Day 2: Thank you sir, may I have another?

A morning full of hard drink and caribbean cuisine, you'd think, would torment even the heartiest of Canadian stomachs... but a pedestrian I am not.  After just one day I clearly wasn't ready to surrender to the lethal mix of island living, tropical drinks and chokingly hot weather.  No, I awoke bright and early looking forward to getting back at it.

Today was going to be busy and we had to get started early.  After a much needed cup of coffee and continental breakfast at our bed and breakfast, L'Orchidee, we started to function as normal human beings. Today we were leaving for Tobago and we didn't know what time the high speed ferry boat was leaving, so we needed to go to the port to check.  I gave Harry a ring and, I think, woke him up.

"How you goin' boy?!" I hear enthusiastically from the other end. I let him know that we need a lift to the port in about half an hour and he does some schedule checking out loud and says, "ya ya ya... no problem".

A few minutes later a sky blue Datsun is rumbling out front, waiting for somebody.  I have a quick chat with reception and then find out the guy is waiting for a "guy named Jahvis".  I let him know I'm Jahvis and he lets me know Harry couldn't make it through Port of Spain traffic so he sent him, his uncle, instead.

Our cash was already getting pretty low from paying out here and there so we stopped at, of all places, a Scotiabank and stood in a giant lineup to get a cash advance (Canadian Interac  doesn't work, they have the PLUS system). I still don't understand how the Bank of Nova Scotia ever got started down in Trinidad & Tobago, but it was comforting and weird to see at the same time.

After the bank, at the port, we finally get to the counter to find out we just missed the 10am ferry and the next wouldn't be until 5pm.  We took our tickets and reluctantly stepped back into sunshine, looking for something to keep us occupied for another day in Trinidad.

I give Harry another call and he's there in no time to pick us up.  We go back to his place to relax and think of what to do for the rest of the day.

Today his father, Raj, is home and telling us some stories.  Raj takes us to an Indian restaurant around the corner for lunch - Wing's Restaurant & Bar, which is apparently home to the best curry goat, dhal and geera pork in T+T.  I order some buss-up-shut, curry goat and then leave the rest of the ordering to Raj.

 The food was great, but Indian food and me have had a longstanding feud over my stomach for as long as I can remember - I knew I was doomed.

Tobago.

Arriving in Tobago after a day of eating plates of Indian food, more drinking and a 2.5hr boat ride over some choppy water while babies cried and adults blasted reggae and soca music from their cellphone speakers marked one of those pivotal moments in a man's life when he realizes he will never be able to replicate such a diabolical set of circumstances ever again, for good or for ill.

Right at the gate where port meets street a big man in a basketball jersey struts up and asks if we need a ride - I let him know we've got one already with polite abruptness.

Not knowing the lay of the land, naturally I was on guard for anything.  Apprehensive of every offer, skeptical of any encounter.  There were locals dancing in the dimly lit streets, men tending large wooden crates of shelled peanuts - not even trying to sell them, but rather just looming over them as if they were not for sale at all - not for you.  Eyes, watching every move.

"Me name ah Michael, welcome to Tobago" a cabbie says with a genuine smile.  After letting him know we've got a ride, he makes small talk and before wishing us well on our trip, I jot his phone number down just in case.

Our driver is nowhere to be seen.  I ring the place we're staying - the Toucan Inn & Bonkers - and find out he's been dispatched to the airport - instead of the port.  No worries I say and cancel it.  I call Michael and we spot each other, except he's just picked up a fare before I called and he walks us over to the entrance where he assures us he'll get us a good driver.

He walks us up to a silver van and introduces us to Neil - the big man in the basketball jersey.

After pointing out various landmarks and areas on the way to the Toucan Inn, I jokingly admit to Neil that "we should've just gone with you in the first place."

In a thick island accent, "Believe that," he responds.