November 8, 2012

Burnin’ Down Da House

By trinijax

Drama follows me around. You guys know this or you would not be reading my blog. A normal visit to the hairdresser yesterday turns into a Cirque de Westcott adventure…

So there I am sitting under the dryer reading an exceptionally boring novel on my ipad and questioning why I am still paying this book any attention. I’m OCD like that. No matter how awful a book is I have to finish it.

My hairdresser – let’s call her Flo – rents a treatment room in her salon to a nail technician. The nail tech’s room is located next to the wash and dry room (ladies you know what I’m talking about). I’m sitting there minding my own when my idle musings were interrupted by an explosion and loud screams; next thing I see two women running out of the nail tech’s room.

My first thought? We were being robbed. I expected the women to be followed by three Glock-toting guntas wetting down the place. Cell phone at the ready, I was poised to call the popo. Then I smelt smoke and got up to see what was going on. A trolley filled with nail care products was doing a very good impression of a burning bush while smaller fires glowed merrily around the room. Quick thinking Flo switched off the electricity mains and filled a bucket with water. There was no one else at the salon apart from the nail tech and her client who were running around screaming like headless chooks. Note to self – fire and hysterical women do not mix.

I ran to the kitchen and grabbed the first container I could find – a plastic box of curlers. Tossed the curlers on the counter, filled the container with water and ran back to the Red Room of Nails to douse the burning bush. Seeing Flo and I in action seemed to snap Headless Chook and Ms Thang (hereafter known as HC and MT) out of their hysteria. They were soon flinging water in the room but to no avail. The small fires were quickly outed but burning bush got bigger and bigger and the room rapidly filled with smoke.

HC opened the windows -”Yes! Let’s give the fire more oxygen!” By this time thick black smoke was burning our eyes and lungs and it dawned on me that the Situation Was Serious. I spied a rack of towels and long forgotten fire safety training came flooding back. (Thank you, Duke of Edinburgh Award Scheme!) I grabbed a few towels – “Not the white ones!” screamed HC; flung them at the others and shouted “Wet it!”

I threw the towels on the burning bush and FINALLY the fire was under control. Flo and I dragged the bush outside and put it out for good. While HC and MT collapsed in a hysterical heap, Flo and I turned our attention to clean up. The salon was flooded.

I noticed HC was limping and realised she had been burnt. Luckily not badly, and some antiseptic cream from my bag soon took care of that. Trust me folks – in the event of a nuclear disaster or act of God, you want to be standing next to me. My handbag is a moving survival kit. Food, water, medication, makeup – the works.

It turns out HC was trying to pour acetone from a bottle, it splashed on a tea light and boom! I think she may consider investing in a fire extinguisher…

Flo turned to me and said “Is your hair dry? Let’s get on with styling it”. By this time my freshly washed hair was reeking of smoke and my clothes were covered in soot – including my white T-shirt captioned “Keep Calm and Carry on”. Ironic, eh? We left HC and MT on clean-up duty and retreated to the relatively smoke free styling area. There was a lot of smoke and water damage but the room appeared structurally sound. Priorities – I had to finish my hair.

I left the salon thinking this brings a whole new meaning to a hot hairstyle. Such excitement I could do without. But it reinforced how quickly a minor incident can turn disastrous. The moral of the story? Throw away my unused mani pedi gift certificate. Life’s too short.

Leave a comment | posted in Cirque de Westcott

May 1, 2012

Review: Vampire Diaries Episode 320 (Do Not Go Gentle) – The Original Bitch is Back

By trinijax

Romance, intrigue, witchy juju and of course murder. Just another typical decade dance at Mystic Falls High.  In The Vampire Diaries Episode 320 (Do Not Go Gentle), the Scooby Gang gathered at the decade dance to  what they do best  – screw things up. With just two more episodes to go I would love to be able to say how much I loved this episode and how anxious I am for The Big Reveal in the Season Finale – but I can’t. Some confusing magic went down and Alaric died – kind of – but seriously? I’m not feeling this plot line. Here’s why:

You Wear It Well

Esther showed up in a Beks suit and managed to fool Klaus; enabling her to continue her dastardly plotting with Evilaric.

