzUyRfDB49mv3lsLax5SxGRpmRiQAso9DgQeQBQ/s400/YIMG_0154.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035104516374022210" /></a><center>National Library of Trinidad, Port of Spain</center><br />Sunburned and footweary we walked slowly back to the bus station and piled into an overfull maxi-taxi back to Arima. As already mentioned, these are privately owned and have individual touches. This one had a notice thanking passengers for their patronage and asked God to bless and keep safe each and every one of them. It also had a very loud stereo playing Soca music all the way back. (Soca is a sort of hybrid music combining elements of Soul and Calypso, hence the name.)<br /><br />Back in Arima we rejoined David for the final few kilometres back up to Simla in the cool of the forest.<br /><br /><B>Monday, 12th February 2007, Simla. <br />William Beebe Tropical Research Station, Trinidad</B><br />It's not as hot here as we found it in central Europe last summer but we keep being told we should not do too much and cannot expect to function here at the same pace as in England. This is extremely frustrating as we will never be here again and want to do the very maximum we can during our stay. Unfortunately our companions are less active than us and already know the island, so are content to chat science and drink chilled beer all afternoon. We are in the difficult situation of having only one vehicle between us – they are very expensive to hire and none available anyway as it's carnival time. David needs the car to collect ants each morning and is then exhausted, needing to spend the afternoon recovering. We've been trying to plan our day to fit around David and to use public transport but we are reliant on him for a lift down to Arima before we even start. This morning David left us at the Asa Wright centre before going off on an ant foray. He didn't return until 1.30 by which time we'd walked most of the way back down to Simla. One of the guides at the centre told us we shouldn't walk along isolated forest roads on our own as it's not safe and we should phone for a taxi. Without a telephone at Simla and no mobile we don't really have any other option than walking. During the morning we accompanied some American bird-watching enthusiasts on a guided tour to visit a rare nesting colony of oil-birds in a cave down in the chasm of the river. We are now becoming quite knowledgeable about Trinidadian birds as well as ants, butterflies, plants, shrubs and trees. The oil-birds are curious in that they hunt by night although they are purely fruit eating. They also have a simple system of radar enabling them to negotiate their way in and out of their roosting cave and through the trees to the canopy where they seek their food. Their closest relative is apparently the nightjar. They are called oil-birds as the early Amerindians would hunt the fledglings, twice the size of the parent bird because of their rich diet, and render them down for their fat, to be used in cooking and lighting. (Those bird-watching enthusiasts following this, we did the trip especially because you told us to! Unfortunately we have no decent photos to make you envious as using flash would have disturbed them on their nests, constructed on ledges along the side of the chasm.) Once adult, the birds tend to migrate to Venezuela and learn Spanish - according to our guide.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM-If4Ej1P59ysh3N6u4yWL4akn2-V0cpt7KJMmYwuSdJMKlvmrSsPQbUy6dA3xKlerTdFc0iaEMLsU9PwxG0eTGhIwCuZi6TchHAq_L4-KTpr7EHqXswtEcr81L05sP7x-oT-LQ/s640-h/YIMG_0185.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM-If4Ej1P59ysh3N6u4yWL4akn2-V0cpt7KJMmYwuSdJMKlvmrSsPQbUy6dA3xKlerTdFc0iaEMLsU9PwxG0eTGhIwCuZi6TchHAq_L4-KTpr7EHqXswtEcr81L05sP7x-oT-LQ/s400/YIMG_0185.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035106728282179666" /></a><center>Oil birds roosting in their cave. <br />Taken from a photo seen in the Asa Wright Centre</center><br />We spent further time on our own exploring some of the nature trails around the centre. Apart from the abundance of exotic birds there were numerous very large heavy lizards stumbling their way through the undergrowth, and other, more agile and brightly coloured ones, glimpsed as they shot across clearings. As the morning progressed it became so hot we returned to the open balcony of the wooden, colonial house where, surrounded by brightly coloured birds, we sat in comfortable armchairs, sipping cold drinks and reading novels by the famed Trinidadian writer V.S.Naipaul.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9UiPelxVMYq-gu4wBbfrdD-tihPmTbQfJf5pfgnMkGPV-hyH4JDOni1Zjmlp3STDUQh8rBvGWFqsTdIjqBHgNFBYcwkUWyRINVU-JLtn7D25fysX-1w73nbqRC22O4PNEJdEx4Q/s640-h/YIMG_0157.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9UiPelxVMYq-gu4wBbfrdD-tihPmTbQfJf5pfgnMkGPV-hyH4JDOni1Zjmlp3STDUQh8rBvGWFqsTdIjqBHgNFBYcwkUWyRINVU-JLtn7D25fysX-1w73nbqRC22O4PNEJdEx4Q/s400/YIMG_0157.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035106736872114274" /></a><center>All you ever wanted to know about oil birds</center> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigqA3ou3KAKyTB3UU_9nfnRnQOC-SfWFhX9vjRFq9E60R6U3Fr8QZTHWFnLSDCUeAUYBszrVnEfdD0BsusX79XUewUjwvtw2dwYR_GvYePo13VRykt3ZFv3e1nJnJnd4dNOwty7A/s640-h/YIMG_0159.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigqA3ou3KAKyTB3UU_9nfnRnQOC-SfWFhX9vjRFq9E60R6U3Fr8QZTHWFnLSDCUeAUYBszrVnEfdD0BsusX79XUewUjwvtw2dwYR_GvYePo13VRykt3ZFv3e1nJnJnd4dNOwty7A/s400/YIMG_0159.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035106741167081586" /></a><center>Busy Lizzies growing wild on a tree trunk in the forest, Asa Wright Centre</center><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhClmgIB2Z6OYgbg1Kv6XzTsscWzhkTDAYtcX0ovk9QutkGgrTxCiV3jx0yoY1UBhkBxp_8lhoQJAoILFTtMqnjksb6pAjh9jC3l0fBR0DtY5MenkebPxUDX8Bflx2LIZtNkzPoUA/s640-h/YIMG_0172.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhClmgIB2Z6OYgbg1Kv6XzTsscWzhkTDAYtcX0ovk9QutkGgrTxCiV3jx0yoY1UBhkBxp_8lhoQJAoILFTtMqnjksb6pAjh9jC3l0fBR0DtY5MenkebPxUDX8Bflx2LIZtNkzPoUA/s400/YIMG_0172.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035106741167081602" /></a><center>Butterfly at the Asa Wright Centre</center><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN3ufPD-L9BLBhyphenhyphenWsnBcrzT8WG4yD3mpB_j_tuv4ATKhmnxtInibRgPksxB9d27EjAKwgYTW1tQwt65EkcHJRq69SGNQQe8ww_0kn2neJJaUEEo2PiP9uQv1JcGTJhdSGE4Vr2Zw/s640-h/YIMG_0174.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN3ufPD-L9BLBhyphenhyphenWsnBcrzT8WG4yD3mpB_j_tuv4ATKhmnxtInibRgPksxB9d27EjAKwgYTW1tQwt65EkcHJRq69SGNQQe8ww_0kn2neJJaUEEo2PiP9uQv1JcGTJhdSGE4Vr2Zw/s400/YIMG_0174.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035106745462048914" /></a><center>Giant lizard in the forest, Asa Wright Centre</center><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia95A-Kv76mtVbOPwHzQvn_nqBSHkqDCgIvmguAgoJBFrhjzxUeiXD2RlWH5xYtzWSEi-3A-28b9qvsomQWL9PUjZnb-2BcgQBgwqENk-qxdhhpItjYYYDeHD3eS3cHaM2Sm4X5A/s640-h/YIMG_0183.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia95A-Kv76mtVbOPwHzQvn_nqBSHkqDCgIvmguAgoJBFrhjzxUeiXD2RlWH5xYtzWSEi-3A-28b9qvsomQWL9PUjZnb-2BcgQBgwqENk-qxdhhpItjYYYDeHD3eS3cHaM2Sm4X5A/s400/YIMG_0183.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035109167823603874" /></a><center>Palm Tanager, Asa Wright Centre</center><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXDcvnleoNuVs9jZwf4LySuQpIEJkDqHG-7bcWE8MBvt-nKeEtfJQXo1HT1pcGMmM2a75GrZgNXnp42iWOD5EgE_NtLF6PZQtiY2rOdCGOuqRPvPYpFLZfJ12ahMs7p0zwhSbgFw/s640-h/YIMG_0186.