~ wander.essence ~

anticipation & preparation: trinidad & tobago

wanderessence1025 March 27, 2020

The Republic of Trinidad and Tobago is the southernmost island in the Caribbean, just under 7 miles off the coast of Venezuela. The nation has a diverse cultural mix of Indian, African, Creole, Chinese, Amerindian, Arab, Latino, and European influences, a melting pot of communities who have migrated to the islands over the centuries. This African and Indian cultural fusion is reflected in its famous Carnival, Diwali, and Hosay celebrations. The island nation is also the birthplace of steelpan, the limbo, and music styles such as calypso, soca, rapso, parang, chutney, and chutney soca. After undergoing many changes in governments, Trinidad and Tobago finally became a republic in 1976. The national language is English, with many different accents. Citizens drive on the left.

Trinidad’s economy is strongly influenced by the petroleum industry. Tourism is a growing sector, particularly on Tobago, although it is much less important than in many other Caribbean islands. Agricultural products include citrus and cocoa. It also supplies manufactured goods, notably food, beverages, and cement, to the Caribbean region.

notes in my 2020 bullet journal

I found quickly in my research that Trinidad and Tobago is all about Carnival. It’s the last hurrah before the austere period of Lent, and it is the nation’s biggest celebration. From Christmas to Ash Wednesday, the islands are gearing up for Carnival; big steel bands allow people to watch their practice sessions, calypsonians perform their Carnival compositions, and of course prices are high throughout the festivities. Once Carnival Monday arrives the festivities begin in full force. It sounds like they are wild beyond comprehension, culminating in a Tuesday night las’lap beginning at dusk, a frantic and exuberant last ditch party before Lent descends.

Neither Mike nor I are big party people, and I hate crowds. It was out of the question to go to Trinidad and Tobago for Carnival, but that’s what it’s famous for. If we were not going for Carnival, why should we go? I continued researching what we could do in the islands if we skipped Carnival and went during Lent, mid-March, say, when all had quieted down. My selling point to Mike was that we could escape the doldrums of winter and lounge on the beach, soak up the sun.

I read three Caribbean travel books and another book, The Rough Guide to Trinidad & Tobago. I researched plane flights and found that there were no direct flights from the Washington area; most took over 12 hours, including a long stopover in Houston. Mike wanted to come on this trip but he thought it only worth a one week visit. For staying just a week, that long flight seemed too much. Plus there were the logistics of getting to both of the islands. Flights are the only way to go as boat rides are too long.

books on the Caribbean

With less than five days to see two islands (after the two long travel days), it didn’t seem like it was worth the effort. I couldn’t see how we could do two 12-hour flying days to and from Port of Spain, plus see both islands properly in one week. Trinidad supposedly lacks a Caribbean feel, and Tobago is the more quiet, laid back island. If we were going to “lounge on the beach,” it seemed we had to go to Tobago, but then there was more to see and do in Port of Spain, Trinidad.

atlas and Rough Guide to Trinidad & Tobago

Finally, after reading much about the islands, I told Mike in late January that I didn’t think we should go. It all seemed too complicated. We have been to the Bahamas many times, but that was a direct flight, and we always stayed on the main island of Nassau. It was definitely a beach island. I might have gone alone if not for warnings about high crime and the driving on the left.

In the end it was a good thing we didn’t go, because our holiday in mid-March would have been ruined by the coronavirus, and we would have had to return home. It all worked out for the best in the end.

Deciding not to go didn’t stop me from reading the other books besides The White Woman on the Green Bicycle, which I talked about in my post: call to place: trinidad & tobago. I loved Monique Roffey’s writing, so I also read Archipelago, which started off in Port of Spain. The characters took off sailing across the Caribbean, through the Panama Canal and to the Galapagos. It was an excellent book; below is my review:

What a mesmerizing voyage. After tragically losing his son, Alexander, to a flood in his pink house in Trinidad, Gavin Weald quits his job and, with his 6-year-old daughter Océan and his dog Suzy, sets sail in his old boat Romany through the archipelago of islands along the north coast of South America, through the Panama Canal and to the Galapagos. His wife Claire has gone into a sleep, withdrawn into herself, and is staying with her mother in Trinidad; she doesn’t at first know that Gavin has left. This sailing trip is Gavin’s way of dealing with his grief over the loss of his son and his home, as well as his wife’s withdrawal. He puts himself right in the middle of nature, coming face to face with the sea and its unpredictability, its gifts and its challenges. Nature, the force that didn’t care about his baby son or his family, nature that acted purely on its own whim, by its own logic or lack thereof. It was nature that took his son, with no malice toward him, his family, or his home, but which destroyed it nonetheless. This journey is about a reckoning, a coming to terms with what it means to be human in our natural world, and how one deals with grief and loss.

I also read Golden Child by Claire Adam; it also takes place in Trinidad, but is a different kind of book altogether. Here is my review of another excellent book:

I loved this book. Not only was it an incredibly intense story, but it evoked the whole of Trinidad & Tobago, the beauty, the shabbiness, the corruption, the criminality, the people, families and culture. We experience this island country through Clyde and Joy, two Indian parents, and their twin sons, Peter and Paul, along with many other relatives and neighbors, mostly Joy’s brothers and extended family. Peter is gifted, and by far the father’s favorite, while Paul, who is deemed to be “retarded” by his own parents as well as other relatives and school officials, is a constant frustration to his father. Joy, the mother, insists that Paul should always stay with Peter in school, even if Paul was far behind and seemingly challenged, which I thought put a huge burden on Peter. It wasn’t until Paul met Father Kavanagh at the Catholic School that he finally heard an adult consider him to be normal, not “retarded.” He had overheard his parents and relatives talking about him as if he were “less” or “not enough” for his entire life, and it seemed he had come to believe his own worthlessness, while loving his family anyway. When Paul disappears, the family faces a crisis like none they could have ever imagined, one in which one son would have to be chosen over the other. I loved the way this book was written, and the exploration of a dilemma that many parents face when they have challenging children of different abilities and personalities.

