Writing With My Mouth Full

Food Mission Accomplished in Trinidad

We were about to fly back to Trinidad to spend our last night in the suburbs. I still had a few things on my list of food to eat and frankly, I was ready to accept defeat with a frown. While waiting for our flight outside the Tobago airport, however, the Dr. found a small cafeteria that sold bake ‘n’ salt fish. It’s the same fish sandwich like bake ‘n’ shark, only with dried salt fish, and usually served during breakfast. The bread was crumbly, almost like corn bread but white, and the fish crunchy and just had the right amount of saltiness.

As soon as we landed in Trinidad, we walked up to one of the rental booths to pick up a car. It was only $15 more than the rental price in Tobago and if I was going back to New York without moping, a car was the only way that the Dr. can think of to make sure my food mission was accomplished. First stop: Maracas Bay for the famous bake ‘n’ shark from Richard’s featured in Andrew Zimmern’s T&T episode. After his first bite, he said it was the best sandwich he’s ever tasted. Not in the country, but, like, ever. In Maracas Bay, there are plenty of food stalls waiting for beach goers to eat, but Richard’s is supposedly the only one with a queue.

But first, we stopped at a roti stand for lunch. We already had the buss-up-shut in Tobago, so this time we ordered the dhalpourri kind. Ground split peas is peppered in the dough, so at every tear, yellow powder sprinkled all over our plates and hands. My vegetarian version was filled with pumpkin, potatoes, peas and spinach, an amazing combination of colors and textures. I would skip the chicken filling for more of this if given another chance.

Of course, we weren’t going to finish our trip without a mishap. It took us almost an hour to get from the airport to downtown, past the lunch crowd and the heavy traffic. It was hot and hectic, two words I don’t like about cities, and we were lost. Uh-oh, what is that? I asked when the car all of a sudden started to cough. There was something wrong with the accelerator. (The wha-?) We had to ask a mechanic from some gas station to call our agency and explain what was wrong in order to get a new car delivered to where we were. Oh, and rain! Pouring rain! We were forced to wait inside the food court of a mall filled with smoke from the burger joint until the car agency clerk came (through the same traffic, no less).

Almost three hours after landing, we finally got a new car and started driving to Maracas Bay. The drive there lightened our spirits. It reminded us of driving in Kauai with its curvy roads hugging the cliffs. Going up the mountains, the air was cooler and the sun wasn’t so fierce. We were definitely ready to leave the city behind.

Forty-five minutes of beautiful scenery later, we slowed down to enter the lot to Richard’s. It was in the parking lot across the beach and a TT$10 fee was required to stay and eat. But oh, Richard’s, we were told, was closed for ten days. They renovatin’! My heart sank to my stomach. The Dr. looked over and he just knew. He knew that if we don’t find bake ‘n’ shark soon, my chin will start quivering. Uncle Sam’s to the rescue down the street. It was the only store open that late in the afternoon, but the short line was a good sign. We ordered two sandwiches and waited for our number to be called while we drank our first cold Caribs of the day. When we picked up our sandwiches, we added some green and chunky pepper sauce in it from the condiments corner. At first bite, the fish was flaky and warm. The white meat inside was deliciously tender and meaty. This wasn’t like V’s near Grand Riviere because it wasn’t overcooked and deep brown in color. It was my second bake ‘n’ shark in the country and I still wasn’t sure how to confirm that they really use shark. Both tasted like any other deep-fried white fish. Uncle Sam’s version was so good, we can’t imagine how Richard’s could be any better. (And I’m not just saying that out of spite either.)

It started to get dark when we drove down the mountain to the suburbs of St. Ann’s and Cascade. An upscale neighborhood, we saw nice cars next to us and white people playing rugby in Queen’s Park Savannah. Our room at Alicia’s Palace had a view of downtown Port of Spain and included a patio overlooking the valley. There was a restaurant on the premises and we could have sat next to the pool and used the billiard table, but all I really wanted was more local food before we leave the country.