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXDcvnleoNuVs9jZwf4LySuQpIEJkDqHG-7bcWE8MBvt-nKeEtfJQXo1HT1pcGMmM2a75GrZgNXnp42iWOD5EgE_NtLF6PZQtiY2rOdCGOuqRPvPYpFLZfJ12ahMs7p0zwhSbgFw/s400/YIMG_0186.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035109167823603890" /></a><center>Undergrowth in the forest, Asa Wright Centre</center><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2RyyOqSKq0wbZAQ4L4X-Oin-qYbUYnhIwe_Fkn4zIh4EEET_0ceccBuZUSONq9ofHswGYb-ZOGQGpvlTkSAm38C-N-muaaremkqWr0stDA7iLvUosntZdQ9kLNfIKgx96q9otlg/s640-h/YIMG_0187.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2RyyOqSKq0wbZAQ4L4X-Oin-qYbUYnhIwe_Fkn4zIh4EEET_0ceccBuZUSONq9ofHswGYb-ZOGQGpvlTkSAm38C-N-muaaremkqWr0stDA7iLvUosntZdQ9kLNfIKgx96q9otlg/s400/YIMG_0187.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035109172118571202" /></a><center>Cocoa pod in the forest, Asa Wright Centre</center><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyjYfIgd8qKueXoIGQm2LnE2dq0wUE5sli8KrtsztANZrTHE0pbhC3ETBQBa10a_8bL9MPiZ9YkiofYpGUNbrpq-EO3mNXHB2Qjw_HNFAMZd4zrluKfn2T0LRcNZv5G_i_Z7mAsw/s640-h/YIMG_0156.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyjYfIgd8qKueXoIGQm2LnE2dq0wUE5sli8KrtsztANZrTHE0pbhC3ETBQBa10a_8bL9MPiZ9YkiofYpGUNbrpq-EO3mNXHB2Qjw_HNFAMZd4zrluKfn2T0LRcNZv5G_i_Z7mAsw/s400/YIMG_0156.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035109176413538514" /></a><center>Terrace at the Asa Wright Centre</center><br />Back at Simla David and Karl collapsed exhausted from their expedition into the Arena forest with nets, shovels and margarine tubs. We at last had our first chance to use the car. Unfortunately it was almost out of fuel so we were obliged to drive all the way down into Arima to refill it. By that time there was insufficient time to do anything more than drive up towards the north coast through the forest. We never reached the sea as it would be dark long before we could have returned home along dark, badly metalled forest roads with frequent steep drops down to one side. As it was, night fell rather quickly, just as we negotiated the potholed track up to the house in the forest we call home. A generally frustrating day but at least we know how to handle a car with automatic transmission now.<br /><br />Later we all drove down into Arima to buy chick pea doubles, sold on the street, for supper. The town was noisier than ever and heaving with people, roads had been blocked off and on every corner were steel bands busy practicing for the Arima carnival. Right across the country there will be frenzied, noisy chaos over the coming week.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju162CMnuH7FA4pJcDLekOef_7kD_f1qU1t0VtJlq7OWSXsm1-xFDM6sTIX6Fkv4k-Nd33syxi_tnLJtNftZpkzo3DYrBh0bOHVgU-wf4aTZNCUgXvI0Xeafk7IQM0ywcl88jyNw/s640-h/YIMG_0194.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju162CMnuH7FA4pJcDLekOef_7kD_f1qU1t0VtJlq7OWSXsm1-xFDM6sTIX6Fkv4k-Nd33syxi_tnLJtNftZpkzo3DYrBh0bOHVgU-wf4aTZNCUgXvI0Xeafk7IQM0ywcl88jyNw/s400/YIMG_0194.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035109176413538530" /></a><center>Rehearsing for the carnival, Arima</center><br /><B>Tuesday, 13th February 2007, Simla. <br />William Beebe Tropical Research Station, Trinidad</B><br />Today seems to have been the hottest day yet. We spent it down in Port of Spain where we have been on our feet most of the day and we are exhausted. Fortunately, although the heat in the streets is suffocating, most of the buildings have air conditioning so we spent time cooling off in the National Library's heritage collections and the museum. Both are devoted to the history and culture of Trinidad. Although the heritage library is smart and modern, the resources are all on closed access so we could not judge their extent. There are some microfilmed newspapers but the bulk are with the National Archives and the one microfilm reader was not working at the time of our visit. The collections serve an area and population roughly the size of Devon so are reasonably comparable with the West Country Studies library formerly managed by Ian. There was also a special exhibition on the Carnival and its history. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRT4r-r73Lvq8QZwGWIpyB9IQJlUxbW-HvFv4sBDVCVr310jfD22mtDGiJ9FmTKP6F6JXrsPMME-hmzqMSQz62Qlw6iFV9-Ozo2NTOqzWaXq0hsrLxo9J0_GKExadzotfrlor0AA/s640-h/YIMG_0199.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRT4r-r73Lvq8QZwGWIpyB9IQJlUxbW-HvFv4sBDVCVr310jfD22mtDGiJ9FmTKP6F6JXrsPMME-hmzqMSQz62Qlw6iFV9-Ozo2NTOqzWaXq0hsrLxo9J0_GKExadzotfrlor0AA/s400/YIMG_0199.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035111001774639346" /></a><center>Heritage room, National Library of Trinidad</center><br />We have been surprised to see how security conscious the country is. At the locked gates of the school in Arima are uniformed guards and nobody is allowed to enter without an appointment. At the library in Port of Spain our bags were taken and locked away, we had to explain why we wanted to enter and sign the visitors' book. A notice warned that nobody could take into the heritage library more than six sheets of paper and a pencil. Later, at the museum, a uniformed guard was on the entrance desk. They were all friendly but it is rather worrying that they are thought to be necessary.<br /><br />For lunch we found an unostentatious vegetarian restaurant and take-away frequented by local office workers. A lovely lass with a bright red headscarf tied over her braided hair served us from hot trays behind the counter. We could have roti. No other choice was available. That was fine. Our plates were filled with a selection of lightly curried vegetable dishes – mango and pumpkin with chick peas, green beans, curried potatoes and dhal or lentils. These were served with a roti – a dark brown flat bread served hot with crushed chick peas inside, used for mopping the sauce from the vegetables. With this we had freshly crushed grape juice with loads of ice. The bill was 47 TT dollars, (about £2 each). Incidentally, all eating places in Trinidad are unostentatious. Generally they are not good at all, very ugly and usually Chinese, pizza parlours or KFC. Local cuisine isn't really served, except from stalls on the streets. It has been one of the disappointments of our visit.<br /><br />Next we visited the museum. On the way we passed the same church where we stopped to talk on Sunday. Our "friend" recognised us and came to chat again. This time though he asked if we would give him a few dollars as he was suffering from leukaemia and hadn't eaten much recently. He says he's a rare blood group and there are difficulties getting a match for the three monthly transfusions he needs as people are so wrapped up with the carnival they are not turning up to donate blood. He's had seven transfusions so far, paid for by his church, and he has to report there daily to see if a match has been found for him. He also said nobody over fifty is allowed to donate blood. There is no way we know whether what he says is true but he looked frail and unwell so we weren't going to refuse him and he seemed quite happy with the little we gave. <br /><br />The museum was cool but with nowhere to sit, and we were exhausted, hot and sticky. A wash in the "bathroom" as they call it here – wish it really did have a bath – improved things and when we found a free iced water dispenser on the staircase our cup of joy overflowed! The museum collections covered all aspects of Trinidadian life but it all seemed quaintly dated with faded photos of cocoa and cane sugar plantations, workers and owners. There was an art gallery of works by native artists, a natural history gallery of the flora and fauna of the rain forests and savannas of the country, a gallery depicting the origins of West Indian music and the development of steel drums. It seems when the British ruled here they banned people from using drums and gradually alternative instruments were produced and refined so that a different musical genre developed. There was a temporary exhibition in the process of being set up but we were allowed to look anyway. It is devoted to the Carnival with hundreds of photos from previous years and dozens of extravagant costumes, some so elaborate they need wheels to enable them to be worn in the parade around the streets. One of the photos amused us. There are no racial taboos here concerning skin colour and Black and White Minstrels seem to be part of carnival life. Here though, they paint white on their black faces just as we used, in the bad old days, to paint black on our white faces.