Here is a list of other books I’ve found that take place in this island nation.

Golden Child and Archipelago

Books set in Trinidad and Tobago:

The White Woman on the Green Bicycle by Monique Roffey *****
Archipelago by Monique Roffey *****
House of Ashes by Monique Roffey
Golden Child by Claire Adam *****
A House for Mr. Biswas by V.S. Naipaul
Miguel Street by V.S. Naipaul
In a Free State by V.S. Naipaul
The Mystic Masseur by V.S. Naipaul
The Middle Passage by V.S. Naipaul
The Loss of El Dorado: A Colonial History by V.S. Naipaul (non-fiction)
Fireflies by Shiva Naipaul
The Chip-Chip Gatherers by Shiva Naipaul
Salt by Earl Lovelace
The Wine of Astonishment by Earl Lovelace
The Dragon Can’t Dance by Earl Lovelace
Is Just a Movie by Earl Lovelace
Cereus Blooms at Night by Shani Mootoo
Valmiki’s Daughter by Shani Mootoo
Out on Main Street: And Other Stories by Shani Mootoo
Bruised Hibiscus by Elizabeth Nunez
Anna In-Between by Elizabeth Nunez
The Limbo Silence by Elizabeth Nunez
Even in Paradise by Elizabeth Nunez
Black Rock by Amanda Smyth
A Kind of Eden by Amanda Smyth
Lime Tree Can’t Bear Orange by Amanda Smyth
Light Falling on Bamboo by Lawrence Scott
Ballad for the New World and Other Stories by Lawrence Scott
Night Calypso by Lawrence Scott
Ways of Sunlight by Sam Selvon
A Brighter Sun by Sam Selvon
Green Days by the River by Michael Anthony
Cricket in the Road and Other Stories by Michael Anthony
In the Heat of the Day by Michael Anthony
The Year in San Fernando by Michael Anthony
My Grandmother’s Erotic Folk Tales by Robert Antoni
Carnival by Robert Antoni
Whatless Boys by Robert Antoni
A Thirst for Rain by Roslyn Carrington
Sic Transit Wagon by Barbara Jenkins
The Hummingbird Tree by Ian McDonald
Crick Crack, Monkey by Merle Hodge

Movies set in Trinidad and Tobago are:

Affair in Trinidad (1952)
Fire Down Below (1957)
Bim (1975)
The Humming-bird Tree (1992)
Flight of the Ibis (1996)
The Mystic Masseur (2001)
Doubles with Slight Pepper (2011)
Between Friends (2012)
No Bois Man No Fraid (2013)
God Loves the Fighter (2013)
Girlfriends’ Getaway (2014)
Bazodee (2016)
Play the Devil (2016)
Green Days by the River (2017)
Moving Parts (2017)
Moko Jumbie (2017)
Unfinished Sentences (2018)

Since none of us is going anywhere for a while, I hope, like me, you’ll enjoy exploring the world through books. You can find lists of books by setting here: books | international a-z | and books | u.s.a. |.

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“ANTICIPATION & PREPARATION” INVITATION: I invite you to write a post on your own blog about anticipation & preparation for a particular destination (not journeys in general). If you don’t have a blog, I invite you to write in the comments. Include the link in the comments below by Thursday, April 23 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Friday, April 24, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation, on the 4th Friday of each month. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂 If you’d like to read more about the topic, see: journeys: anticipation & preparation.

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

call to place: trinidad & tobago

wanderessence1025 March 26, 2020

It was one book that called me to visit the Caribbean islands of Trinidad & Tobago – The White Woman on the Green Bicycle by Monique Roffey. I read it in early 2011, after having spent almost a year in South Korea teaching English. I was getting ready to leave Korea for good, but before returning home, I planned to embark on a trip to India.

Trinidad & Tobago is a dual-island Caribbean nation near Venezuela, with distinctive Creole traditions and cuisines. It doesn’t rely on tourism as do most Caribbean islands. The Trinidadian economy is primarily industrial with an emphasis on petroleum and petrochemicals; much of the nation’s wealth is derived from its large reserves of oil and natural gas.

my bullet journal for 2020

Here is the post that I wrote on February 20, 2011 on my blog catbird in korea. Here I talk about how The White Woman on the Green Bicycle reflected my feelings about Korea.

I can’t get no satisfaction…

I am walking down the main highway in front of Keimyung University, trying to get some exercise, trying to get my bad knee used to taking long walks in preparation for my upcoming trip to India. On my iPod Nano, Mick Jagger is singing “I can’t get no satisfaction.” And I am singing right along with him, with no care in the world that the Koreans passing by me on the street may think I’m crazy. I just don’t care anymore.

I’m feeling good and the air is crisp and cool, but not as frigid as it usually is in February in Korea. And I realize this song is an echo of my feelings about Korea and why I am so happy to be leaving here in 8 more days.

I have had a great adventure here in Korea. I have traveled all over the country, explored many nooks and crannies that even native Koreans have never seen. I have been able to travel to 5 other Asian countries while I’ve been here: Turkey (1/2 Asian, anyway), China, Japan, Vietnam and Cambodia. I will travel to India on my way home, so including Korea, that will make 7 countries total. I have made many new friends, both Koreans and expats, and have learned that I have the ability to be flexible enough to survive in a foreign country.

On the other hand, I have endured a horrible 1 1/2 hour commute each way every day for the last six months. I have struggled with loneliness. I have missed my children. I have had to work in conditions no Westerner would ever expect to work in, namely, a classroom that is not properly heated in winter and not air-conditioned in summer. I have been surrounded by people who I know have been learning English for the past 20 years, yet refuse to speak a word in case they make a single mistake.

I finished reading a great novel in early February called The White Woman on the Green Bicycle by Monique Roffey. I bought it in the Siem Reap Airport in Cambodia. In this book, a husband and wife, George and Sabine Harwood, move to the Caribbean island of Trinidad from England. George is immediately seduced by the enticing island, with her lush curvaceous mountains and tropical greenery. Sabine, on the other hand, feels uneasy and heat-fatigued.

