On Sunday, I escaped the oppressive heat to take in a few hours of quality American entertainment at the local cinema. Sure, I feel a little guilty about foregoing local culture in favor of some mindless blockbuster, but compromising the integrity of my trip is a small price to pay for three hours of air conditioning. However, the four dollar movie was a splurge and my budget dictates that my entertainment needs must instead be met by purchasing pirated movies to be viewed on my tiny laptop screen. Fortunately, pirated movies are prevalent in Trinidad and can be purchased on any of the major streets in Port of Spain. My favorite part of the DVD’s is when the people in front are taking their seats just as the anti-pirating ad is playing during the previews. I also appreciate the laughtrack provided by the audience to let me know when a scene is funny.
After nearly two weeks of living in the boatyard, I have settled into something resembling a routine. I normally wake up at 7:30 a.m. and make coffee that I then sip as I listen to the “Cruisers Net” on the VHF radio at 8:00 a.m. The Cruisers Net consists of sailors providing updates on the safety issues in the area, weather forecasts, social activities for the week (old people singing karaoke, old people playing dominoes, old people having a pot luck, etc.), assistance with finding parts or services, and cruisers offering used items that they don’t need any more for trade or barter (these items are affectionately referred to as “treasures of the bilge” – the bilge being the nasty repository underneath the floorboards that collects all of the dirty water before purging it overboard). It is pretty much the same people saying the same thing every day, but listening to it makes me feel like a part of the sailing community.
After the net, I spend the next few hours working on the boat or running around to different shops trying to get work done on my boat. This discouraging exercise gets me to lunch, when I feast on the best roti’s in the Carribean, made fresh daily at The Roti Hut. The afternoon consists of checking e-mail, going into town, shopping, or completing any random tasks I didn’t finish in the morning. Actually, who am I kidding, the afternoons are really spent trying to avoid the sun and stay cool, usually reading and listening to the same twenty-five songs that I will be sick of by next week. Dinner is typically something light. My Mom has given me several simple recipes and I have survived primarily on hummus.
While I am preparing and eating dinner, I try to study Spanish. Spanish represents the third language that I am struggling with after failing to get beyond basic Japanese and basic French. This leads me to believe that I lack both the necessary aptitude and dedication to successfully learn another language. Following dinner, I often watch a pirated DVD and then read until I fall asleep.
My progress in preparing the boat continues, albeit more slowly and at a higher cost than I intended. Among the major projects that I am working on, I am deciding whether to fix or replace the jib roller furling, having the dinghy outboard fixed, considering purchasing an asymmetrical spinnaker, replacing the forward hatch over the V-berth, and installing solar panels so that when my engine dies I will have enough power so that I can figure out where I am. Chaguaramas, Trinidad is nice in that it has all of the services a cruiser could possibly want within walking distance, but it is a money pit that I cannot seem to escape. With a 26-year-old boat, I could spend all of my time and money here before getting the boat entirely ready for everything that we might encounter.
What I am currently lacking is clarity of purpose and motivation to get up and go. I had that clarity of purpose and motivation once. Right after I graduated college, I went to India with my Mom to perform some charity work. Arriving during the rainy season, afternoon showers would often come through and flood the streets. Since many of the people of Calcutta lived in the streets, it was not uncommon to see citizens defecating near a wall on the side of the street. The rain that flooded these same streets created water as disgusting as you could expect to find in any sewer. Prudence suggested waiting for the streets to drain before returning to our hotel. However, after a day of caring for the destitute and dying and several days of my own personal battle with the aftereffects of Indian cuisine, I desperately wanted to get back to the hotel to enjoy a refreshing shower and some decent food. My Mom, providing the voice of reason, suggested that I wait until the streets cleared. “The hell I am,” I replied (okay, I didn’t actually say this to my Mom, but I probably thought it). I was determined to get back to the hotel and if that meant wading through sewer-water, then so be it. After one of the most revolting walks of my life, I made it back to the hotel and spent a long time bathing to rid myself of the stench. Yet, for all the exotic diseases and related nightmares that ensued, for once I had a purpose.
The moral of this story is that sometimes you have to go through some shit to get to where you really want to be.