<br /><br />In a park opposite the museum, in the full glare of the afternoon sun, children were practicing their marching skills, presumably for the carnival. Walking slowly back across the town towards the bus station we explored a shopping arcade in an old colonial style building. Inside it was very modern with an escalator, smart clothes shops, internet access and a couple of quite nice cafes. We bought a small packet of Trinidadian digestive biscuits simply because they were called "Devon". We told the lady at the counter we came from Devon and gave her a spare bar of chocolate we'd bought in Exeter called "Trinidad" which caused us all considerable amusement!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGJ2yNNHiFcdrWgmPFk4oSX8H_5pCKMSY0dSgoTfoxhtWqZV6C8LpVcDHK4LiUVf78fwaLu_Xa687_tp9Ki0JGc2y-3uyDjrRapwQRVTcI-frmeJjT4d5zw4MBdtg-57LbjLfgrQ/s640-h/YIMG_0204.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGJ2yNNHiFcdrWgmPFk4oSX8H_5pCKMSY0dSgoTfoxhtWqZV6C8LpVcDHK4LiUVf78fwaLu_Xa687_tp9Ki0JGc2y-3uyDjrRapwQRVTcI-frmeJjT4d5zw4MBdtg-57LbjLfgrQ/s400/YIMG_0204.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035111006069606658" /></a><center>Left right, left right, Port of Spain</center><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCW5F6D8u5qjr7nm0pBKFudCgc-8IJoxvU2P6lcipR_tSjQwzFWnA1G9Ri-vbBFH-H8kfvfZuJqiT183GkeoTpLsvxsNyAwYovPcNaWMMlNJFBhuWYq8tvl52_1t4hsakIjxWPgA/s640-h/YIMG_0206.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCW5F6D8u5qjr7nm0pBKFudCgc-8IJoxvU2P6lcipR_tSjQwzFWnA1G9Ri-vbBFH-H8kfvfZuJqiT183GkeoTpLsvxsNyAwYovPcNaWMMlNJFBhuWYq8tvl52_1t4hsakIjxWPgA/s400/YIMG_0206.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035111006069606674" /></a><center>A genuine Trini manhole cover! Port of Spain</center><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEQLg0TKtOo0G2qEdkXYg6zZ6vg1gzewcDVZXQzjuFNT-cRnGXgbP-Q8C2EpEVj7se7w_8e0SdTIezncy4eEjPntotAK4ycuDF_0ZGUQbL3BZy7NwjKNz_n_Y_7a-grkGh4NQ9vA/s640-h/YIMG_0203.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEQLg0TKtOo0G2qEdkXYg6zZ6vg1gzewcDVZXQzjuFNT-cRnGXgbP-Q8C2EpEVj7se7w_8e0SdTIezncy4eEjPntotAK4ycuDF_0ZGUQbL3BZy7NwjKNz_n_Y_7a-grkGh4NQ9vA/s400/YIMG_0203.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035111010364573986" /></a><center>Typical houses, Port of Spain</center><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGBs6jfanvRsh24eOewuV8hX1Nk0HutXVcOa4_5TqAOUFzUfpgClfqEFFqPd__tRJPRC1vwk1bJM8Vpcu8nBFvcogjNeBEoMI-wJ2AxBpIpc1qytsJLCykUbhEb5rQiSG9vPHiIw/s640-h/YIMG_0202.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGBs6jfanvRsh24eOewuV8hX1Nk0HutXVcOa4_5TqAOUFzUfpgClfqEFFqPd__tRJPRC1vwk1bJM8Vpcu8nBFvcogjNeBEoMI-wJ2AxBpIpc1qytsJLCykUbhEb5rQiSG9vPHiIw/s400/YIMG_0202.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035112968869660994" /></a><center>The Red House, seat of Parliament, Port of Spain</center><br />Back at the maxi-taxi terminal we discovered it was rush hour and the place packed solid with commuters, all of whom seemed to live in Arima. Taxi's only take around a dozen people and several were arriving every minute. Order was maintained by uniformed traffic police though generally everyone was good natured and considerate. We asked if there was a queuing system which made everyone around us laugh. It was explained you just get into whichever one you can, whenever you can. So although we always seemed at the front until a vehicle arrived, we immediately found ourselves at the back until it was full, when we were once again at the front. Strange that! When we finally did get on it crawled all the way to Arima even on the priority bus route. It was completely congested. However, thanks to the tannoy in the bus and the driver's personal taste in music, we are now initiated into "Chutney", a style of West Indian music previously unknown to us. We finally reached Arima thirty minutes after the time we'd arranged to meet David to buy supper and get a lift back up to Simla. Happily for us he was still there.<br /><br />This evening excitement was caused when we discovered a spider in the toilet. It turned out not to be a tarantula but similar in size. Mike also discovered he was sharing his evening shower with a scorpion! <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp6M4xAupMSuqpKwtMPmtYCHgeCTm9d9gjxx5BG22voKB5cD-Tdf8-2L3C5RZUCvk05m5w7CxMhDB9eIzkDT6Dr89qNa1HkY8kStz41SsNbalVPe37iFJc8-WxnOXy3waLQZ2Tzw/s640-h/YIMG_0207.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp6M4xAupMSuqpKwtMPmtYCHgeCTm9d9gjxx5BG22voKB5cD-Tdf8-2L3C5RZUCvk05m5w7CxMhDB9eIzkDT6Dr89qNa1HkY8kStz41SsNbalVPe37iFJc8-WxnOXy3waLQZ2Tzw/s400/YIMG_0207.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035112968869661010" /></a><center>Safely containerised!</center>Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38609523.post-68948502581270522302007-02-10T18:48:00.000+00:002008-12-11T22:46:27.208+00:0032 Fahrenheit to 32 Centigrade<B>Thursday, 8th February 2007, Simla. <br />William Beebie Tropical Research Station, Trinidad</B><br /><br />It was 4.30 in the morning yesterday when David collected us for the dark but uneventful drive to Heathrow. The temperature as we reached London was -3 degrees. Today we understand the M4 is blocked by snow so it is fortunate we left England just in time.<br /><br />As we passed through security control our bottle of water was confiscated! We attempted to drink the contents on the spot as we particularly wanted to keep the container and only the water was considered a lethal weapon. However, 1.5 litres proved too much for us but once through controls, within sight of our abandoned bottle, we were able to buy a replacement at £1.50! Duh!! Furthermore, the duty-free in the departure lounge was selling gin in potentially dangerous glass bottles like it was going out of fashion!<br /><br />The Caribbean is four hours behind the UK so it was still daylight as we landed briefly in Antigua around 6pm local time. As we approached across a ridge of hills the rest of the island seemed flat and sandy with tin roofed buildings, acres of sugar cane and rather a lot of swamp. Once many of the passengers had disembarked we continued to Trinidad, flying low over Dominica, Martinique and St. Lucia.