She describes her arrival to the island in 1956. Her stomach is twisted in knots. She is frightened. She describes the heat: “Hot countries I knew, European countries. But this heat was indecent, like breath or fingers. Hands on me, touching me.” (p. 198) She describes how she wards off boredom by cleaning her tiny flat until it is immaculate. Shopping, she encounters strange unlabeled fruits and vegetables, “forlorn and shriveled” or “root-like bulbs, dirty and hairy.” Tomatoes “a little rotten” and cauliflowers “heat-tired and turning brown.” The shelves are dusty and sparse. She can’t understand the accents of the locals and she feels like they are all staring at her as if she’s some kind of apparition. She feels the locals won’t engage with her, as if she is an irritant.

At the markets, which resemble a “mass of bees swarming,” where the bright sun is “polishing the black bodies,” she sails by on her green bicycle, “a white ghost in their midst.” Her face flushed “with the embarrassment of not knowing the rules.”

While reading this book, I can relate to Sabine’s experience, though the setting is different. In Korea, everywhere are swarms of shiny black hair, straight and gleaming and lovely. I feel like an albino walking around with my whitish hair. Everyone wears black or dark and subdued colors. Things seems dark and depressing. The only bright colors are on the garish signs written in Hangul, all of primary colors and punctuating the city streets like childish cartoons.

The Koreans all sit quietly and primly on the metro. They barely acknowledge I am there, such an obvious outsider. The young girls at the university wear the tiniest skirts imaginable and their legs seem to stretch to the heavens. Young couples wear matching shirts or even specially ordered matching outfits. I find these things annoying. Koreans on the street look at me briefly, but then avert their eyes, as if I have some unsightly deformity.

It’s almost as if I am floating above and observing this strange world. I’m removed, not really a part of society here. I will never fit in. I will be a curiosity at best, an anomaly. Sometimes I look at the strange people in what to me is a strange land and wonder what on earth I am doing here. I’m sure they look at me in this land of theirs that is perfectly normal and everyday, and wonder what is this stranger doing here, interloping in their town. Sometimes they are very friendly, happy to say “Hi” or “Hello” in chipper voices. Other times they regard me coldly and with irritation. Sometimes they touch my hair and wonder why I don’t dye it. They wonder why I’m different. They are fascinated by the hair on my arms. I do not meet their ideals of uniformity. In this society, individuality is frowned upon. Conformity is pervasive. I don’t conform and I never will.

Yet. This is how I have chosen to live. It doesn’t seem as bad, somehow, to NOT belong in Korea. In the U.S., where I also feel that I don’t fit in, it seems much worse. Back home I’m expected to fit. I should fit, shouldn’t I? After all, I’m an American. Here in Korea, I expect NOT to fit in. Because my expectations are such, it is not as painful to be outside of things. It’s the nature of the life I have chosen. Here I have an excuse to be different, to be on the outside. In the U.S., I have no excuse. Yet. It is the case that in the U.S., I always feel slightly removed from people, like I’m on the outside looking in. This is how I’ve felt most of my life. But here, I’m not so disappointed about this. In the U.S., it’s disheartening, depressing. Disturbing, even. But here, well, it’s okay.

I wonder if this is how other expats feel. Like they’re an outsider no matter what they do. Reading this book about the white woman on the green bicycle gave me a friend in Sabine Harwood. She’s an expat, though fictional, who says it like it is. I feel not so totally alone when I read her story, share her outlook, her experience.

It’s true. Here in Korea, I can’t get no satisfaction. But in the character of Sabine Harwood, I feel some relief to know I’m not in this alone.

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The White Woman on the Green Bicycle

In the book, I found George Harwood’s descriptions of Trinidad interesting: “George liked it so, that this island was uncompromising and hard for tourists to negotiate. Not all welcome smiles and black men in Hawaiian shirts, playing pan by the poolside. No flat crystal beaches, no boutique hotels. Trinidad was oil-rich, didn’t need tourism. … Trinidad was itself; take it or leave it.” (p. 78).

At another point, we see Trinidad through George’s eyes: “He preferred these wild emerald hills, the brash forests, the riotous and unpredictable landscape of Trinidad to the prim hazy pastures of his own country, England. He wanted this bold land. Not the mute grey-drizzle of Harrow on the Hill. He liked the extrovert people, not the prudish and obedient couples his parents had mixed with. He felt alive here, unlike Sabine.” (p.51).

At one point Sabine describes the island: “I watched the green mountains all around. Voluptuous, the undulating hills of a woman. I saw her everywhere, this green woman. Her hips, her breasts, her enticing curves.” (p. 261). But her views are from inside, as she sits nervously smoking a cigarette looking through her windows at torrential rains, in the midst hurricane warnings. She doesn’t feel relaxed; she’s on edge.

Trinidad and Tobago was presented in this novel with all its good and bad; through the eyes of George, it was enticing. Through Sabine’s eyes, it was unsettling, even frightening.

So what made me want to go? I had been many times to the Bahamas, and had seen what George described, what is common in most Caribbean islands: “black men in Hawaiian shirts, playing pan by the poolside,” flat crystal beaches, boutique hotels.

After all my travels, I have tired of touristy places, and the non-touristy nature of Trinidad and Tobago enticed me. I have grown impatient with crowds, and long lines, and seeing things that everyone else wants to see.

Thus it appealed. I got to work reading all about it, and deciding whether we should go. After researching it, we would have to make a decision.

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“THE CALL TO PLACE” INVITATION: I invite you to write a post on your own blog about what enticed you to choose a particular destination. If you don’t have a blog, I invite you to write in the comments. If your destination is a place you love and keep returning to, feel free to write about that. If you want to see the original post about the subject, you can check it out here: imaginings: the call to place.