After joining the residents for a jog up and down the hill, we cleaned up and started our drive back to the more harried part of town. Along the Savannah on Maraval Road were the Magnificent Seven, a group of mansions with European-style architecture but in dire need of repair. Under scaffoldings, they looked like giant gingerbread houses forgotten by time.

We joined the early Friday party on the streets of St. James. We parked the car and walked until we spotted our first roti stand. We joined the line not to buy, but to ask where the other street food stands were. The old Indian lady pointed to the blue umbrella across the street. He was also surrounded by a small group of hungry Trinidadians and I tip-toed to take a peek of what he was making.

As soon as I saw him scoop up a soupy channa curry on soft and fried bara bread and then add another under it, I knew they were what the locals call “doubles”. I must have looked too eager because he made me sit down on a stoop right behind him while he prepared ours. He ordered the Dr. to buy cold beers from the bar down the street and gave us enough napkins to help us eat without pouring curry sauce all over our shirts.

This is how you eat a doubles:

Forget the bake ‘n’ sharks, doubles is where it’s at. The next stop was the stand down the street with a stack of Styrofoam cups. The Dr. came up to the lady while I saved our seats on the stoop and asked what were in the plastic drums. As soon as she said pickled pig’s feet, or souse, there was just no stopping him.

Bright and tangy, pig’s trotters are brined in vinegar and a concoction of cucumbers, chilis, onions and garlic. They’re served cold, with tendon, skin and all, and you just have to use your hands to suck all the marrow from the bones. This is how you eat pickled pig’s feet:

We then crossed the street to get more beers and try the corn soup lady the next block over. Corn soup is corn soup, but the Trinidadian version was made of split-pea broth with chunks of corn and sticky dumplings. We had to walk around the avenue one more time just to make sure we didn’t miss anything else. We were full, but it seemed silly to stop then. We were on a roll. We decided against another bake ‘n’ shark and a roti–they were to come as the next morning’s purchases at the airport–and instead ordered more doubles and another serving of the pig’s feet.

Needless to say, we were content and happy that in one short night, I crossed off the last food item I wanted to try while in Trinidad and Tobago.

Meeting the Locals in Pigeon Point, Tobago

Our stomachs full of roti, we continued the drive on Windward Road to Roxborough. We saw the sign for Argyle Falls and decided to stop and walk off our heavy lunch. From the parking lot, we told the rangers that we didn’t need a guide so they just let us walk to the falls ourselves. It was only a 15-minute walk on the well-paved trek. Cocoa and bamboo trees lined the side of the road. In the river, fish swam hungrily near our feet expecting us to throw them some food.

The falls is the highest in all of Tobago at 177 feet with three main cascades. We were eager to move when we paid our entrance fee but not so eager to walk up the steep steps next to the falls to get a better view. We just hanged out and watch a couple take a dip in the pool.

After Argyle Falls, the need for an afternoon nap set in. We stopped in downtown Scarborough to get gas and buy some fruits and vegetables for dinner. Inside the Penny Savers supermarket, the vegetables were as scarce as in Castara Bay. Luckily, we caught a glimpse of a vegetable market stand outside the parking lot. It was a small store full of vegetables and fruits that were local to the area. We happily stocked up on tomatoes and cucumbers, as well as a big chunk of watermelon.

We continued on the airport road determined to end our day at our last beach stop in Tobago. Pigeon Point Road is where the Atlantic Ocean meets the Caribbean Sea. The sand was definitely more Caribbean than anything we’ve seen in the country: powdery and almost white. In fact, Tobago’s best beach is Pigeon Point and they keep it that way by charging an entrance fee. Past the checkpoint, we parked out car and joined the revelers at the bar; there were no locals in sight except for the uniformed staff members and security guards patrolling the area.