Once again Damon proved that he is indeed the smartest person in Mystic Falls (not difficult when you think about it) by realising all was not well with Alaric. Nor sure why he chose to share this info with Dr Cray Cray; after all she’s been so useful in the past – but let’s move on. Meanwhile after some badgering from Caroline, Elena gave Stefan what he’s been hankering after – an opportunity to spend time with the Magic Vajayjay.

After relieving Ric of his ring, Esther did some sleight of hand and created a reusable Original Killing Stake. Did anyone else think it looked like a very pointy dildo? Especially with the veins and all? Just me? Okaaaaaay then.

Let’s Do the Charleston

The population of Mystic Falls High turned out in their numbers for the 20s’ Decade Dance. They have no classes – or teachers – so they might as well go to social events. I felt for poor Rebekah. Can’t the writers cut her some slack and let her attend at least one school dance? Sheesh.

I cannot see the chemistry between them, but Bonnie and Jamie were getting along just fine. Maybe it’s because I’m just waiting for Jamie’s neck to snap or him to become vampire kibble.

Even an awkward interruption from Jeremy failed to dampen their fun.

The dance floor was chock-a-block with triangular action. If you were team Forewood, Klaroline or Stelena, this was the episode for you. Caroline gave Matt some good advice he’d do well to heed.

Tyler arrived to sweep Caroline off her feet. Sired or not, jealously is a powerful emotion.

For Stefan and Elena it was just like old times until Damon interrupted them with the unwelcome news that Ric was off the rails and Something Must Be Done.

They barely had time to absorb this disturbing news before Mama O turned up to throw a spanner, or as it turned out half a ton of salt, in the works. It is indeed curious that no one saw Esther backing up with the salt spreader and driving around the building. Even more curious that with so many humans walking in and out of the building no-one disturbed the ring of salt. In any case Esther wasted no time in grabbing Elena and hightailing it back to the Salvatore crypt.

This unexpected turn of events created a host of problems for our gang, especially Bonnie, who was getting hot and heavy with Jamie when Damon cockblocked that action.

Tales From the Crypt

Once again Elena came face to face with Evilaric as Esther explained her dastardly plan to rid the earth of all vampires by turning Alaric into the Ultimate Original Vampire. Despite my reservations about the plot, Matt Davis has truly shone in the role of Alaric this season. He conveys so much menace and evil in his facial expressions it is truly outstanding.

I would love to know what the writers were smoking the day they came up with this plotline. Alaric as an Original Vampire? I sat through nineteen episodes of varying quality for Evilaric to wind up as the New Big Bad?  You gotta be kidding me. This is so inconsistent with the mythology. Aren’t vampires supposed to grow stronger as they get older? Yet  Alaric will somehow be more powerful than Klaus? And how come Evilaric, who last week had a very well developed sense of self preservation, is OK with being used as a death pawn by Mommy Dearest? It makes no sense. As Esther described Evilaric’s new powers – faster, stronger – I half expected him to morph into Steve Austin (Cue Six Million Dollar Man theme music).

May I Have This Dance?

At the decade dance a bad evening got progressively worse. Klaus turned up to woo Caroline and was none too pleased to see her dancing with Tyler.

Caroline reluctantly accepted an invitation to dance from the Alpha Hybrid. He wasted no time in reminding her that when he doesn’t get what he wants, people get hurt.

Stefan gleefully informed Klaus that mom was back in town while Bonnie half-heartedly set to work on breaking the perimeter spell and locating Elena. Bonnie and Elena’s hypocrisy is really annoying me. Bonnie (understandably) resents Damon for killing her mother, claiming he should have made another choice. Yet Bonnie and Abby chose to help Esther. They could have refused.

