Paradise Found: Tobago 2008

Paradise Lost--and Found
March 2008

"You weel feel vary seef on dees beach...you under-stawned wad I mean?" our taxi driver, recently-appointed tour guide and new best (and only) friend on Tobago assured us as he drove us deeper into the island's interior. The trees lining the single-lane, pot-holed road grew thicker and greener and Jay and I looked at each other and shrugged. We had no other options--we'd just been told the two beaches we'd hoped to set up our tent on were not safe for camping.

Thus began our tropical adventure on the beautiful and romote island of Tobago. Set in the southernmost part of the Caribbean, Tobago is merely 26 miles long by 6 miles across, densely forested in its rain forests and encompassed by sun-kissed beaches, palm-fringed shorelines and hidden coves and bays.

This is the first trip I've taken where no advance planning was made--as in, no pre-purchased ferry tickets, no hotel reservations, no rental car bookings. Jay and I arrived off the ferry with nothing but heavy backpacks and a wide-eyed anticipation of the unknown. Our objective was simple: find a place on the beach to camp and relax for eight days. However, as the day of our departure approached, I found my apprehension and worry growing to greater and greater heights. A well-meaning friend copied pages of websites warning of the dangers and lack of safety on the islands. What if camping was not allowed? (though I’d called the National Park Service and was assured it was). What if we get attacked at night? What if our passports are stolen? What if? What if? There is a fear that lies in the land of unknown that can be haunting if let run wild. When I voiced my concerns to Jay, his calming answer was always the same: “I’m not worried about it”.

Our driver barreled around the narrow windy roads at death-defying speeds, heading toward our destination: Castara Bay, his ‘hometown’, and his choice for us of where we should camp, on the northwest coast of the island. He spoke to us of the economics of Tobago as we struggled to wrap our ears around the strong Caribbean accent. We gazed out the windows, passing numerous houses clustered together in small villages, most made of bamboo supports and 2x4’s, unpainted with windows covered with breezy curtains of colorful cloth. Laundry was strung anywhere it could dry and dogs, chickens, goats and cows frequented the yards and streets, alongside barefoot children playing with sticks and adults sitting in the shade of the hot sun. We were sweaty from the heat and I felt nervous. Do you ever have those moments when you find yourself in an ‘interesting’ situation, and think to yourself, “How did I ever get here?” I sat there thinking, “What am I, Amy Sargent, doing in this car on this tiny island in the Caribbean following the advice of a total stranger with nothing but a tent and backpack and my dear friend Jay on our way to who knows where?”

The bumpy road began to decend from the hilly interior and an expanse of the sea opened up to our left that made me give Jay a sideways glance and grin of anticipation. Oh my, it was beautiful.

“Welcome to Castara Bay” the broken green sign read as we turned the last corner, emerging from the dense forest to a small beachside village. The driver pulled up to the first house and said it was his mother’s house. He introduced us to his brother, Chino, who walked us down to the lovely beach and showed us where we could set up our tent. And just like that, our trip to Paradise began. 

We were on the south side of a small golden-sand beach, lined with palm trees and enclosed on both sides by tall hills of bamboo. It was a quiet little bay with a village to match. Each morning we awoke to the crowing of roosters--many of them--that somehow could be heard over the roar of the crashing surf just twenty-five yards away from our tent. Sleepy-eyed, we’d awake, slip into swimsuits, and either take a swim in the waves or walk down to the bathhouse where we could shower and use the facilities for a mere sixteen cents. We had a sort of breakfast at the Naturalist, a run-down guesthouse at the other end of the beach where we were served delicious coffee by a cranky lady who got frustrated with us asking her to repeat herself because we couldn’t understand her. Up the hill was a lady from Guyana who made fresh cadava bread each morning---a five-minute stroll thru the village to her place awarded us with warm, crusty bread on which we spread pineapple jam. We enjoyed this sumptuous feast with our warm coffees as we watched the morning waves roll in on our quiet little beach.