After a couple of beers and rum punch, we sat on the beach to while away the rest of our afternoon. I went in the water a few times to cool off while jet skiers, parasailers and windsurfers made noise in the background. The Dr. remained reading under a tree to avoid getting more burned.

On our way out the gate, we noticed a couple of fishermen bringing in the day’s catch from a boat. Intrigued, as we haven’t really seen a lot of fishermen at work on Castara, we stepped out of the car to inquire if we could buy some of the flying fish in their basket. We imagined a civilized fish dinner with nice big salad for the night. The men were just waiting for a truck to pick up their haul. They told us that the fish will eventually end up in Europe’s supermarkets. We bought six for TT$1 apiece and started off back to our car until one of the boys from the jet ski rental shop stopped us. He ended up inviting us to stay and join the rest of his crew for dinner. They were already preparing to grill theirs when we joined them with a few bottles of cold beer bought from the store down the street.

We watched the sun go down and exchanged stories with the locals while we waited for our fish to cook. We told them about living in New York and they told us about growing up in Trinidad and living in Tobago. A few more men joined us by adding more fish on the grill. Using big leaves plucked from the trees as plates and our hands as utensils, we dove in and ate our grilled fish just like the rest of them.

Back in Castara Bay, I put together our tomato and cucumber salad with the little we had in our makeshift kitchen. We ate our second course out in the patio and drank some more beers before retiring for the night. We were grateful for the invitation from the jet skiers and glad that we made new friends during our last night on the island. It just seemed like the perfect experience to end our stay in Tobago.

Windy Roads of Tobago: From Englishman’s Bay to Speyside

We never really saw the rest of Trinidad because we only stayed in Grand Riviere, so during our second day in Tobago, I convinced the Dr. to rent a car from The Naturalist and drive us around to check some points of interest on the map. It was our fifth day in the country and our time there was coming to a close and yet, we still haven’t had a decent cup of hot coffee. We signed all the rental paperwork by 8:30am (You told me it was 10am!), and as soon as he got the small Nissan up the hill from Castara Bay, we were on Northside Road to the next beach over, Englishman Bay.

The long stretch of sand appeared untouched yet smooth, and not because of the time of day, but because the entire area remains undeveloped. Not even the familiar purple and poisonous balloon-looking Portuguese Man O’ Wars were scattered on the beach. There was one restaurant but it was just opening up, so the lady could only offer us black coffee. It was still among the worst coffee I had in the country, but I needed the quick boost of caffeine which prepared me for the windy roads of Tobago.

As the Dr. maneuvered the wheel from turn to turn, I cringed at every other speeding car or truck that met us head-on. I was on my toes the entire time and my shoulders hurt from flinching. I can’t imagine paying attention to driving when your surrounding is a constant yet welcomed distraction. From the side of the road, I liked how below us was a grass-covered hill that rolled all the way down to the beach. Everything around was a rich green. And even though the sun couldn’t decide whether to come out or not, the tropical breeze was enough to keep us content.

It was finally time to eat something by the time we entered the town of Speyside. We parked our car across the large playing field where we were both welcomed and harassed by the local Rastas into giving them some change. I walked over to the bakery to buy something to eat for both of us and was quite disappointed that it was actually an abandoned storefront. The lady waiting for the public bus asked me what I was looking for. Roti, I said. I haven’t had roti since we arrived and I really want to try them. And in that heavily-accented Creole English, she told me to go over to the bright yellow house across the way and buy them from there.

I gathered the one member of my troop, went inside the yellow house and asked the big black momma inside for a roti. She said a lot that was undecipherable to me, but I ended up ordering two large rotis to eat right on the bench outside. I just know that there was a short lecture about how a small girl like me won’t be able to finish a large-sized roti.