Include the link in the comments below by Wednesday, April 22 at 1:00 p.m. EST. My next “call to place” post is scheduled to post on Thursday, April 23.

If you’d like, you can use the hashtag #wanderessence.

This will be an ongoing invitation, on the fourth Thursday of each month. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

the ~ wander.essence ~ community

I invite you all to settle in and read a few posts from our wandering community. I promise, you’ll be inspired!

Sheetal, of Sheetalbravon, wrote about how she was called by the macabre (grainy black and white photos of humans and animals frozen in surprise during their final moments) to visit Pompeii.
- Pompeii Calling

Thanks to all of you who wrote posts about “the call to place.”

a march “socially-distanced” cocktail hour: how do we cope?

wanderessence1025 March 25, 2020

Here we are, in a place we never imagined we’d be. Well, maybe some of us imagined it. The whole world is together in this; individually, we’re separated – “socially distanced” – yet, we’re all paradoxically in the same situation, trying to defeat a pervasive and invisible enemy, COVID-19, otherwise known as the coronavirus. Meanwhile, as we hunker down and “stay at home,” we watch helplessly as the economy crumples all around us.

So, what to do, but STAY HOME and drink. 🙂 Drink plenty of water at the very least. Or wine, or beer, or something harder. Cheers! À votre santé! 乾杯/ Kanpai! Saúde! Salud! May we all remain healthy, safe, financially afloat, and hopeful.

I can’t travel right now, as none of us can, but I plan to keep writing my travel blog because I have a huge backlog of posts, and I can still dream for the day when, or if, we make it through this.

What the hell happened anyway? My daughter, always a worrier, said on Monday morning, March 23, that in some ways she felt relief. Here it was, this unknown thing she had always feared, something catastrophic that we would have to face. Some dark thing we have all imagined in one way or the other. We just might die. Our lives may be irrevocably changed. We may lose people we love. More collapses may come. Or we may all pull through it together, those who are remaining, and make the world better. Or worse. Uncertainty is the only thing of which we’re certain. All the predictions in the world can’t help us through this one. Only hindsight will tell us what we wish we knew at this moment.

I already thought my year was starting off badly when our youngest son decided to quit his massage therapy course in late January. This after we allowed him to move back home last May and paid thousands of dollars in tuition. He’d completed all the coursework and passed the licensing test, but he still had to show up for 20 days and give no more than four massages a day. He couldn’t muster up the wherewithal to do it, for reasons that weren’t made clear to us. He said he just decided he didn’t want to be a massage therapist. But he had been geared up for it since December, after returning from his first Vipassana retreat, and we thought he was determined to at least finish. Besides, we had given him a huge list of incentives to finish the course, none of which would materialize if he didn’t.

I was furious, to say the least, and as he was allowed to live with us only as long as he was in school, we told him he’d have to move out by March 17, when he was scheduled to serve for 10 days at a Vipassana retreat in Massachusetts. His only livelihood was a “gig job” of dog-walking, and he’d been at it full force, trying to save money for when he’d be expected to move out. We were still getting along and he was working long hours walking dogs, walking up to 12-14 miles/day, and even doing yoga for a while.

My son has bouts of what I have often considered paranoia, but he believes he has a gift. He believes he’s a shaman, plugged into knowledge about the universe that most of us aren’t privy to. He is a brilliant and gifted young man, but somehow he’s never been able to make that work for him in the real world. I wish he’d seek professional help, but he refuses, as he believes the psychiatric profession is part of a “system” that seeks to control and exploit us.

At the end of February, I went to Baltimore and as I was walking down some steps at the Walters Art Museum, I was looking at my phone (oops!) and thought I was on the bottom step of the staircase. Instead, I was one step up; I stepped out into thin air and collapsed full force with my left ankle making a snap! as I toppled down on top of it. I was able to stand and hobble out, but I knew something was seriously wrong. I was determined to stick it out in Baltimore, and even the next day I foolishly hobbled around for eight miles in the city. Only on Monday did I find that nothing was broken, but I’d sprained some ligaments around my ankle. I was given a knee-high ankle boot to wear for two weeks, after which time I should revisit the doctor. (And to think that I thought this was a problem!)

I fell after seeing Adam & Eve at the Walter Art Gallery

me in my walking boot

We celebrated Mike’s 66th birthday the last week in February, and soon after, my oldest son celebrated his 29th birthday in Denver. We had a fun night at home with Mike’s sister and my youngest son, sharing dinner and playing games. I went to a pharmacy for my Singrix vaccine. I voted for Joe Biden in the Virginia Democratic Primary. I was disappointed that we’d come down to two old white men as our Democratic candidates, but I picked the one I thought MIGHT have the best chance to defeat Trump.

Celebrating Mike’s 66th birthday

On Thursday, March 5, I began to feel bad, like I had a chest cold coming on. I was having some trouble breathing and a lot of congestion, but no cough and no fever. I was depressed because our son was isolating himself, as he often does when he’s going into a dark place. I still felt bad on Friday the 6th and didn’t do anything.

We had started going to Church of the Holy Comforter in Vienna, and we went to an evening service on Saturday followed by a wine social; there we reconnected with people we hadn’t seen in years. We had gotten married in that church in 1988, but had eventually fallen away from any church for about 10 years, for many reasons. So it was nice to start reconnecting again with a spiritual community.

On Sunday, March 8, our son talked to Mike about all signs pointing to an apocalypse, and how he wanted to find a like-minded community. He mentioned Portugal and Bali. He also mentioned that the Vipassana retreat might be cancelled because of the coronavirus. The next day, on edge because of what he’d told Mike, I got in a big fight with him because he was sleeping late and missing his regular dog walks. I went that afternoon to a Contemplative Prayer meeting at 1:30, where our priest suggested we let a word find us, a word to keep coming back to in our prayer. The word “LOVE” found me, and we meditated 20 minutes; as my mind wandered, I kept bringing it back to that word. I shared with some people in the group about my frustrations with my son and how I needed the word “LOVE.” It had made me feel very peaceful.