<br /><br />Trinidad looked green as we approached from the north, the coast of Venezuela a few miles beyond. We flew in across the rain forest where we are now staying. A haze of orange covered whole areas of the forest and we have since discovered they are the flowers of the Immortelle tree, one of which is blossoming just beyond the porch where we have breakfasted this morning. In the harbour of Port of Spain, the island's capital, we saw huge cruise ships moored. Floating hotels waiting to take most of the rest of the passengers on our flight, for a luxury exploration of the Caribbean.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBUGbpseG6jfpLfnwkafmKAnxQBstmx8A07t4bFKb-NFjK2Xd5-emS6MYPrpXtiitIdnzKs-5AGNBvYu0wld5u3mGJ3ZsRseUW1oSeYsA8GsWKdz3rkE5T2Yqofsb5z5fCh8_sGQ/s640-h/YIMG_0020.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBUGbpseG6jfpLfnwkafmKAnxQBstmx8A07t4bFKb-NFjK2Xd5-emS6MYPrpXtiitIdnzKs-5AGNBvYu0wld5u3mGJ3ZsRseUW1oSeYsA8GsWKdz3rkE5T2Yqofsb5z5fCh8_sGQ/s400/YIMG_0020.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029993406507533842" /></a><center>Immortelle Tree at the research centre</center><br />Not for us such indulgence! Soon we'd sorted out our car hire, filled our wallets with Trinidadian dollars (12 to the £) from the cash machine where our first problem was that Karl's card refuses to work, and were heading along the main route in the darkness out of the capital towards Arima, the nearest town to where we are staying. All hire cars here are automatic so I was only too glad to leave the driving to David who is familiar with then and knows the roads completely. <br /><br />In Arima Ian and I were delegated to sort out supper and left in the busy street outside the take-away pizza place while David and Karl rushed around the supermarket buying tonic water and lemon to accompany their duty-free gin and breakfast essentials for this morning.<br /><br />The research station stands isolated in the forest five miles north of Arima, along a badly metalled, steep, twisting road. It is riddled with potholes and heavily laden as we were with four adults and accompanying luggage, made for a very bumpy ride. A flood of light from a moth trap above us in the trees indicated we'd finally arrived. We were greeted by the rasping din of unseen cicadas and the flapping of a giant sized fruit bat skimming around our heads. On the wall a scarab, the size of a baby's fist, had been attracted to the moth trap.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ3UEXjJLDwr_jf5cgtrmVpX6ZmV685cFJG2HEkZRG4s8vCeCbVi_2lhh2J4IHUsVDb7mNIHj5mI9Okb37nQIAtNQ1gc3ncv-FXz3WPWwDT6TpoZOnSxF3utGftvmRWEqSMCV5zw/s640-h/YIMG_0023.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ3UEXjJLDwr_jf5cgtrmVpX6ZmV685cFJG2HEkZRG4s8vCeCbVi_2lhh2J4IHUsVDb7mNIHj5mI9Okb37nQIAtNQ1gc3ncv-FXz3WPWwDT6TpoZOnSxF3utGftvmRWEqSMCV5zw/s400/YIMG_0023.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029980427116365154" /></a><center>Scarab beetle</center><br />The building is constructed entirely of huge planks of local hardwood and has existed here since 1895. The new roof is lofty, the bare wooden floors cool to walk on and without glass in the windows air circulates easily keeping us cool and comfortable. It is essentially a research station with no refinements. Fridges exist side by side for the kitchen and for keeping specimens. We learned pretty quickly which was which! Our room is simply furnished. We have a bed! It's too warm for anything but a sheet and there is an old, but functioning shower for general use across the corridor. It even has hot water though is hardly needed! The kitchen has cold water and the cooker is outside the building in an adjoining, open-sided lean-too. So far we've avoided using it. There are a couple of Postdoc' researchers from Nebraska also staying and we got to know each other at the table in the large communal room where we ate pizza and refreshed with gin and tonic. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhopVg1WRU2L327IMkto5BEzFoOIbmaeqLefkUb-b-v8IF4xMg-OJH_pi3_7B7IrIPUm09PXs2KgZTtojmsYAwmG8xYrIV571t3iX4eSS4E-QJZoNOYQJWZeiZCDXERcSkvNl7Q-Q/s640-h/YIMG_0022.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhopVg1WRU2L327IMkto5BEzFoOIbmaeqLefkUb-b-v8IF4xMg-OJH_pi3_7B7IrIPUm09PXs2KgZTtojmsYAwmG8xYrIV571t3iX4eSS4E-QJZoNOYQJWZeiZCDXERcSkvNl7Q-Q/s400/YIMG_0022.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029982226707662194" /></a><center>Simla Tropical Research Centre</center><br />It had been a long day and we were all only too ready for a sound night's sleep as the night air drifted through the insect screen at the unglazed window and the screech of nocturnal creatures continued throughout the night. <br /><br />This morning we woke to the sound of rain! This is supposed to be the dry season but we are told global warming is to blame. Personally we reckon it's our friend Rain again. He came with us all around Europe and has now followed us across the Atlantic in the aircraft's slip stream! So far temperatures have been very pleasant. Reputedly 29 degrees, but in the forest it is fresh and comfortable. As we ate breakfast by the open doors to the garden, with the rain teeming down and two humming birds that had somehow made their way into the house flying around in the rafters, pawpaw, mahogany, immortelle trees just feet away, it at last began to feel that we'd arrived in a land very different from anything encountered in Europe. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXMJdfK3bbeUh83UNntrwHKqd8a8Hoed2tXBd6nfpG9-ou6GnNx9aVbpQ4X2cmOckGgvHJWXP2ZbLCRbHwQK8OSHOZf9Cv0FNX1gAflFMSxQYyLP5sJVTllylIlWvCe3TChmbEbA/s640-h/YIMG_0024.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXMJdfK3bbeUh83UNntrwHKqd8a8Hoed2tXBd6nfpG9-ou6GnNx9aVbpQ4X2cmOckGgvHJWXP2ZbLCRbHwQK8OSHOZf9Cv0FNX1gAflFMSxQYyLP5sJVTllylIlWvCe3TChmbEbA/s400/YIMG_0024.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029982231002629506" /></a><center>Flambeau butterfly in the garden</center><br />Trinidad lies about 10 degrees north of the Equator, on a similar latitude to Sri Lanka. So far though, it has been far cooler and fresher here than we found it in Sri Lanka. Trinidad is a smaller island and enjoys a pleasant coastal breeze from the Trade Winds and deep into the forest the canopy of leaves keeps the temperature fresh and cool.<br /><br />Mid morning the rain disappeared and the sun burst forth, so we drove down the potholed track to the winding route down into Arima. The town is a hubbub of traffic, cheerful shouting and thumping music. Nowhere is more than two storeys high, frequently only one. Many shops have tin roofs and there are deep open drainage channels along the roadsides. A massive one way traffic system circuits the football stadium and open space in the town centre known as the Savanna. It is anything but a pretty town but with the sun shining and everyone wearing happy, cheerful faces it was impossible not to enjoy a stroll around the market, piled high with strange fruits, flowers, vegetables and fish. The cheerful stallholders were only too happy to explain to us what they were and how they should be used. Red sorrel flowers were on sale and we were told they make a refreshing infusion with spice and sugar. We took the easy option and bought a ready-made carton to try. The man on the fish stall explained each kind of fish, where they are caught and how to prepare them. Nobody pressed us to buy and everyone wished us a happy stay. A lady sat on a wall crocheting hats which were all for sale. Young men wore their dreadlocks tied onto the top of their heads, sometimes tucked into these brightly coloured hats. A hindu sadu slept on the pavement across a doorway. People just left him to it. There was noise, dust and traffic chaos but it felt wonderfully safe, laid-back and happy. Everyone was willing to chat but there was absolutely no pressure to buy. We passed a statue to Lord Kitchener, late king of Trinidadian calypso and greatly revered here. On his head a mocking bird had just landed. