Day 5: No Man's Land, Tobago.

"Here, invisible yet strong, was the taboo of the old life." - Lord of the Flies

The beaches have hustlers.  Guys peddling necklaces, conch shells, coconuts with your name carved on them and other items you'd expect to find for sale on a beach in the caribbean.

Then there's the real hustlers - the tour guides.  They are the pros.  They find you, engage you, sell you their service(s) and then deliver.  Genuine people providing genuine services.

We went with Frankie's Tours on a day long boat ride up the west coast of Tobago.  Our guide, Michael (seen dancing on his boat in the photo here), met us at the dock after our man Barry of LB Tours (who arranged it) dropped us off.

We slowly made our way out to sea from Buccoo Reef and around a gorgeous peninsula, where we were told we would come back to later.  It was a tiny strip of sand and palm trees with a picnic table and barbecue pit a few hundred yards away from the mainland.  It was essentially a private and unmanned island, aptly named No Man's Land.

The boat had a giant cooler full of drinks, which came in handy in the hot sun.  After a few drinks we were dropping anchor in a lagoon and being handed snorkel gear.  I shuffled to the edge of the boat and then everything went blue and I was face to face with tropical fish and coral reef with 10+ meters of underwater visibility.  The depth ranged from 3-10 meters quite easily with pockets of sea floor and the rest being coral reef so close you could actually touch.

Back on the boat, we were trawling up the coast with fishing lines off the back of the boat trying to catch lunch and, for a moment, I saw myself living my dreams: deep sea fishing off the coast of a tiny caribbean island once owned by pirates.

Our guide, Michael, was telling us how this is pretty much what he does every day.  He bought his first boat back in 1981 (yet he doesn't look a day over 30) and began a career as a fisherman before getting into the tour guide game.  He was born and raised in Castara, a small fishing village on the northwest portion of the island, where he currently lives as well.  We even stopped in at Castara Bay and he pointed out his hillside house.

All the way up to Castara and back, we'd finally returned to the party on No Man's Land.  3 or 4 boats anchored, the small beach full of people drinking, dancing and doing the limbo to the heavy beat being pounded out of the stereo system and the smell of barbecue in the warm air.

The tuna Sherrai caught (the only fish caught out of 8 people) was cleaned and grilled for lunch along with barbecue chicken and some salads.  If I had to compare the two, I'd say it was just as good as the bake & shark - which means it shared the title as "best meal in T&T".

 After what must have been gallons of lethal rum-punch combinations and countless bottles of Carib, we found ourselves back on the boat on our way to the Nylon Pool - a natural sandbar in the middle of nowhere about a half a kilometer or more from the beach.  Slowing down, Michael killed the engine and we drifted over a lighter than usual patch of blue water.  Then we were overboard and standing knee-deep in the light blue ocean, surrounded by the setting sun and the dark blue ocean in all directions.

Upon returning to shore we were greeted by Barry, who took us back to the Toucan Inn.  I popped a bottle of champagne and we split it with the Brits we were on the boat with and Barry, who we convinced to stay for dinner.

The day was a taste of what's lacking in busy city living and a way of life that defied dog-eat-dog mentality.  If only for a day, we experienced the true Caribbean, where people spend their days catching their dinner and sharing it with friends and complete strangers over drinks, dancing, stories and laughter.