I was able to take off the walking boot on Monday, March 9, and felt like finally I could get back to “normal” life, back to my 3-mile walks and going to Pilates.

Experimental meal on March 10

Two days later, on Wednesday, March 11, the stock market started its crash, dipping into bear market territory, because of worries about the coronavirus. I spent the entire day out of the house: Spanish class, Takeshi Sushi, and seeing the movie The Assistant. I did a little shopping at Marshalls and Loft and then had dinner at P.F. Chang. I was actually trying to avoid being around our son because of his dark mood and the awkward tension between us.

Mike said he would start working from home more; his company would have an all-day remote workday on Monday, March 16, to test the capabilities of working remotely. He worked from home on Friday the 13th, and while I was at my first Pilates class, post-walking-boot, he was bugging our son to get up and get going on his dog walks. It was very tense with our son all day and he wouldn’t speak to either of us.

We told our son if his Vipassana retreat was cancelled, he could stay at our house for a while longer, until we knew more about the coronavirus. His aunt, my sister-in-law, also offered him a place to live under certain conditions. He said he would think about it. We were anxious for him to leave but felt we couldn’t throw him out with so much uncertainty about the situation.

On Friday, March 13, we heard Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson tested positive for coronavirus in Australia and were isolating themselves with mild symptoms. I loved the bits of humor I saw here and there: Stephen Colbert dancing in his empty audience-less theater. Our church sent a newsletter about how to make the most of this isolating and scary period. I learned about tonglen practice through Poma Chodron.

Walk around Lake Newport

a walk on March 13 around Lake Newport in Reston

On Saturday, March 14, our son informed us that he was going to Costa Rica to join a community and stay in a hostel for $8/night. He wanted to get out of the U.S. because he thought all signs were in place for the apocalypse. We said we’d been hearing predictions for the apocalypse for our entire lifetimes, and people have been predicting it since Revelations was written. I felt it was another bad decision, basing his life decisions on paranoia. Later that night he informed us he’d bought a ticket for Sunday night at 8:00 out of BWI. I said I thought it was a terrible decision, but we loved him and hoped it would work out for him. I said, “It’s a pandemic. You won’t escape it there.” He said he thought the whole U.S. was going to collapse. He thought he could survive in Costa Rica on fruit alone, as he is vegan and nearly a fruitarian now anyway. However, he doesn’t speak Spanish and would probably have a hard time generating income there; he also might have trouble getting back into the U.S. I feared the hostel he was staying in would close and he’d be stuck there indefinitely with no place to stay and no money.

We went out on Saturday night to see the movie Hope Gap and ate a lovely dinner at the Italian restaurant Alta Strada. We weren’t sure it was wise to go out, but we went out to support what we feared was a collapsing economy. There were only about 10 people in the theater, but the restaurant started to fill up as we were finishing our early bird dinner. Later, we realized it probably hadn’t been wise to go out, but the leadership in our country was failing us by not giving us clear directives.

our last night out before the virus hit full force

me at dinner at Alta Strada Mosaic

gnocchi – yum!

Our son spent all day Sunday the 15th putting our house back the way he found it when he arrived last May and sorting through his stuff that he would leave behind. Mike drove him to BWI on Sunday evening, and he took off and made it to Costa Rica by morning.

My daughter had been working three jobs in Richmond. The market where she worked, Soul n’ Vinegar, had closed over the weekend. She has worked as a bartender at Joe’s Inn for over 10 years; the restaurant has been an old Richmond establishment for over 50 years. That closed on Monday. Her only source of income remaining was her savings and any freelance articles she could pick up from Richmond Magazine, her third job.

On Monday, March 16, the DOW Jones Industrial Average dropped by over 3,000 points. I started keeping a spreadsheet of the DOW and the Coronavirus cases in the U.S. As of Monday, March 16, the U.S. had 3,599 cases (The New York Times Coronavirus Map). A little over one week later, as of 3/25/20, we had 55,225 cases (CSSE at Johns Hopkins University), and are now third in line behind China and Italy for numbers of cases. As of today, we’ve had 728 deaths (The New York Times Coronavirus Map). Costa Rica today has 177 cases and 2 deaths. Of course, this only takes into account those who have been tested. Many more people are certainly walking around with the virus. Only people who need to be treated in hospitals are able to be tested now in the U.S.

I took a walk around Meadowlark Gardens because it was a warm and sunny day and I wanted some fresh air and exercise. I kept a safe distance from the few people that were there. I was still having a lot of congestion though, and it felt worse once I was back home.

Walk at Meadowlark Gardens on March 16

On Tuesday, March 17, I felt a bit relieved that my youngest had made it to Costa Rica and wondered if all his apocalyptic predictions were right on. Maybe he isn’t paranoid at all; maybe he does have some knowledge that we unenlightened are not privy to. In the end, only time will tell.

March 17 headlines

I went to two grocery stores on Tuesday the 18th to stock up on food. I couldn’t find many of the things I wanted at Harris Teeter; the clerk told me they usually got a shipment on Monday nights, but only produce and dairy had come in the Monday shipment. They had hardly any meat, chicken or fish, and of course toilet paper and hand sanitizers and cleansers were gone. I started to worry about the food chain. What if food supplies were disrupted?

At Whole Foods, I almost started crying every time one of the grocery store workers helped me. A young man asked when I walked in with a cart if I wanted him to spray down the handlebar. The young man in the fish department said he thought it was wise to buy gold. He seemed very calm and friendly. I felt such gratitude for these people who were putting themselves in danger every day by working on the front lines to provide food for citizens.

A woman customer standing nearby said she’d been in Florida and the beaches had been packed with college kids on spring break. We both shook our heads at the stupidity of it.

I came home and organized all my cupboards and my refrigerator with the food I’d bought and hoped it would hold us for a while.