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmWGpeyTsMtrneFhona3LrOvnIq6siCgLNSLYeA-Ceh8FxucCNkK-k6e58a4wanbAG3xr7jzwMVklXOOad2k1-AtidwvZ4VkzSCRr7IFlpnIrIrMhzUzrIAqtwcNNlPwkeeRUYeg/s640-h/YIMG_0028.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmWGpeyTsMtrneFhona3LrOvnIq6siCgLNSLYeA-Ceh8FxucCNkK-k6e58a4wanbAG3xr7jzwMVklXOOad2k1-AtidwvZ4VkzSCRr7IFlpnIrIrMhzUzrIAqtwcNNlPwkeeRUYeg/s400/YIMG_0028.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029982235297596818" /></a><center>In the vegetable market</center><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxoR9ZU1xMLTzbaHlMR0j3XRoqGdX_DHxIcy3zwnRBrlW1T8x5gokV-XxHO6CD7Om-MS5qDrjvDL_yLHjaiYF7pRRqTVZk_pZybI_tBHnPgq_652JyLxtDz1QwxuDpudNnDuDdXA/s640-h/YIMG_0036.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxoR9ZU1xMLTzbaHlMR0j3XRoqGdX_DHxIcy3zwnRBrlW1T8x5gokV-XxHO6CD7Om-MS5qDrjvDL_yLHjaiYF7pRRqTVZk_pZybI_tBHnPgq_652JyLxtDz1QwxuDpudNnDuDdXA/s400/YIMG_0036.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029982235297596834" /></a><center>Please do not disturb</center><br />We were on a mission to buy David his very own cutlass to hack down the jungle in his search for ants' nests. The hardware shop sold everything from chilled drinks and cut glass bowls to formaldehyde, lino and a choice of at least three different brands of cutlass. The one we selected was actually made in the UK but you'd be hard-pressed to find one to buy there. Here it is quite routine. The rest of the morning we wandered the streets and shops of the town with David clutching his cutlass, armed like a pirate of the Caribbean. Nobody seemed to care, Back home you'd end up in jail faster than you could say "machete", charged with carrying an offensive weapon. Nearby we found a hairdressers specialising in dread locks. I'm now seriously thinking of having my hair braided and maybe extended before we return home as it seems a suitably eccentric thing to do!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1YiABEC5EL_wE_5rtNtCH9FganBpe-nbKOWMPPechUAfxVGif0Bl_bAkUv1zpbaJXXj13G73trXxMp8qgG40jyVLcf6t2LPAohcGvbdd8tE4P-SpaUB6puJkpM0rojvE6NcAiUg/s640-h/YIMG_0026.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1YiABEC5EL_wE_5rtNtCH9FganBpe-nbKOWMPPechUAfxVGif0Bl_bAkUv1zpbaJXXj13G73trXxMp8qgG40jyVLcf6t2LPAohcGvbdd8tE4P-SpaUB6puJkpM0rojvE6NcAiUg/s400/YIMG_0026.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029982239592564146" /></a><center>David selects his cutlass</center><br />While the men went shopping for pawpaws, limes, rum and other essentials of daily life I wandered along a side street looking at the tiny open fronted street cafes, little more than shacks, though spotlessly clean. They all served lunches but it was still early and the cafes empty. Seeing me reading a menu at the entrance the owner invited me in and explained all the dishes for sale, the different kinds of roti (sort of filled roll) he sold as well as cooked meals. Several places had cow heel soup on the menu of the day. I asked what it was and the man's wife explained it's made with cow heels (what a surprise) that it's all full of gristle but is good for you and makes you strong! They were a lovely couple, asking where I came from and how I'd got here. Really friendly and not the least expectation that I'd consider buying anything.<br /><br />We returned to the tropical research centre for lunch before driving up to the Asa Wright centre, four miles up the valley from here, during the afternoon. On the way we stopped to gather fallen fruits by the forest wayside – wild grapefruits, nutmegs wrapped in their red strands of mace, green coconuts filled with milk, cocoa pods and coffee.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNlB_id3TG0A8MUVa1sZFwTOVJ1BQNnGAQiStt2VjOxKHp9i8oRv1vrBC2X5FQbqC95p0d81v1YTeuPz-4kh4uwMmbu_oFIsSzl5jawLEzDNLefLrz4gP1fh5-Wt4XveqLNlfHJA/s640-h/YIMG_0073.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNlB_id3TG0A8MUVa1sZFwTOVJ1BQNnGAQiStt2VjOxKHp9i8oRv1vrBC2X5FQbqC95p0d81v1YTeuPz-4kh4uwMmbu_oFIsSzl5jawLEzDNLefLrz4gP1fh5-Wt4XveqLNlfHJA/s400/YIMG_0073.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029983974759351746" /></a><center>Nutmegs and mace</center><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGVTiqdmQGGqLxJn4hhcJMS1X2umMMEQ5XhHVFNiZGTXVT95TKd3b6iohsXShxR5a86bpYOZpjMbZszg6fzYtxxforyG8dsY8E9kkPGefMK1nnGg1qo3cAtN5CUuZQUeLMR_LIEA/s640-h/YIMG_0041.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGVTiqdmQGGqLxJn4hhcJMS1X2umMMEQ5XhHVFNiZGTXVT95TKd3b6iohsXShxR5a86bpYOZpjMbZszg6fzYtxxforyG8dsY8E9kkPGefMK1nnGg1qo3cAtN5CUuZQUeLMR_LIEA/s400/YIMG_0041.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029983979054319058" /></a><center>Cocoa trees with pods</center><br />The Nature Centre, like Simla is constructed entirely from tropical hardwoods. There the comparison ends for while the reaseach station is basic and run down, the Asa Wright centre caters lavishly for enthusiastic bird watchers and is beautifully constructed, furnished and managed to provide an excellent standard of accommodation. We joined the guests with glasses of iced grapefruit on the cool wooden veranda and watched as humming birds fed on nectar from the feeders just inches from where we sat. Below on the lawn, surrounded by bushes, the bird tables swarmed with the most beautiful Trinidadian birdlife in a plethora of brilliant, iridescent colours including the tiny purple-backed honey eater with it's bright yellow legs and the orapendula (yellow tail) with its hanging nests suspended from a nearby tree. As we watched the birds a three foot long lizard crossed the path and a couple of agoutis emerged from the bushes to feed on the fruit peelings that had falled from the bird table. Agoutis are related to guinea pigs and are the size of an average dog with long back legs and pink ears.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisccG65O4qQFypteL9XOWX0_rwlkx3RkkgcktpRtxMg1uunz6BI3DikqejtCucyk_lCEt-CEcGyocKLtbFvhuXhB5EWW6FRFfnsENqTdRR_UH8Y-O3UznmmM2fmSe4otE9o6ptJQ/s640-h/YIMG_0047.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisccG65O4qQFypteL9XOWX0_rwlkx3RkkgcktpRtxMg1uunz6BI3DikqejtCucyk_lCEt-CEcGyocKLtbFvhuXhB5EWW6FRFfnsENqTdRR_UH8Y-O3UznmmM2fmSe4otE9o6ptJQ/s400/YIMG_0047.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029983983349286370" /></a><center>At the bird table, Asa Wright Centre</center><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqC1NCETWrlFI4ksrvbVEirwo4KXrj4XmCjo6u44Zm7gYCiHH0xOCdEKJ6v2DN4SzA_T-sCpBGw-k8SY_hwY6XZbEL9w7eoue6EFxT0PXyMgcR3AgX6l0PaBYWu2aOYEyNqbbrVg/s640-h/YIMG_0050.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqC1NCETWrlFI4ksrvbVEirwo4KXrj4XmCjo6u44Zm7gYCiHH0xOCdEKJ6v2DN4SzA_T-sCpBGw-k8SY_hwY6XZbEL9w7eoue6EFxT0PXyMgcR3AgX6l0PaBYWu2aOYEyNqbbrVg/s400/YIMG_0050.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029983983349286386" /></a><center>At the bird table, Asa Wright Centre</center><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIPVXDSb-Fys-zakofCESeBOIoqIMgwPFG7JenGwxDa-oe5ngFT2mr86n1u2AYqoyfeedH5KGs10hbrKncsgKm2QpJGYuViQmvKuw_xbmxprZ7b5Xc11BTJj8LvRHY9eIjrZomkQ/s640-h/YIMG_0051.