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Saturday November 2.2002 / 3:15 pm E.S.T. Again I must apologize for the lack of updates. I spent almost three weeks in Texas. Weather was great, friends and folks were great. Economy still sucks. It was good to see everyone, pick up some things whether it be computer upgrades or clearance specials on short sleeve shirts. Good trip.::
Well two days ago was Halloween and a friend of mine asked me a question, so I responded: do y'all have halloween down there? just curious. - Tiff Yeah, but remember, this is a different third world country that still practices Pagan rituals. Around 9:15 everyone gathers at the old town centre (it's 5 miles outside the capital city) and starts drinking this home made sugar wine while others pound out rhythmically on the steel pan and deep bass-resonating tassa drums. This goes on until exactly 11:45 working the crowd into a drunken melodic frenzy. The sugar wine, like absynthe is said to have hallucinogenic properties. Anyhow, at exactly 15 minutes till midnight, six men that go by some unpronounceable title that roughly translates to mean "slayer's of the flesh in the name of god," proceed to sacrifice one goat (must be brown and white), two chickens (any color), and three Buffalypso (it's a weird cross between a cow and a water buffalo, all are black). All six men start at the same time, I couldn't discern whether or not rank of the these guys determined which animal they sacrifice, only one sacrificed the goat, so that might be the most privileged rank. Anyhow, it's freaky and yet visually captivating as the drum beat is a fast pounding rhythm.... People are dancing swaying, shouting...more like chanting. Then exactly at 11:45, on cue in one motion that must only be a second or two at most, the crowd stops and stands still with their hands in the air, palms facing forward to capture the spirits energy's as they are released, the drums stop in unison with the dancers and in the exact same choreographed moment all six men strike a single fatal blow to the sacrificial animals. Not one animal makes a sound, but they twitch, I guess from nervous system reflexes, just for a moment or so. The blades, dripping with blood, are raised into the air and some sort of prayer is chanted by all in a native tongue that apparently has roots from South Eastern Africa and is over 900 years old. Alter areas (not really tables, but round stone areas laid in the ground) form a semi circle with a sort of drain or gutter. These gutters all meet and the blood that drains from the slain animals merge as one to continue down the path to a very shallow, yet wide pool. Looks like water enters somewhere, probably to help dilute and spread it out more, but it's still very red and looks like a blood pool. Everyone then starts filling up these wooden bowls and passes them back after pouring a small amount over one another's heads, so it drips down their foreheads. It's now about two minutes till midnight and although not sure when it started, the drums have come back, but at a slower pace and not as loud and while is not dancing, they seem to be swaying in time to the beat and you realize these are some tripped out, fucked up people. Then you hear this woman, maybe more than one, let out the most blood curling scream or shriek you've ever heard and the crowd goes wild, blood everywhere, dancing in an almost epileptic looking manner, yet somehow it is in time to the beat, even if there is no cohesion in the movements, sweat and blood mix and spray into the air as people violently shake their heads. At the same time the six men whack at their assigned animals, cutting off the genitals and then whacking at the thighs so it is only brittle bone around the pelvis and femur and at exactly midnight, in the heightened chaotic atmosphere they use all their might to pull the legs, just as I'm pulling yours.... Yeah, kids put on costumes and trick or treat here like the states. Personally I blame it on cable.:: I met Danny Taylor here in Trinidad a day or two after New Years. He's originally from Perth Australia and had been backpacking for nine years. Here's his account of Trinidad from an email he sent out recently after returning home. I thought it would be nice to add another's perspective to the site: The morning of December 31st saw me boarding a Greyhound bus in St. Augustine Florida.Ten uninspiring hours later I was at Miami International from where I was to fly to the Caribbean island of Trinidad & Tobago. Let me warn you, New Years Eve on a plane isn't particularly fun. Actually, it's a pretty depressing scene 30,000ft in the air. Alcohol isn't free on domestic or Caribbean flights with American Airlines, my flight was practically empty and although I knew everyone was partying on the ground, no matter how hard I strained my eyes looking out the window I didn't even get to witness the drunken debauchery happening beneath me. At about a quarter to midnight (and the year 2002) it became apparent that the flight attendants were not going to be handing out party hats, streamers, balloons or glasses of champagne. However,after abit of sweet talking followed by desperate pleading, four Jack Daniels mini bottles were dropped into my lap. Gratis. I vowed to find a bar to celebrate in once we landed and I took a cab to Trinidads city, Port of Spain. I guess I had better tell you why I was headed to this country in the first place. A few months previously I was at Mirandas bar in Cambodia where I was introduced to a lot of wonderful expats based in Siem Reap. One of these was a Trinidadian by the name of Geoff who happened to give me the name and address of his cousin in Trinidad who owned a long established and extremely popular nightspot called The Pelican. He said he's put in a word for me if I was ever in that part of the world and true to his word he did. A phone call to Trinidad from Florida was all it took and I was told to jump on a plane and come on down. Thanks again Geoff. I had been forwarned that The Pelican bar closed on New Years Eve and New Years day so the staff could enjoy the festivities but that the security guard on duty would show me to my