Home' Trinidad and Tobago Guardian : April 7th 2015 Contents A23
Tuesday, April 7, 2015 www.guardian.co.tt Guardian
Sale by Mortgagee
OFFERS ARE INVITED FOR THE FOLLOWING
One parcel of land comprising 15
acres, 3 roods and 34 perches along
Maingot Trace off Edward Trace,
Basse Terre Village, Moruga.
The property is being sold "as is" without any respon-
sibility of the vendor to provide statutory approvals,
surveying data or warranty on its suitability for use for
The property is being sold subject to any existing ten-
ancies, occupancy or encroachments however created
Telephone Nos. 662-8017/4286; Fax No. 662-0755
Officer #47 Ext. 5420
Send Sealed Bids To:
The Properties Officer
Sale No. 08/2015
#34 Southern Main Road, Curepe or
P.O Box 72, Port-of-Spain
BIDS MUST FOLLOW THE GUIDELINES HEREIN GIVEN
TO ENSURE THAT THEY ARE DULY CONSIDERED.
Bids must be received by 3.00 p.m on 24th April 2015
No late bids will be accepted
Unsuitable bids will not be acknowledged
The mortgagee does not bind itself to accept the high-
est or any offer. The property will be sold subject to all
rates, taxes and other outgoings that may be due at the
time of the sale.
"Let s go see a movie,"
she suggested. Palm
Sunday after lunch,
why not? The road should be
quiet and MovieTown, at 1.45
We pile into the car and I turn
left onto the main road, my
internal armour, which every
Trinidadian driver now possesses,
automatically kicking in, not a
minute too soon. As I adjust the
seat properly, another Trinidadi-
an characteristic that drives my
wife mad, the guy heading north
along the Diego Martin Main
Road at speed, abruptly swerves
into my lane to avoid the one by
one centimeter rise on his lane
that only human beings with
hyper sensitive vision can see
and forces me to brake violently.
I am well aware of this peculi-
arity and prepared for it. As I
brake, I gesture at him and he
happily does what most Trinis
do, he flashes a smile and hap-
pily waves back at me.
How can you get upset at such
friendliness? He thought I was
giving him room or congratulat-
ing him on his driving.
We turn on to Crystal Stream
Ave and stop at the traffic light.
As usual it is red. Thirty-seven
years driving up to this light and
only once has the traffic light
not been red. That s impossible.
It breaks every law of chance my
statistician friends tell me. Come
drive with me in a Third World
country! I once went into a high
rise in Venezuela where, although
not so programmed, all four ele-
vators persistently arrived at the
ground floor at the same time.
"You know how difficult it is
to do that," my father observed.
"Only in a developing country."
We turn on to the highway.
Drive on the slower lane. We not
in a hurry. It is hot. We have
time. Steady 60 kph. Besides,
the new lights at Four Roads are
always red by the time we arrive
there from the Crystal Stream
lights. Suddenly, always suddenly,
but it s Sunday afternoon man,
take it easy, one of those small,
low-sprung cars overtakes me at
high speed on the fast lane and
accelerates into the red light. Just
as I think he is going to break
the light, he swerves back into
my lane and screeches to a halt.
I pull up behind him. As usual
he is fumbling for something
under his seat. Jinking, jerking,
small head moving back and
forth, hands up, hands down, we
watch fascinatingly. The proper
study of man is man says man.
Light turns red. Amazingly we
are off within a flicker of a sec-
ond but hold on, not so fast.
The gentleman, who violently
passed us just a hundred yards
ago, has lost his desire for speed
and is driving in first gear, eyes
straight and hands in the classic
ten to two driving position. I
wait for an opportunity and pass
and return to the now middle
lane and slowly lose sight of
Up to the gentle left hand turn
where the Diego Martin Highway
merges into the Cocorite racing
stretch, where gentlemen drivers
from Diego Martin compare their
driving skills with gentlemen
drivers from Westmooring and
further west, and Cocorite
inhabitants practice for the
Olympic 20 metre dash across
the highway and over the medi-
I check my left rear view mir-
ror. As expected the little red car
some way behind me is acceler-
ating hard to reach the end of
his lane before me so he can cut
in. I accelerate fondly and stop
him in his tracks. My wife mut-
ters in despair.
"But sweetie, if I had let him
pass me, I would have had to
brake and the way these fellows
drive, he might just have decided
to stop to pee."
Truer words were never said.
There is a small traffic jam mid-
way up Cocorite. The cause? A
fellow has stopped and is block-
ing the inner lane, to pee against
a lamp post.
Sunday afternoon, man!
A fellow lets me and the car in
front, into the middle lane. Nice.
I accelerate gently and almost
run into the other car. What s
the matter? He is driving at 20
kph. The car, full of people, is
old and banged up. Maybe it has
no power? Maybe he is having a
petit mal attack? A lapse? No,
after a couple hundred yards, his
left signal comes on, slow and
weak, just like the car and its
driver. He is looking for a turn-
off, finally has found it, almost
slows to a stop and painfully
crawls his way up the road. Five.
At the traffic light opposite the
fishermen s compound, the usual
delay in moving off and the
obligatory flasher passing on the
left to swerve in front of you but
that s ordinary, expected. We
cruise past the area where the
redcoats came ashore, holding
their muskets high and cursing
the hot sun and salt water whilst
the Spaniards drank rum and
debated whether they should
fight. They didn t, burnt their
ships and left behind Chacon
Street and a place where Spanish
is no longer spoken but where
Venezuelans could run when
times were hard, and fit in
It looks as if we are going to
get to Movietown without any
further excitement. Not a
chance. As we drive in, empty
parking lot to our right for once,
the gentleman in front of the car
in front of us brakes to a stop at
the entrance to the upstairs
parking and refuse to move.
He s, on his very own, doing
what seems impossible. He is
causing a traffic jam of two cars
behind him, a car to his left
since he is blocking the exit and
a fellow trying to pass him on
his right. He has incredibly
stopped in the exact geometric
spot where he blocks three lanes
that have nothing to so with
each other. Six!
Mouths open, I will never get
accustomed to Trini driving, we
wait, until something snaps into
action in his befogged brain and
he continues on, in the very
same direction he was originally
going! We park and get out
Six mind boggling incidents in
less than three miles. Just a quiet
Sunday afternoon drive.
A NICE, QUIET SUNDAY AFTERNOON DRIVE
DAVID E BRATT, MD
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