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIPVXDSb-Fys-zakofCESeBOIoqIMgwPFG7JenGwxDa-oe5ngFT2mr86n1u2AYqoyfeedH5KGs10hbrKncsgKm2QpJGYuViQmvKuw_xbmxprZ7b5Xc11BTJj8LvRHY9eIjrZomkQ/s400/YIMG_0051.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029983987644253698" /></a><center>Humming bird feeding, Asa Wright Centre</center><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZj11VDOzorqhTFYm7VyEIYTpQTTU6YEJ6Pi8U0PkvJNfjG82nAQIeqS93BEA834AhpH3QR0OimVC8DK-pauA6UHX736Kttvr0okrNzPIXohIDfObjWAF58Hjl4sCcackYa0hRCA/s640-h/YIMG_0052.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZj11VDOzorqhTFYm7VyEIYTpQTTU6YEJ6Pi8U0PkvJNfjG82nAQIeqS93BEA834AhpH3QR0OimVC8DK-pauA6UHX736Kttvr0okrNzPIXohIDfObjWAF58Hjl4sCcackYa0hRCA/s400/YIMG_0052.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029993410802501154" /></a><center>Nests of the Orapendula, Asa Wright Centre</center><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ6_P6juqQeoKYGzUdTpqUAegCd6ne1UxUsGQM5PSWmNpUb5mk0f1MKkdYgbrrv90w7AutyaNb51zFhJIreeBxmllSV4AnWuHWsUhLDx4EpMIIcTuxGjTh6nPMR7xr9mY9QELQFA/s640-h/YIMG_0043.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ6_P6juqQeoKYGzUdTpqUAegCd6ne1UxUsGQM5PSWmNpUb5mk0f1MKkdYgbrrv90w7AutyaNb51zFhJIreeBxmllSV4AnWuHWsUhLDx4EpMIIcTuxGjTh6nPMR7xr9mY9QELQFA/s400/YIMG_0043.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029993415097468466" /></a><center>Huge lizard at Asa Wright Centre</center><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_keE6GgsRJxn0Nybqy4dd2rdFgR-39EaZDbuWPdjgqWc791l-dCxjTRlqF_m09gV_fv2T-docQ59qncBRM6II9TJR3agxIWCHF43njLVi-z7VJlmXNZwCGR2gEPKKaA6QIBRgzw/s640-h/YIMG_0057.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_keE6GgsRJxn0Nybqy4dd2rdFgR-39EaZDbuWPdjgqWc791l-dCxjTRlqF_m09gV_fv2T-docQ59qncBRM6II9TJR3agxIWCHF43njLVi-z7VJlmXNZwCGR2gEPKKaA6QIBRgzw/s400/YIMG_0057.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029993419392435778" /></a><center>Agouti, Asa Wright Centre</center><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI1knObyG2nSL2tuNHdoCRl1UPMAMJUcy3L24uUVn8GmYOCmhsS6x5YK8i0QMiaBZBZrwtBQgbTu-cteM2y9eRjZjKZE-v1kEd9-BOggHctLekycP9h6GNb8-VOW1GXY7kr7zbZQ/s640-h/YIMG_0045.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI1knObyG2nSL2tuNHdoCRl1UPMAMJUcy3L24uUVn8GmYOCmhsS6x5YK8i0QMiaBZBZrwtBQgbTu-cteM2y9eRjZjKZE-v1kEd9-BOggHctLekycP9h6GNb8-VOW1GXY7kr7zbZQ/s400/YIMG_0045.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029993423687403090" /></a><center>View down over the forest</center><br />Ian and I decided to walk the five miles back down the hill to Simla, accompanied by the staccato morse code sound of the cicadas, while David and Karl drove off ahead to set up their scientific equipment for catching moths and butterflies and preparing for the arrival of the first ants' nests. The walk took us ages as we stopped to examine the hundreds of new plants we discovered on the way – massive, tall bamboos with stems several inches in diameter, banana and plantain groves, acres of hillside covered in christophanes. (These are a kind of courgette exported to China and used to thicken jams and chutneys.) As we descended to Verdant Vale we passed a roadside shack, the recreational centre, where the brown-skinned young men of the village, wearing baggy pants and a huge mass of dreadlocks, gathered to drink a Carib beer together on the steps. Everyone waved across at us calling "hey Man" and we were almost tempted to join them. Every vehicle that passed us hooted and waved. We are quite bowled over by this friendly, open, attitude that asks for absolutely nothing in return. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZNuiTdGCRbTU7tlfPDgU_yGr51Jv93ZDYYUF80gsjl5iWXkXYWcXEh-AgYqc9_xMAGN8QyFkhT3ZXu4lxodPNTMbpgWQeY77mWCLgDVAOibTeEeiNtkUNkrxZUSwlODcw1vYqLg/s640-h/YIMG_0060.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZNuiTdGCRbTU7tlfPDgU_yGr51Jv93ZDYYUF80gsjl5iWXkXYWcXEh-AgYqc9_xMAGN8QyFkhT3ZXu4lxodPNTMbpgWQeY77mWCLgDVAOibTeEeiNtkUNkrxZUSwlODcw1vYqLg/s400/YIMG_0060.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029995343537784418" /></a><center>Bromeliads and lianas in the rain forest</center><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEemfF6W86sDIVRecDcVbVtjInshfm-2_8eIXkbx7wOCdC6o62G_GBy_l9Q0cxsS-Y0iLznrGIhpvn-7_B_UhbvRFiw9fWzgrQO1ofaXZZpNrrt2gprTHpOw6z8uXMUtkQ6Chx3w/s640-h/YIMG_0065.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEemfF6W86sDIVRecDcVbVtjInshfm-2_8eIXkbx7wOCdC6o62G_GBy_l9Q0cxsS-Y0iLznrGIhpvn-7_B_UhbvRFiw9fWzgrQO1ofaXZZpNrrt2gprTHpOw6z8uXMUtkQ6Chx3w/s400/YIMG_0065.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029995347832751730" /></a><center>Bananas growing wild near the Simla Research Centre</center><br />By the time we'd climbed the track up to Simla and stopped to watch a trail of leafcutter ants, it was 6pm and dusk was falling. Karl had set up his moth trap for the evening and David had discovered the first of his ants' nests, a year old colony of the right size. As we sat in the garden drinking iced guava juice, eight Amazonian parrots flew overhead squawking to each other as they returned to roost. An electric vibration gradually began from somewhere above us in the forest, it was the croaking of thousands of toads. Later we discovered one as it waded its way across the grass. As with so many of the creatures here it was huge.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Thu-_4H2h2daWS2spxVZCRMg2RZKnjYNxVnT1SOVVnzJt0soVS_m230_MZGDgwDSVZemcpbtNR2BxuEYD8c9SKPZtMlV7z6hTSZX-h59f5S-sIB150eptU34MC03MTQSU7UoQA/s640-h/YIMG_0072.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Thu-_4H2h2daWS2spxVZCRMg2RZKnjYNxVnT1SOVVnzJt0soVS_m230_MZGDgwDSVZemcpbtNR2BxuEYD8c9SKPZtMlV7z6hTSZX-h59f5S-sIB150eptU34MC03MTQSU7UoQA/s400/YIMG_0072.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029995352127719042" /></a><center>Young ants nest, Simla Research Centre</center><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgifzzxxrRbpglNztc_pN6RSu7neXJ8rrypha72EXCkoyGcc8jKwP2QbWoplHqzmpLT03axr3AS2kjfs_qIu1H5uT6SOZV9BjSz3q6wyflzRu7c1aAXd9R3fJlshMcWxjUzWxqY3A/s640-h/YIMG_0074.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgifzzxxrRbpglNztc_pN6RSu7neXJ8rrypha72EXCkoyGcc8jKwP2QbWoplHqzmpLT03axr3AS2kjfs_qIu1H5uT6SOZV9BjSz3q6wyflzRu7c1aAXd9R3fJlshMcWxjUzWxqY3A/s400/YIMG_0074.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029995356422686354" /></a><center>Giant toad, Simla Research Centre</center><br />In the evening we were joined by the two post-doc researchers and we all went down into town for supper at the Chinese restaurant. The meal was good, the staff very friendly, but it seemed strange to be served Chinese food by a chocolate brown Trini lady who called us all darlin's!<br /><br /><B>Friday, 9th February 2007, Simla. <br />William Beebie Tropical Research Station, Trinidad</B><br />We are beginning to know more than your average tourist to Trinidad about the reproductive habits of moths and the social structure of leaf-cutter ant colonies. This morning we found several butterflies along with the butter in the fridge. Apparently it calms them down, making them easier to handle, so Karl placed them in there for a few minutes, the fridge for specimens having been filled with Carib beers, gin and tonic water.