All the signs we saw advertised “hot, tasty roti”, much like how Mexico City had their “rico tacos” on every street corner. Roti, the country’s unofficial national dish, is essentially a stretchy “skin” used to wrap curried meat and vegetables. In our case, we had the buss-up-shut, which is a thin cloth-like skin that was wrapped like a burrito. We tore the skin to scoop up the chicken, chickpeas (channa) and potatoes (aloo) inside. And hot and tasty they were. I returned to the store to proudly let the lady know that I finished the large roti. She showed her appreciation by giving us some water to wash the yellow curry off our fingers before we set off to the other side of the island. Our first ever Trinbagonian roti was enough to make up for the awful coffee.

Sun and Rain in Castara Bay, Tobago

After an early ride to the airport from Grand Riviere, we boarded a 20-minute flight to Tobago. We felt very relaxed and we were ready to actually do some activities on the next island. I initially booked a place at The Naturalist, but a reservation glitch on their end left us without a room. To make up for it, the owner made sure we had a room next door, at The Sea Level, for our three-night stay on Castara Bay. He also had a car pick us up at the airport and bring us to this north western part of Tobago.

I chose Castara Bay because it is touted as a fishing village where the Rastas still use a seine net to haul their catch. The Dr. expressed an interest in fishing and I was attracted to the laid-back vibe our guidebook mentioned, so I thought it would be the perfect place for both of us. We never got to see the fishermen use any sort of nets during our four days there (they just used plastic bins to carry them from the boat to the fish co-op) and the Dr. never had a chance to fish because he wasn’t willing to pay for a US$250 charter boat, but we did use Castara as our base to see the rest of the island.

The sand is smoother and more brown on Castara than it was on Grand Riviere in Trinidad. Most tourists come to Castara in the mornings and leave in the afternoon because they’re staying elsewhere, so by the time the sun would set, we had the beach to ourselves.

Our first full day, we signed up with King David Tours for a snorkeling excursion complete with a barbecue on the beach. The Dr. brought his fishing rod hoping to catch some fish for lunch with our two entertaining guides. Eleven of us boarded the boat and set off to our first snorkeling stop a few minutes away from Castara. I’ve snorkeled so many times during my travels and have seen some of the most beautiful animals underwater, but nothing prepared me for the gargantuan size of Tobago’s fish. The usual parrot fish and yellowtail snappers were there, but imagine them five times the size you’ve seen them before. Imagine a school of anchovies swaying like a curtain in the water–oh, I just wanted to sashimi all of them right there and then.

We made a couple more stops to try and catch fish, but they weren’t biting. We just headed to No Man’s Land for our lunch barbecue. No Man’s Land is actually more like Every Man’s Land. It seemed every tour operator in Tobago was there with the same idea. All the locals knew each other and shared the one grill setup on the island. We were surrounded by young Euros with weird haircuts (can you say double P Diddy-style mohawks?) who made noise like university frat boys. I entertained myself by watching our skipper prepare our lunch of tuna and cucumber salad. A concoction of garlic, coriander, Scotch bonnet peppers and onions was rubbed on the fresh tuna fillets and then wrapped in foil before setting on the grill. Everything else, like the chicken and the potato salad, were prepared beforehand. We drank the rum punch and cold Carib and Stag beers provided while we waited for our feast.

After a very satisfying lunch, we boarded our boat again for our next stop. The Buccoo Reef is a protected marine park off Pigeon Point. Right in the middle of it was the Nylon Pool in all its emerald greenness. We were so far away from the beach, but this small pool of clear, shallow water was right in the middle of the sea. It was pretty cool and as you can see, it made for an interesting addition to my jumpin’ photos.

On our way back to Castara, the rain decided to pour and pour it did. Our entire boat group spent the last hour cheering every time we hit a big wave and smacked on the water. Red-faced and drunk, they all sang out loud while I cowered behind the Dr. to avoid the prickly pelts of rain.

It was a long day in the water and under the sun and I can’t say spending the rest of it in the rain was so bad. When we were completely showered and cleaned for dinner, it felt so good to be on steady land.