room and I would report to Patrick, the boss on the 2nd. I dumped my bags in my room then went back to find the security guard to ask him where the nearest bar or club was so I could catch up on the celebration but he insisted everything was shut on N.Y.E, except maybe the Hilton Hotel, the rest of Trinidad was either at church or private house parties. Oh dear, this was destined to be a quiet one for Danny. I trudged up the big hill behind the bar to the Hilton where the only person at the bar was a pilot who couldn't drink more than one beer because he was flying a commercial airliner in a few hours back to the States. I indulged though for the remaining hour until the bar closed then rolled back down the hill to my room. My meeting with the boss was interesting. My first week, in exchange for free accommodation in the hotel and an open bar tab, I was to pose as a customer and drink at the bar from 7pm everynight until it shut which was usually between 2-4am. Each day I was to meet with him and give a report on the service. Wow! Not a bad job. I learnt after my first night on the job that I had better jot down notes as the night progressed as opposed to waking up with a fuzzy head the next morning trying to recall the previous nights service. Once my 'undercover' role was over I found myself behind the bar five nights a week enjoying the calypso and soca music with the help of the local rum and coconut water. I was told of a studio apartment I could rent beneath a customers house close to the bar and moved myself in. I was told that it had been vacant for four years but didn't realize they meant they hadn't cleaned it in that time either. It was disgusting. The toilet didn't flush, water from the shower trickled out brown and nothing in the kitchen was operational. But, I did have cable TV with 65 channels to flick through! I got the fright of my life the first night, as I lay in bed, when a bat flew in my room and started circling above my head. I had noticed a lot of suspicious looking 'shit' on the walls and now realized I was sharing my new home. I positioned my bed directly beneath the ceiling fan to ensure my new flatmates couldn't hang above me in the night unless they wanted to be decapitated. From that day forward my humble abode became known as the 'Batcave'. The lead up to Carnival is electric. With a huge steelband competition, held in various preliminaries, to attend along with unbelievable 'fetes' (parties) featuring big name soca artists there was definately no lack of action to choose from. I would very often finish work at 3am and be dragged off to these fetes by my co-workers where we would dance until the sun came up. J'Ouvert is the opening of Carnival and takes place at 2am carnival Monday and continues until after sunrise. I was told to wear 'old clothes' (quite simple when you don't own any new ones!) as what I was about to experience would entail getting quite messy. This was an understatement. For the next7 hours revellers dance through the streets following huge mobile steelbands and flatbed music trucks laden with drums of mud, cocoa paste, car grease or paint which everyone gets totally covered in. I was so caked in mess that my shorts kept falling to my knees, the weight of the gunk pulling them down. And this is just the warm up to Carnival!!! Around 9am everyone returns to their homes to shower,have a quick nap then head back into the streets around noon for the beginning of Carnival. It is very hard to put into words what I experienced on Carnival Monday and Tuesday. Thousands upon thousands of people dressed in the most amazing array of style and colour are chipping (shuffling in the rhythm of the music) and wining (a Caribbean dance involving gyrating your hips and bum in a pretty suggestive manner) through the streets, drinking copious amounts of rum and enjoying the earsplitting soca beats pumping from the monstrous speakers on on the backs of the trucks that snake through the city. By Tuesday night I was so tired I felt sure once my head hit my pillow I'd slip into a coma, never to wake again. Thankfully some friends I'd met recently invited me to their house in Mayaro on the beach for acouple ofdays R & R. All we did was eat freshly caught fish, lots of tropical fruit, hung about in hammocks and played Bocci on the beach. The perfect end to a few days madness. Thanks D, R & A. Months passed in a whirlwind of parties at work, parties after work and parties 'down de islands'. I was having a truly wonderful experience and found that Trinidadians, although initially a little reserved with outsiders, soon embrace you and are extremely keen to share their island and all it has to offer. I was hoping to get work on a charter boat sailing in the Caribbean but hurricane season was fast approaching so this was out of the question. My visa was about to expire andI had already applied for one extension so didn't like my chances of being granted another. The time had come to say goodbye, but not without first visiting Trinidads sister island of Tobago. Thanks to a mate from work we (four of us) secured use of his aunts luxurious brand new holiday house there. And what a house this was. All furnishings had been imported direct from Bali, Indonesia and were to die for. Massive wooden four-poster beds draped in white linen, french doors opening out on to the entertaining area with hammocks and a huge mosaic tiled pool. And this was to be our home for a week. A far cry from the batcave I had slept in the previous 5 months. The whole week was spent relaxing. In the mornings we would head to one of the many beautiful beaches that Tobago boasts, late afternoons we'd hit the pool at the house then back to the beachat night to enjoy the parties hosted by the organizers of the Tobago Sail Week Regatta. It was a fantastic way to end my adventure in the West Indies. A big farewell dinner had been arranged for my final night in Trinidad, followed by a marathon session at the bar then the casino then finally to the airport for my 7am flight..... ..... Danny ::
:: June 20, 2003 |
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"No Man's Land" taken with a Minox 35GL 35mm pocket camera.