I was still walking outside every day, despite my congestion, because I felt okay otherwise. On Wednesday, I went out for a walk at Riverbend Park with Poonam, from my now-cancelled Spanish class. We kept our 6-foot distance the whole time and enjoyed the blooming bluebells and the beautiful day.

On Thursday, March 19, I sent this message to my son in Costa Rica after I read it on NPR: The U.S. State Department “instructed U.S. citizens not to travel internationally. The Level 4 travel advisory also calls on U.S. citizens who live in the U.S. but are currently overseas to ‘arrange for immediate return to the United States, unless they are prepared to remain abroad for an indefinite period.'”

All he replied was “Wow thank you so much for sharing! Thank you mom ❤ <3.” By his response, I guessed he did not plan to come home.

Cherry blossoms on March 19

On Friday, March 20, my son texted to tell me the hostel had closed and he was planning to travel to Montezuma where he found he could rent a small cottage for $200 for a month. He said it was mango season and he’ll have plenty of mangoes to eat. He let us know on Sunday he would be moving in by Monday, March 23. He planned to hang at the beach and spend a lot of time meditating. Maybe that will help us all.

After working from home, Mike took advantage of the beautiful day and went on a bikeride, which helped relieve his stress.

Mike’s bikeride in Vienna

Over the weekend, Mike went to Betty’s Azalea Ranch for mulch; he arranged and paid ahead by phone and did curbside pickup. Now he’s set for yard work when the weather is nice. He made me a breakfast of eggs, brie and ham on garlic naan, and I made some cauliflower and spicy black bean tacos for dinner.

prepared to mulch

garlic naan, eggs, ham, brie and tomatoes

cauliflower and spicy black bean tacos

As of today, I still have a lot of congestion, but still no fever and no cough. I can’t help but wonder if it is related to the virus. It seems my sister, my sister-in-law, and some of my neighbors have the same kind of symptoms as I do. I hope my symptoms are allergy-related as I only have congestion with no other symptoms and it seems to get worse when I go outside. On Saturday night, I took some 24-hour allergy medication, and then I slept away much of the day on Sunday, in between reading Golden Child by Claire Adam.

My son’s job at Oliver’s Meat Market in Denver is still going, but I worry about him being exposed to the virus every day. His girlfriend who moved in with him before Christmas is only doing gig jobs for now, but those seem to be drying up. Of course, we told our kids that if they needed financial help, to please let us know, although our own retirement savings are taking a hit with each passing day. Mike planned to retire by year end, but he is now wondering if he’ll have to rethink that.

I got an email from my Spanish teacher on Monday afternoon saying we would resume our class by Zoom starting Wednesday, April 1.

On Monday evening, March 23, Governor Ralph Northam of Virginia decided that all schools would remain closed at least through the end of the academic year. Restaurants may only provide curbside, takeout or delivery service. Recreation and entertainment facilities, like gyms, bowling alleys and theaters must close. Personal care services like spas, massage parlors and barber shops must close. Essential businesses such as grocery stores, pharmacies and banks may remain open while maintaining social distancing guidelines; grocery stores must increase sanitizing procedures. Non-essential brick and mortar establishments can stay open if they can maintain the 10-person limit, otherwise, they must close. Gatherings of more than 10 people are banned across Virginia.

On Tuesday afternoon, we got a text from our son in Costa Rica: “Hey just wanted to say love you guys! Heading out to Cabuya cabaña in just a minute and won’t have WiFi for a bit except when I drop into other places. Love you and hope you’re staying safe out there <3.” He went on to say he’d secured the cabin in Cabuya for $190 for the month and “already moved my stuff there jus moving my body there now haha.” He said he met a guy from Texas born one day before him who believes everything he does. I guess he’s found his “like-minded community.”

Just this afternoon, we heard that susceptible people might be released from prisons into the general population. I hope we won’t now descend into lawlessness.

I won’t even get into the complete and utter lack of leadership shown by our criminal president and his Republican cohorts. Their inaction, their abhorrence of and dismantling of government, their total lack of compassion, their denial of science, their continued support for corporations at the expense of the most vulnerable in our society — these things are inexcusable. Every time our narcissistic leader gets in front of cameras to speak, he does so with more lies and disinformation, disdain for experts, and narcissistic self-praise. He is a disgrace. I’m convinced he is bent on destroying our country. In my opinion, he is going about doing that very well.

I’ve decided I’m only listening to reputable medical specialists and to our state governors, like Governor Cuomo of New York and our state governor, Governor Northam.

*********

So, in the midst of all this, what can we do to cope?

Here are a few ways I will try to cope:

STAY HOME as much as possible. Minimize trips to grocery stores or any other essential places.
Enjoy a virtual cocktail hour either weekly or bi-weekly where everyone is invited to share experiences, hopes and fears.
Call and text family and friends often. Have Zoom gatherings.
Get together with a few friends outdoors on a lawn, properly spaced. My daughter is getting together with friends on lawns periodically, just three or four people spread out far from each other, sitting on blankets, having a drink. I like this idea, but it’s a little too chilly now.
Try to get out and walk in the neighborhood when my congestion is cleared up.
Listen to online sermons from church.
Cook creative and healthy meals. Drink lots of water.
Continue to meditate daily.
Find humor where possible, and try to keep laughing.
Keep working on my travel blog, and keep dreaming of future travel destinations.
Read a lot!
Watch shows and movies on Netflix, Hulu and Amazon Prime.
Donate to restaurants or buy take-out. I bought a gift card from Joe’s Inn in their drive to provide meals for medical workers at VCU Medical Center.
Keep a diary of this challenging time, online or in a journal. Make journal spreads.
Paint. Write stories. Write poetry. Dream. Pray/Meditate. Make collages. LOVE. 🙂

I wish you all the best during this crisis. I am hanging on to hope, because what else is there to do?

*********

I’m going to write a cocktail hour/diary about this challenging time either weekly or bi-weekly on Wednesdays, depending on how much I have to share. I invite you to share your own experiences with what we’re going through right now, either in the comments below, or in your own blog post, which I invite you to link below. I’ll try to keep writing this as long as we are suffering through this together. I hope that we will get through it unscathed, sooner rather than later.

