108
DECEMBER 2012
•
HEMISPHERESMAGAZINE.COM
THREE PERFECT DAYS
WHENCONFRONTEDWITH
the beauty of the Caribbean, said
the poet Derek Walco , “the sigh
of History dissolves.” This may be
especially true of Trinidad and
Tobago, the dual-island nation in
whichWalco has spent much of
his adult life, andwhichpossesses
such an abundance of natural
splendor it’s awonder anyonehere
can recall what theydidyesterday.
Butmemory, it turns out, plays a
big part in the life of these islands,
which were first settled 7,000
years ago. Their modern history
dates back to their “discovery” by
Christopher Columbus in 1498, fol-
lowed by colonization, economic
exploitation and, in 1962, indepen-
dence. Given the extraordinarily
diverse population (dubbed “Trin-
bagonians”), which claims origins
primarily in Asia, Africa and
Europe, celebratingheritage is one
of the things Trinidad andTobago
doesbest—yieldingakaleidoscope
of sensory riches that bothhonors
old traditions and combines them
to create new ones.
Wrapping the nation’s yearlong
50
th birthday celebration while
gearingup for February’sCarnival,
the cosmopolitan, passionate and
proud Trinidadian capital, Port of
Spain, works and plays as hard as
any place in the Caribbean. But
when it does come time to relax,
idyllic, lightly developed Tobago
has enough hidden waterfalls,
secluded coves and thickets of
tropical greenery to refresh the
weariest of souls. It’s the best of
both worlds.
DAYONE
| A single blast froma foghorn
rouses you inyour 20th-floor suite at the
Hyatt Regency Trinidad
,
in downtown
Port of Spain. You peer out over theGulf
of Paria, where fishing and cargo boats
bob in the distance, before venturing
into the hazy morning air.
Your first meal is at
The Breakfast
Shed
,
a no-frills waterfront eatery
whose seating area is a covered court-
yard favored by boat crews and office
workers. You order swordfish
buljol
(
a
kind of salad), along with fry bake: the
fried unleavened bread that’s a simple
but surprisingly delicious local staple.
Seabirds lurk, eyeing your plate, but you
feed them not.
From here, you cut through Inde-
pendence Square and hang a left at
Frederick Street, where a jumble of tin-
roof markets, rum bars and roti shops
jostle for your attention with the aid
of roving touts and blown-out speaker
systems. A few blocks north, you enter
pastoral
Queen’s Park Savannah
,
the city’s
verdant 260-acre central park, where,
even at this early hour, a handful of soc-
cer matches are under way. It’s ge ing
intenselyhot, soyou stopat a cart selling
coconut water. The proprietor informs
you that the park will fill up when the
temperature drops in the afternoon,
then hands you the most refreshing
beverage you’ve ever tasted.
Continuing along thewestern edge of
the park, you
come upon
the remnants
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