A Little R&R in Grand Riviere, Trinidad

Even the Dr. was surprised. It was already 10am and I was still sleeping. Granted, the new bed I was on was so firm that I slept like a log the last eight hours or so, but I was also on Day One of our first vacation together this year. Our usual version of vacation is, well, not exactly what our friends think it should be and every time we travel, I am usually jumping on the bed waking him early in the morning so that we can go, go, go. Maybe this trip was more necessary than I initially thought because we ended up spending the first three days sleeping in, taking several naps during the day both on the beach and back in our room, and retiring to bed early after a DVD or a bottle of wine. The term R&R never really made sense to me until after our trip to Grand Riviere on the island of Trinidad.

After a five-hour deep sleep on the plane from JFK, we landed in Trinidad. Getting our luggage out of customs took a while, but as soon as we sat outside, Pierro came over to introduce himself. He owns Mt. Plaisir Estate on Grand Riviere, an almost two-hour journey from Piarco International Airport and our home for the next three nights. It was recommended to me by a fellow traveler at work after being warned that it should be kept a secret. I wanted to keep my promise, but after finding out that it already made The New York Times‘ Sophisticated Traveler list a few years ago, I thought that writing about Mt. Plaisir here won’t be revealing anything new.

Pierro asked us if we were hungry. I immediately said that I would like to try the Trinidadian “doubles”, two fried flat breads, or bara, and topped with curried chickpeas. It was almost 3pm and the stand he frequents was already closed when we drove by. As a consolation, he introduced us to an iced cold sea moss drink at V’s who also sold bake ‘n’ shark (or shark ‘n’ bake, depending on whom you ask), a deep-fried and battered shark sandwich. It’s also one of the primary reasons that attracted me to the country. The sea moss drink is what it is: sea moss sun-dried and boiled for hours to extract its juice, and then mixed with some condensed milk and sugar before blending with ice. So, with some balata, a local fruit we bought from the side of the road, we had our first Trinidadian food experience.

Pierro told us his story during our drive from the airport: he was taking photographs in Trinidad and Tobago about ten years ago and was staying in an old hunting lodge on Grand Riviere. When he found out that the place was for sale, he couldn’t resist and bought the place. (How many times have I had that feeling but was too weak to do anything about it?) He ended up changing his entire life plan to build a home for himself and for other people looking for a place to get away from the hustle and bustle of bigger cities like Port of Spain and New York City. Before he bought the estate, there were a couple of trees on the premises. Today, the cabins are all surrounded by flora and the staff maintains a garden to supply most of the restaurant’s ingredients. There are now thirteen cabins facing the Caribbean Sea with the rainforest as a dramatic backdrop. Indeed, Trinidad’s location near South America make its landscape unique from the other Caribbean countries.

I initially booked one of the rooms on the beach, but as luck would have it, we were moved to the room above the restaurant which included our own private patio. A mosquito net proved useful though still no match against the little buggers that ate the Dr.’s legs and my right arm. During the days when we actually exerted effort to walk around the small village, we searched for other food options and discovered Pinky’s, where we were sold chicken stew and rice with salad or yuca on styrofoam containers, and McHaven’s, where the rastas lazily hanged out all afternoon. Except for a curious gathering of cars with loud speakers on full blast in the parking lot behind Mt. Plaisir after sunset, all we heard were the sounds of the water crashing on the beach and the violent winds that came with torrential rains after we’ve turned off the lights at night.

March is the beginning of the leatherback turtles’ nesting season, so we also signed up for a permit to access the beach after 6pm via the visitors’ center behind Mt. Plaisir. The area is the largest nesting place for leatherbacks in the western hemisphere and we were excited to get a chance to finally see them nest in person–we’ve seen the eggs buried in Nicaragua and the babies in Mexico–but alas, no one knocked on our door when we scheduled to go. The rain probably stopped the tour guides from doing so, but they didn’t try us at dawn either. The nesting leatherbacks remain an elusive experience to us, but at least we’ve both caught up on much-needed R&R.