Also, if you have any positive ways to get through this, I invite you to share: bits of humor, projects, what we can do to help others, how to keep our sanity, TV shows or movies to watch, books to read, exercises to do, etc.

Peace and love be with you all!

morocco: aït-ben-haddou to imlil to aroumd

wanderessence1025 March 24, 2020

We left Aït Ben Haddou at 8:30 and stopped for pictures of the town from afar. After a quick selfie with Chai, the Thai pediatrician who kept insisting I was his photography teacher(!), we were on our way to a mountain gîte in the High Atlas Mountains.

leaving Aït Ben Haddou

me with Chai

We were immediately winding along mountain roads. Green fields were dotted with bright red asterisks of poppies and needles of prickly pear cacti. We bumped over dirt roads for a long while. Red mudbrick ruins and cottonwoods lined a stream in the valley. The landscape was full of broom, apple orchards, olive groves, onion fields and mustard plants or linseed.

I bought a small alabaster dromedary at a rest stop close to 10:00. Soon after we went through the pass of Tizi-n-Tichka, 2,260 meters high, the highest point of our journey. We were heading toward Toubkal National Park.

Tizi-n-Tichka

At 10:30, we stopped for pictures over dry brown mountains and a green valley. Then it was a long curvaceous drive over the High Atlas Mountains. Road construction was everywhere, bumpy gravely roads, construction debris, red dirt and dust flying everywhere. We passed pottery and mineral vendors.

a green valley set in brown mountains

High Atlas Mountains

High Atlas Mountains

High Atlas Mountains

High Atlas Mountains

High Atlas Mountains

High Atlas Mountains

High Atlas Mountains

At a noon bathroom break, I bought some postcards and bookmarks. We had a grand view north into the valley to the east of Marrakesch.

valley east of Marrakesh

At 12:30, we stopped at a Pharmacie for many in our group who had caught colds, but the line was too long.

Then we were in a flatter area, still green, but a dusty green. Shepherds wearing straw hats and vests herded their sheep. We passed groups of brightly clad and mismatched people standing along the road as if waiting for a bus.

flat area east of Marrakesh

We stopped after 1:00 at another Pharmacie. There I bought two pens because my pens were running low on ink.

We drove around the outskirts of Marrakesh and then south on R203 toward Toubkal Parc National, North Africa’s highest mountain range, known by local Berbers as “Idraren Draren” (Mountain of Mountains). It towers above the Haouz plain, dividing it from the Sahara. The High Atlas runs diagonally across Morocco for almost 1,000 km, but the Toubkal region contains the best peaks. The first roads cut through this region were in the early 20th century. Before that, there were only mule trails leading from the Sahara to the northern plains. The highest mountain in North Africa is the snow-capped Jebel Toubkal.

We wound along steep mountain roads higher and higher, with linseed, rocks and streams in the valley, and the snow-covered High Atlas before us. We stopped to eat at a restaurant where I ordered an avocado with shrimp salad and mango juice. The waiter was terribly disorganized and our meals came out piecemeal. It was a super long and frustrating wait; we were there for 1 1/2 hours. I hate such incompetence and hate waiting around for such a long time when I just want to get to our destination. Of course, Susan was always sympathetic to this: “Oh, he’s so overworked, poor guy.” I, on the other hand, feel that when I’m paying for something, there should be a certain level of competence. I hate wasting so much time sitting around at interminable lunches.

Lunchtime!

from the restaurant to Imlil

By 4:00, we’d arrived at Imlil (elevation 1,740m), the launching point for trekkers into the High Atlas. We loaded our bags onto the donkeys, and then hiked uphill to the neighboring Aroumd (aka Armed or Armoud) at 1,960m. We passed a burbling stream, stone houses, a mosque, and shady apple orchards. We crossed wet creek beds, streams and some gravelly terrain. Many of the group went ahead quickly and left the slower of us behind. Aziz got irritated that the group was so spread out and wasn’t keeping together as a team. Several times, we lost sight of those ahead and had no idea at forks in the path where to go.

loading the donkeys

loading the donkeys

Imlil to Aroumd

Imlil to Aroumd

Imlil to Aroumd

Father Anthony brings up the rear

snow covered High Atlas Mountains

Imlil to Aroumd

Imlil to Aroumd

Imlil to Aroumd

orchards

the donkeys climbing

Imlil to Aroumd

I found a nice collection of doors along the way. They reminded me of Omani doors.

doors from Imlil to Aroumd

arrival in Aroumd

We finally arrived at Auberge Ifrane a Imlil Marrakech, run by Azizi Lacha. We had to redistribute ourselves in rooms: Susan and I shared with Tammy. We sat on the terrace and had mint tea and fresh popped popcorn.

balcony at Auberge Ifrane a Imlil Marrakech

common room at Auberge Ifrane a Imlil Marrakech

From the balcony, we had a view of the mountains. Aroumd is tucked into the folds of the High Atlas in the Ait Mizane Valley. Jbel Adj and Jbel Agelzim are two peaks that tower overhead in their snow-covered glory. The air was fresh, clear and cool, and it was pleasant to be so far from civilization and traffic.

view of the snow-covered High Atlas from Auberge Ifrane a Imlil Marrakech

I went out to take a walk through the village and Yulian (nicknamed Nana) asked if she could come along. Natalie also joined. We climbed to the top of the village for views into the valley from where we’d started our hike. We kept trying to remember all the turns we took so we’d be able to find our way back: “take a left between 64 & 65 at the green door,” etc.

rug in Aroumd

door in Aroumd

We took turns posing for pictures near the top of the town and saw the mountains all around as well as the valley below.

High Atlas Mountains

Natalie in Aroumd

Yulian in Aroumd

looking into the valley

We found a poor little kid (goat) with deformed front legs. Natalie picked some greens and fed them to it.