During the daytime hours we played on the island’s endless playground equipment--clear waters for snorkeling (where we saw a 5-foot manta ray and a sea turtle!), waterfalls for climbing and swimming, and white-sand beaches for strolling. Our $20-a-day scooter, though it barely made it up hills, provided us with a means to explore most of the island by sitting on it’s little seats and motoring thru the streets of small villages, across rain-forested jungles, and to the endless gorgeous beaches along the coast. We had only two wipeouts and luckily we were going slow at the time….those darn pot holes! Jay was offered ganja weed almost everywhere we went--he'd just smile his great smile and say "no thanks, man" and the offerer would wander off. 

Around 5 p.m. each afternoon the fisherman from our beach would bring in the day’s catch…a boatful of yellowfin and albacore tuna. After the fish were gutted, we could buy one for our dinner--which we did, head and tail still attached. At the vegetable stand (a shack about 5 feet x 5 feet painted yellow) I purchased fresh veggies--potatoes, onions, plantain, peppers, and from the lady who ran the little store (same dimensions) in the blue shack, some local spices in small plastic bag. We wrapped all of these culinary treasures in some tinfoil and roasted our delightful island cuisine over and open fire we built in the sand by our tent. As the sun set and the stars came up, we feasted on our meal together, sitting in the sand and watching the fire die down as the waves rolled along the shore. 

We were blessed to partake of an Easter Sunday service at the little white clapboard church up the hill in our village. With a well-maintained lawn and flowers, the open-air church slowly filled with dark faces in their Sunday best--the men in slacks and light-colored shirts, the women in beautiful dresses and heels, as Jay and I slipped in the back where we could see out the open windows to the sea. The animated pastor told the story of Christ’s life, death and resurrection, and we sung hymns of praise and took communion, drinking from the same goblet as the rest of the congregation. A special treat awaited us: the baptism of a tiny one, black curly head, wide dark eyes and tiny arms and legs protruding of a tiny white suit, who of course cried out when the water was sprinkled on his forehead, which prompted laughter from the onlookers. It was a special moment and a wonderful thing to be a part of.

Due to our frugality, we almost missed a most amazing sight: Argyle Falls, the most spectacular series of waterfalls I’ve ever seen. It is one of the very few 'tourist spots' on the island and the locals now charge a small fee of about $6 USD to enter the area. "Hmm, could it really be that good?" we asked ourselves, but finally made the decision to turn our moped on the bumpy dirt road leading to a parking area where a small hut had been set up to sell cold drinks and t-shirts of the attraction. Though offered a 'tour guide', Jay and I decided to hike the 15 minute trail alone, strolling thru towering clumps of bamboo and other tropical vegetation. After decending some stone steps, we came upon a stream with a few rapids--could this be it? we wondered...only to discover just upstream a breathtaking 150- meter- high waterfall, the white spray cascading off the shiny, black rocks in fifteen to twenty smaller waterfalls, greenery growing out of the rock outcroppings, sun sparkling on every drop of water, gathering below in a clear pool deep enough to swim in…all enclosed in the protection of the jungle’s towering dark trees of green… Oh my. I felt like we’d rediscovered the original Garden of Eden. The musical chorus of splashing water, the warm sun on our faces and the light breeze from the fragrant tropical vegetation, Jay’s smiling face as he sat under the waterfall as it caressed his strong shoulders….the beauty was unspeakable and is imprinted on my mind and heart as one of the most perfect places that could possibly exist on this earth.

As with all vacations, the week ended all too quickly and before we knew it we’d packed up our backpacks and tent and were on the plane flying home….back to reality: watching silly sit-coms on the overhead screens, eating peanuts, working crosswords and browsing the flight magazine. Now back in the snowy, ever-continuing winter of Colorado, one could easily forget the warmth and beauty and peace we found in Tobago--if not for our peeling, itchy sunburned skin, and a few pictures from our yellow disposable cameras--and of course the vivid memories in our minds and hearts of our recent trip to paradise.