<br /><br />Torrents of rain this morning had destroyed most of the moths lured to the trap overnight and most of the rest had been eaten by birds. Leaving Karl to potter around with his butterfly net for the morning we accompanied David to the Arena forest in search of ants nests. Ian helped locate nests and learned how to weald a cutlass as he helped David dig-out the huge queen ant, eggs, some of the fungus garden and hundreds of worker ants. Sometimes, if the nest was more than a year old, there were large soldier ants, capable of drawing blood with their sharp pincers. This was obviously dangerous work, suited only to men, so having watched the first nest dug up and safely transferred to a margarine tub, I decided it was time to learn how to drive an automatic car and pottered off for a drive along the track through the trees. I soon got used to the car and stopped on the edge of the forest at a little village of tin roofed simple dwelling houses where goats and chickens scratched in the front yards or along the roadside. The village was busy with women and children. Several people were gathered with containers at the communal water tap and a wooden shack served as a general store and bar.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7QklkRFkMg7gpceLt6tFeFY2odNP0glF52JKNZWZza8D1dqDI5Jbx7R4n9ghFxSJI1W-ZT9ea8c4mIlgag6r0MlOWNHjla7Isu3xZN9SVG81CSwtjj1iyy66P_Tj1dL1NqSrmxA/s640-h/YIMG_0086.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7QklkRFkMg7gpceLt6tFeFY2odNP0glF52JKNZWZza8D1dqDI5Jbx7R4n9ghFxSJI1W-ZT9ea8c4mIlgag6r0MlOWNHjla7Isu3xZN9SVG81CSwtjj1iyy66P_Tj1dL1NqSrmxA/s400/YIMG_0086.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029995360717653666" /></a><center>Leaf-cutter ants</center> <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMpau_7OlsybLDPHZTH5dCX9AhVHapGC9v11BLQuuf9Ip8E03dYjNNCPLwGIwwWHj8YJ_WMmBMRofsQei6BaTTkQDjgFQZAhfhbIO0HDLMFrSZPxLgWeWvZigs-Btr5py7nbUX1w/s640-h/YIMG_0089.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMpau_7OlsybLDPHZTH5dCX9AhVHapGC9v11BLQuuf9Ip8E03dYjNNCPLwGIwwWHj8YJ_WMmBMRofsQei6BaTTkQDjgFQZAhfhbIO0HDLMFrSZPxLgWeWvZigs-Btr5py7nbUX1w/s400/YIMG_0089.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029998186806134466" /></a><center>Moving the ants to their temporary new home</center><br />After a couple of hours searching and digging, four nests had been successfully collected and the menfolk were soaked with rain and perspiration. With temperatures in the 30s David's mind was more on a cold drink than digging out further nests today. So we drove through to the far side of the forest towards St. Raphael with it's roadside rum shop. On the way, deep in the forest we found a whitewashed memorial church and a plaque commemorating the massacre of several Spanish priests by the Amerindians in 1699 following a dispute concerning the location of a proposed church. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsOV-akzQytcJQucgfrEAAfxgqX5IOMJftB5XlmAKDJJIgT6NK6Mblmi402QRXAOtjbFsNd-m7BbnKUC7TpQgN0t_wnAe7rUQqIj7uikGSB0H5XCOd5VHqZzpD9d2ZCec2DWeKrA/s640-h/YIMG_0091.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsOV-akzQytcJQucgfrEAAfxgqX5IOMJftB5XlmAKDJJIgT6NK6Mblmi402QRXAOtjbFsNd-m7BbnKUC7TpQgN0t_wnAe7rUQqIj7uikGSB0H5XCOd5VHqZzpD9d2ZCec2DWeKrA/s400/YIMG_0091.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029998191101101778" /></a><center>Site of the Arena Massacre of 1699</center><br />On the edge of St. Raphael was David's regular refreshment stop at a shabby wayside bar where the drink is served in the bottle through an iron grill and the barstools are chained down to stop them disappearing. "Hello ant man, how you doing? You back again?" exclaimed the barman as we ordered our beers and joined several local men drinking white rum on the benches by the dusty roadside. One young man arrived, wearing only shorts and wellies, waving his cutlass in general greeting and reaching through the grill to help himself from the rum bottle despite the protestations of the cheerful barman that "he be stealin." Anyone walking into a bar in Britain like that would have the place empty in seconds but here it was accepted behaviour.<br /><br />We returned to the research centre for lunch. Karl was ready to set up facilities for his butterflies to start laying eggs and David needed to open his ant boxes and allow the colonies to re-establish themselves after their traumatic move. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaOEfQlJvKMBRBCSBHclXu-twRckyKN-iKurv82txsZcbRkPjsWFfHOF5vsz8gVB1F-x5koZ4luzjxPE8DI8XrcwG7e24djn4aY-PFPEcyAosG5HDTs9evpjWcDvsPE1yQoIFoqA/s640-h/YIMG_0094.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaOEfQlJvKMBRBCSBHclXu-twRckyKN-iKurv82txsZcbRkPjsWFfHOF5vsz8gVB1F-x5koZ4luzjxPE8DI8XrcwG7e24djn4aY-PFPEcyAosG5HDTs9evpjWcDvsPE1yQoIFoqA/s400/YIMG_0094.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029998191101101794" /></a><br /><center>Desirable new residence (if you are an ant!) Simla Research Centre</center><br />So we left the scientists busy enjoying themselves all afternoon, and decided to walk down to the road in the hope of catching a route taxi into Arima. Once on the road we started walking hoping to wait in some shade. However, no minibus came and we continued walking for two miles before one overtook us. He refused to stop, shouting something out to us we couldn't understand. We've since discovered there is no scheduled service along that route but if there are empty seats on chartered buses drivers will usually stop. We were just unlucky. So we continued on, stopping to talk with a lady and her four gorgeous dark brown children with mops of black curly hair. She was horrified that we'd walked so far and assured us we'd never make it to Arima. Every vehicle that passed us waved and hooted but nobody thought to suggest we might like a lift. Then we met our fellow guests at the centre, the two post-doc researchers from Nebraska. They were returning by car from a muddy but happy day observing guppy fish in a nearby river and offered to drive us down into Arima. By this time though it had become a matter of pride for us to walk the whole way. A couple of miles further on we passed the cemetery on the outskirts of Arima where Lord Kitchener the calypso king is buried.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkFrT-h3AWnm_hTG0mXWT7NQEF3SBgNO5MeH7ncYA-6m6JxqusMEHg9Qmc_7JYWBMcbs_cVOxRIySyfQftNIkizTq7FTySYMDvkKXhadUgFHJt-R26dcZDrPqT2511V2j0_-tlPg/s640-h/YIMG_0096.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkFrT-h3AWnm_hTG0mXWT7NQEF3SBgNO5MeH7ncYA-6m6JxqusMEHg9Qmc_7JYWBMcbs_cVOxRIySyfQftNIkizTq7FTySYMDvkKXhadUgFHJt-R26dcZDrPqT2511V2j0_-tlPg/s400/YIMG_0096.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029998195396069106" /></a><center>View over Arima</center><br />We were eager for some cool shade and a drink when we finally reached the town centre so returned to the friendly little café I discovered yesterday. The lady recognised me and served us large glasses of grapefruit with ice and turned on her electric fan to cool us off. She was fascinated with Ian, saying he looked just like her friend's husband Larry, he was white too! She even got her mother out from the back of the café to agree with her! Personally we reckon that as we are the only white people we've seen in Arima, it's probable that we all look the same to Trinis!<br /><br />Refreshed we set out in search of internet access. Everywhere was full with queues waiting. Eventually we found the public library which had free but slow internet access and we at least had time to read our email. The library was air conditioned but the stock was limited and nothing had yet been computerised. It was very well used though with school children in their neat uniforms occupying many of the seats. <br /><br />Hot air hit us as we emerged back into the street. A nearby electronic sign informed us it was 34 degrees at 6pm. This is winter here! We have to say though, that it feels much more comfortable than similar temperatures in Sri Lanka or central Europe last summer. We'd never have been able to walk five miles or more in such heat there as we've just done this afternoon!