Home' Trinidad and Tobago Guardian : August 25th 2015 Contents A23
Tuesday, August 25, 2015 www.guardian.co.tt Guardian
Alarm did not go off as he
had set it, at five. After the
night s shenanigans, inside and
outside the house, he was lucky
games and Kadooment fete down
the road all night. A grey dawn-
ing, the sound of the surf like
rain falling on galvanised roof. He
made tea as quietly as possible,
stretched a bit and then forced
the front door open; one forgets
how the sea-blast warps doors,
and walked down the steps to the
Which way to go? First day
walk of a holiday in an unknown
place is of necessity, exploratory.
She had walked with the grands
on the beach over to the left. He
could see about 200 yards down
that way. To the right the road
went around a corner quickly. No
idea what lay thataway. Left then.
Twenty to six. Sun barely up, a
yellow orb just pushing its head
up over the horizon to the east.
So, a clear day, ceaseless strum-
ming of the surf to his right, 30
yards away. Slow walk to start
off. Lots of time. Don t want to
pull that groin again.
Oops, two hundred yards of flat
is all he gets. Road turns sharply
up and on and there is the
restaurant on the right. He could
almost pelt a stone from the Blue
House into it. On Google he had
thought it was about a half mile
away. Up the slope. Steep from
the start. Must be a 30 per cent
gradient. A Tour de France pro-
fessional could not bicycle this.
Breath coming in spurts. Height-
ened senses! Roosters crowing.
Birds squawking. Wafted smell of
stew chicken, gone before he
could breathe deep. Must be from
the restaurant. Bus passes, he
waves, driver sounds his horn.
Friendly people. Every Bajan he
passes, and there are quite a few
walking to work, says "Morning"
but he has to talk first. Just like
Up the hill, breathing hard, legs
heavy, lord it eh nice to be old!
Seem to be two kinds of houses
around. Concrete and wooden. All
look the same. Concrete block
houses, square and solid like the
Bajans themselves. The others
made of wooden slats, enlarged
chattel types. All closed up. Not a
window open. Jumbie might jump
in.Not a dog around either. Good.
No need to look for a piece of
wood. Finally, the top. Crossroads.
He rests. Briefly. Don t want to
lose the fast heart rate. Which
way to go? Sign says Atlantis
Hotel to the left. That should
return him to the house. Should
he go back or go on? First day
exploration, man! Go left and see
what turns up. Man up, big deci-
sion, yes! If he ends up some-
where obzocky he ll turn back.
Legs not that weak. Walk.
Ground flatter now, the ridge.
Sign says 1 km to Bathsheba.
Start to jog. Do a k. Working up
a sweat. Coming towards him, a
girl in a brown uniform. On way
to work at the hotel? Morning!
Older lady walks by. Church?
Morning, morning! Come to
another intersection. Down hill.
He s about 500 feet above sea
level now, the sea grey silver and
flat below. Go down at a slow
jog, carefully, knees taking the
brunt of the downward thrust.
Open yards a bit more spa-
cious, houses slightly larger this
side but not a sign of activity.
Where will he come out? Will
there be a road to the left? So he
can return on the flat without
having to retrace footsteps? He
stops and glances back up the
hill, macco hill, man, he really eh
want to go back up dat! Well,
he ll see.
On the flat at last, sea in front.
There is an opening on the left.
Glance at watch, been on the
road for only 25 minutes. Want to
be active for at least 30. Must
have a good ten or so to get back
to the house.
He turns and begins to jog
again, dark-green seaweed cov-
ered beach on the right. Passing
lots of abandoned houses, closed
shut and needing repairs, but on
the road opposite the beach.
Here s one on the beach itself,
yard enclosed and tree-shrouded.
For sale. Tempting. Must find out
the price. Oops, here he is, five-
minute jog and the blue house on
the left already, he had thought it
was much farther on. Lacking
three or four minutes for 30.
What to do?
The beach, she said there were
steps. Where are they? Ah, there.
Down onto the seaweed, repulsive
looking, move towards the water,
sand scrunching under the Nikes,
too soft and squishy, back on to
the seaweed, suddenly much
more amenable, humans are
nothing but adaptable, those that
were not died out thousands of
years ago, he is the result of gen-
erations of adaptable genes.
Up and down the beach,
scramble over drain, barely can
jump, blackbirds feeding on
something, scatter. On the way
back there s a perfectly formed
semicircle of rocks that faces the
sea. They must make a bonfire
here one night. Grands would
love that. Sun is well up now.
Heat begins to rise from the
sand. He done.
Back in the house, seated at the
kitchen table, watching her make
Venezuelan arepas and coffee, he
is perfectly at peace with himself.
Enjoying the moment.
A MORNING WALK
"Bus passes, he waves, driver sounds
his horn. Friendly people. Every Bajan
he passes, and there are quite a few
walking to work, says "Morning" but he
has to talk first. Just like Chancellor."
DAVID E BRATT, MD
Links Archive August 24th 2015 August 26th 2015 Navigation Previous Page Next Page