It turned out finding Elena wasn’t that difficult once Bonnie suggested to Klaus Esther might be at a hot spot. I guess it’s hard to keep free Wi-Fi a secret. Jeremy and Matt sped off to find Elena and nearly ended up shooting each other in the chest thanks to Esther’s magic. SMH – you’ve got to love Esther’s twisted plans.

Esther forced Elena to give it up (her blood, that is) so that she could turn Ric into the ultimate killing machine. Somehow Good Ric reappeared and knifed Esther in the back, saving the day but too late to save himself.

Esther’s death freed the vampires, who sped off to the Salvatore crypt, but not before there was a lovely Klefan scene in which Klaus made one last desperate attempt to win Stefan back. Damon was quick to flex his familial ties and reminded Klaus that Stefan already had a brother thank you very much, and didn’t need another. I’m betting at this stage poor Klaus needed a hug.

All We Ever Do Is Say Goodbye

Alaric’s decision to forego the transition was simultaneously brave and heart-breaking. The next couple of scenes were beautifully done and eloquently captured the grief and tragic loss his death represented; especially to Elena, Jeremy and Damon.

Matt and Jeremy marked his passing in a way Ric would have approved of.

How much more sorrow can Jeremy bear before he turns to drugs again, or worse?

As always Elena made it about her, sobbing tearfully to Stefan that she and Jeremy didn’t have anyone to take care of them anymore. Not that Ric took care of anything except his frequent hangovers.

Does Elena realise how lucky she is to have Saint Stefan back? Ever the supportive, caring (boring) hero that he is, he gently comforted Elena and reminded her that no matter what she loses, she will always have him. This echoed the sentiment Elena herself expressed to Matt in Episode 316 (1912) when she confessed that Stefan’s immortality was what attracted her to him.

The worst part for me was witnessing the end of TVD’s greatest bromance – Dalaric. Forget that Alaric was Jeremy and Elena’s guardian. He was Damon’s best and only friend. I cannot imagine TVD without the banter between these characters. Damon and Alaric met at the first decade dance in season 1. It was only fitting that they should say goodbye during another.

The show-runners could have ended Alaric’s journey there, but oh no. TVD had to go one step further. This is when I realised the writers are on crack. Dead should mean dead guys. That’s what gives the show depth and gravitas. We had a fake out at last season’s decade dance. Surely this time we’d earned the right to mourn a beloved character. What is the point of turning Alaric into an Original?

It Ain’t Over Yet

Even in death Esther continued to cause all sorts of problems.

Did she appear in Bonnie’s dream? I couldn’t work out if Esther had possessed Bonnie or was manipulating her mind. I was still recovering from the hilarity of Bonnie finally acquiring an address, with her father conveniently “out of town”. How droll. Whatever the cause, Bonnie wasted no time in heading for the Salvatore crypt to give a bereaved Damon a severe headache.

Hello Evilaric the Original.

When Julie Plec announced Season 3 was going to be the season of the Originals I whooped for joy. In retrospect I see how taking the series in that direction may have been a mistake.  While it gave the delectable Elijah and the delicious Klaus more screen time, I think the writers struggled to come up with storylines for all the new characters. It was just too much. Consequently this season has meandered all over our screen; sometimes bringing that WOW! factor we expect from TVD but more often than not, leaving the sour taste of disappointment when the magical TVD hour has passed.

Clearly Klaus will be sticking around for season 4 – there would be a fan revolt if the writers killed him off – and possibly Rebekah too.  I honestly don’t know what they are going to do with Evilaric. Just bring back Elijah, already!

But what do you think? Is Evilaric a good villain? Will Alaric defeat Klaus? What did you think of Elena’s hair?

Tell me your thoughts! Sound off in the comments below.

4 Comments | posted in The Vampire Diaries

March 29, 2012

Is it Friday Yet?

By trinijax

Cirque de Westcott has been busy. The Other Half returned unscathed from his annual Boys’ Skiing weekend, Boy Wonder lost his credit card again, Mini Me got her provisional driving license (Lord help us), and Hobson and I continue to muddle along as best we can.