<br /><br />The streets were chaotic this Friday evening. There were stalls selling cheap clothing, snacks, fast food and tatty bling. They lined every roadside and the entire town was out enjoying themselves. What they were actually doing, it would be hard to say. Sitting or standing around, chatting, listening to blaring music that must surely lead to hearing problems, drinking beers in open fronted shacks with dark interiors, or sitting in the endless traffic jams through all the main streets with their windows down and their stereos up. All this, in Trinidad, is known as liming – the art of doing nothing really well. They are world leaders in it here.<br /><br />We'd arranged to meet David and Karl for supper in town. When they arrived we fought our way through the crowds to a different Chinese restaurant. Unfortunately eating out is not really a Trini custom outside Port of Spain which caters more for tourists, and there is no choice. By the time we leave here we will probably have done the rounds of all that Arima can offer several times!<br /><br />We discovered our first non-European manhole cover, and the first we've seen anywhere in Trinidad! Normally there are just holes or gratings or open drains. As we stopped to photograph it a happy man rushed up to us, patting us on the backs and shaking our hands. Perhaps he thought we were from the local council sent to sort out the sewers!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSZk_vSZx7M1gEAHPocdY-mk3SlIvVWNVSV_a_mUdWk04ptVTbCEqS_giXbczYm_8eSL2ORKlbhMw7o9uYZDjmS8-rYA7Sm8RTMLE9cBIMH2mTtuuW31RCG6OWZRXRw7fHqehBzA/s640-h/YIMG_0101.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSZk_vSZx7M1gEAHPocdY-mk3SlIvVWNVSV_a_mUdWk04ptVTbCEqS_giXbczYm_8eSL2ORKlbhMw7o9uYZDjmS8-rYA7Sm8RTMLE9cBIMH2mTtuuW31RCG6OWZRXRw7fHqehBzA/s400/YIMG_0101.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5030000738016708354" /></a><center>US drain cover found in Arima</center><br />On our return we went to look at Karl's bugtrap laid out on the grass with a huge lamp overhead to attract the moths. Just below sat the fattest, wartiest toad we've ever seen. As soon as a moth came within range, it's tongue shot out, there was a gulp and a happy smile on the toad's face. Karl's face was less happy! We left him raking up courage to shift the toad. Five thousand miles to carry out research and it can all be ruined by a hungry amphibian!Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38609523.post-1168959472535765612007-01-16T14:53:00.000+00:002007-01-16T17:19:19.460+00:00Before we goIn February we will be heading for Trindad leaving Modestine home alone as we escape the worst month of an English winter. Essential bedtime reading for us is now provided by the Rough and the Insight guides to Trinidad and Tobago. Our sleeping dreams are filled with the sound of hummingbird's wings whirring as they sip nectar from the brightly coloured flowers we are certain will surround our accommodation high in the rain forests to the north of the island.<br /><br />We have not been yearning for years to visit Trinidad and it is an area about which we are woefully ignorant, but when our friend David suggested we accompany him on a three week visit to the island in February we accepted eagerly. What is retirement for, if not for seizing unexpected opportunities as they present themselves? David is a biologist with an interest in social insects, especially ants and bees. For some years he lived in Trinidad and has developed a particular area of expertise in the Trinidadian leaf-cutter ants to be found in the rain forests there. So we will be joining him and a butterfly enthusiast friend, Carl, at the Simla scientific research station located in the grounds of the <A HREF="http://www.responsibletravel.com/Trip/Trip900102.htm">Asa Wright Nature Centre</A>, renowned as a centre for eco-tourism and the perfect location for the observation of exotic tropical birdlife.<br /><br />Our visit coincides with the famous <A HREF="http://www.trinicenter.com/Gilkes/2003/2302.htm">Trinidad carnival</A> in the capital, Port of Spain, held on 19th and 20th February when the streets will be virbant with colour and crowded with floats, steel drums, dancers, musicians and razzmatazz. <br /><br />With the beautiful island paradise of Tobago only a twenty minute flight away there will be more than sufficient to keep us entertained during our stay.<br /><br />Trinidad is hot and humid but until we are there we don't know how we will stand up to the climate. In the forest there should be shade and we have read of the cooling trade winds. However, each island of the Caribbean seems to have its own atmosphere and climate. Trinidad is perhaps the least touristy with much in the way of industries, petrol refineries and a massive pitch lake. It does too have beaches reputedly as beautiful as any to be found on St. Lucia, Martinque or Tobago.<br /><br />Trinidad, in common with the other islands of the Carribean, has an unsavoury past linked to the slave trade when from the 16th century Spanish, French and British land owners imported African slaves to work on the sugar plantations. Later, in the 19th century, following emancipation, east Indians, and later even the Chinese, came to work on the fields and plantations. If our guidebooks are correct, the result is that today Trinidad would seem to be a true melting pot of different nationalites, creeds and colours who have intermarried and live harmoniously together, a real "Rainbow Nation". Catholics, Hindus, Rastafarians and African tribal folklore all have their place in the island. To the north, where we will be staying, can be found the last vestiges of the original inhabitants, the Caribs. The word Cannibal is apparently derived from this, though such activities are now lost back in the mists of time. Although sugar cane is still grown, the wealth of Trinidad today is based on the massive reserves of oil discovered since independence which made the country rich overnight and ensures employment levels remain higher than the norm in the Caribbean.<br /><br />Our observations in Trinidad will be very different from those in Europe. No Baroque churches or architectural spendours this time. Instead there will be an abundance of wildlife and plants: howler monkeys, snakes (including four poisonous varieties), huge spiders, virgin rainforests, sandy, palm-fringed beaches, coral reefs, limpid clear waters, fishes, freshwater swamps, hundreds of species of birds including scarlet ibis and oil-birds, insects, shrubs and flowers.<br /><br />Most of all though, we expect the people we encounter to provide the most colourful element in our blog. With such wonderfully cheerful, larger than life personalities, and such a laid-back approach to life, and at a time of high excitement surrounding the carnival we don't expect to be bored while we are there!<br /><br />So if you fancy travelling with us, stay tuned. Those of you already on our list from last time will notify whenever we load on new text and photos, others can email us if they wish to be added.Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.com