Natalie feeds the deformed goat

We walked back downhill by the gardens and a falaj (watercourse). Natalie and Yulian continued to walk along the falaj, while I walked uphill to a charming house. A man and woman sitting on the terrace told me a different way I should walk as I was encroaching on their private home.

gardens near falaj in Aroumd

me in Aroumd

village of Aroumd

gardens in Aroumd

private home in Aroumd

gardens in Aroumd

On the way back to the auberge, cheeky little kids kept making finger gestures at me, but I had no idea what they meant. When I said “Salaam u alaykum,” they repeated it to me in a mocking way. Natalie said when she walked past a little girl, they said hello to one another, but once she’d walked past, she thought the girl said “F*#k” with a smile. I said maybe the girl was saying the Arabic فـقــد (faqad) or “lost.” I had remembered learning that word when I studied Arabic and thinking how it sounded like our expression of profanity.

local girl in Aroumd

door in Aroumd

Dinner was communal with couscous and veggies (always overcooked) and roasted chicken and the same old Moroccan soup. We had orange quarters for dessert. There didn’t seem to be much variety in the Moroccan diet. It was just okay.

The most fun we had was playing a game Gabriel had on his phone, a kind of game where an animal name showed up on the phone and we had to get him to guess it. Later, we played another version using actions: “picking apples,” “bungee-jumping,” “ventriloquist,” that we acted out to get a person to guess. It was hilarious! We were all laughing our heads off. One answer was “South Africa,” and I said “Hey mon.” Gabe said, “That’s Jamaica!” and we couldn’t stop laughing. It was a boisterous and crazy time and it was fun because it included everyone in the group and wasn’t cliquish.

Everyone badmouthed poor Father Anthony, and Natalie was supposed to share a room with him in our tight communal quarters, but in protest, she slept in the common area. It got rather cold in the mountains at night, but we all bundled up in our fuzzy blankets and managed to make it through the night.

*Steps: 12,568, or 5.33 miles*

*Wednesday, April 17, 2019*

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“PROSE” INVITATION: I invite you to write up to a post on your own blog about a recently visited particular destination (not journeys in general). Concentrate on any intention you set for your prose.

One of my intentions was to write about how I revel in (or resist) the experience. Do I bask in the light, the breeze, the rustling of leaves on the trees? Do I linger over cuisine and wine? Truly possessing a scene is making a conscious effort to observe closely.

It doesn’t matter whether you write fiction or non-fiction for this invitation. You can either set your own writing intentions, or use one of the prompts I’ve listed on this page: writing prompts: prose. You can also include photos, of course.

Include the link in the comments below by Monday, April 13 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this invitation on Tuesday, April 14, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

the cinque terre: monterosso al mare

wanderessence1025 March 22, 2020

We left our “piano apartment” at 8:30 after enjoying a breakfast of yogurt, raspberries, granola, coffee and blood orange juice. After getting the two-day Cinque Terre pass, we took the train from La Spezia to the furthest and largest of the five towns, Monterosso al Mare. It seemed so pleasant and uncrowded when we were on the train and when we first stepped off into the new town, Fegina.

On the train, an African guy sat jangling a bunch of coins from one hand to the other, over and over, until an Italian guy asked him to stop. Sitting across from us was a young woman with tightly curled blonde hair, very cute, and a light-skinned black man with a smattering of facial hair and modern ear pods. The blonde seemed quite enamored of her boyfriend. She kept staring into his eyes dreamily, while he returned her gaze only half-heartedly. He was a bit more aloof, but she persisted until he become engrossed in his music, when her infatuation was disrupted.

Stretched out along the Mediterranean Sea, Monterosso’s new town was quite cute, with beachfront cafes, boats with blue and white striped covers, beach umbrellas and lounge chairs set in a half-moon curve on the glittering beach. Monterosso is the only Cinque Terre town with a proper stretch of beach. Part of Liguria, an area known as the Italian Riviera, it is famous for its anchovies and lemon trees.

Monterosso al Mare’s new town

me on the beach at Monterosso al Mare

beach at Monterosso al Mare

beach at Monterosso al Mare

beach at Monterosso al Mare

breakwater at Monterosso al Mare

stones on the breakwater

view of Monterosso al Mare from the breakwater

Monterosso al Mare

We wandered around a bit until we paused on a bench and studied the map. We saw we needed to go further, over the San Cristoforo promontory, to the old town, Centro Storico.

cacti in Monterosso al Mare

Mike with the cacti

Monterosso al Mare

boats in Monterosso al Mare

Monterosso al Mare

Gelato Artigianale

Monterosso al Mare

On the rocky path, we passed some hotels, a seaside castle and a statue of St. Francis of Assisi with a wolf, and then climbed steeply up to the Convento dei Cappuccini, or Church of the Capuchin Friars, a former monastery.

beach at Monterosso al Mare

on the path to the old town

on the path to the old town

Ligurian Sea

grotto on the path

looking back at Monterosso’s new town

seaside castle

statue of St. Francis of Assisi with a wolf

The Chiesa di San Francesco, dating from 1623, had a striped Romanesque facade and a high altarpiece painting of St. Francis. A painting of the crucifixion to the left of the altar is attributed to Anthony van Dyck, the 17th century Flemish master, but I didn’t get a picture.

Chiesa di San Francesco

Then we walked uphill to a cemetery that fills a ruined castle. In the Dark Ages, the village huddled within this castle. This is the oldest part of Monterosso.

cemetery in the ruined castle

view of the old town from the cemetery

view of the Ligurian Sea from the cemetery

cemetery in the ruined castle

In the old town, there was a partial breakwater (a row of giant rocks in the middle of the harbor), designed to save the beach from washing away. We stopped at a little cafe for cappuccino and Mike got a croissant. A group of local old men were chatting and laughing loudly, having a grand time. I love the happy sing-song sound of the Italian language, with its emphasized “ay” sounds at the ends of words. It sounds convivial and joyous.