In lieu of a blog post this week I’ve written a Vampire Diaries article for TV After Dark Online. Fans of TVD check it out

http://tvafterdarkonline.com/2012/03/is-the-vampire-diaries-losing-its-bite/

and let me know what you think!

Leave a comment | posted in The Vampire Diaries

March 14, 2012

MOB Rule

By trinijax

Boys and girls are different. They just are. It’s no good people saying treat all children the same. By all means love them equally but good parenting is about knowing when to adapt your style to better influence the child. Throw gender differences into the mix and it’s a whole ‘nother story.

Very early into parenting The First Boy I understood the differences between boys and girls. It was evident from the playgroups and toddler birthday parties. School only served to amplify the differences.

At birthday parties the SMOGs (Smug Mother of Girls) could be seen sitting together serenely discussing recipes and breastfeeding tips while their daughters linked arms and pretended to be Disney characters.  Meanwhile the MOB (Mothers of Boys) hovered nervously over the whirling dervishes  masquerading as their sons; afraid to sit down or even take a potty break lest Junior choose that exact moment to attempt some gravity defying lunacy.

SMOGs arrived at playgroup/parties/play dates well-dressed and on time. SMOGs wore make-up. The MOB on the other hand arrived late, harassed and dishevelled; inevitably chasing after the fiends who escaped their grasp as soon as they arrived at the destination.

The MOB had well developed cheek muscles. That’s because we spent so much time talking through gritted teeth. SMOGs wore nail polish. SMOGs had no concept of chasing a toddler half-dressed around a clothing store because the little monster slid under the changing room door just as you got your kit off. Or yanking your cherub out of the ornamental pond at a wedding – ruining your outfit in the process – because he just HAD to see how deep it was.

You’d think after acquiring a daughter I’d become a SMOG. But no – you can’t escape the MOB. Membership is for life. Womb to tomb, as a friend of mine often says. As the children grew older the MOB reassured me that it wasn’t just my child – male children have an innate appetite for mayhem and chaos. They are gifted at finding themselves in the most bizarre situations that defy logic or reason.  Hospital emergency rooms? Know them well.

By the time The Second Boy appeared I’d gotten over the shock of the first but the parenting experience has been no less eventful. As my boys grew into teenagers I discovered a fundamental truth. The male body has sufficient blood supply for only one head at a time. Inevitably the big head loses out to the small one. When you think about it, this explains EVERYTHING.

I’m not saying The Only Girl hasn’t given me cause to grasp the vodka bottle but such instances have been few. I’ve grown to dread telephone conversations which begin with the words “Are you the mother of insert boy name here?” It’s never good news. I have heard tales of angelic sons who never give their parents a moment’s worry. I have never encountered such a creature. I suspect I’d have better luck finding the Holy Grail. But when I do I’ll be sure to buy a lotto ticket and put money on play whe mark 10 (monkey/boy child).

Some years ago I attended a lecture given by psychologist Dr Diane Douglas. She said “When you have children, cut down your shame tree. Your children will do embarrassing things which can cripple you if you focus on the shame. Focus on the child instead” This has been especially true of my boys. There have been times when one or the other has done something particularly stupid and I wondered aloud “What the hell was going through your head?” But then I remember. Absolutely nothing – no blood supply.

I have been blessed to parent two boys and a girl. All three have enriched my life in ways I could never have imagined. I am not saying girls are better than boys or vice versa. They are just different.  Only by recognising and embracing these differences can parents truly understand and guide their children.  Or something like that anyway.  When all else fails pretend they’re not yours. Works for me.

8 Comments | posted in Cirque de Westcott

March 3, 2012

Random March Musings

By trinijax

By Cirque de Westcott standards it has been a quiet week. No visits from the police or Mormons; some Bajan Amish-like characters came to the house today but that doesn’t count, does it? (For readers wondering about the Mormon reference – Don’t. Even. I still have nightmares). Boy Wonder hasn’t acquired any additional tattoos (yet), Mini Me celebrated a birthday, and Hobson’s OK). I should point out that I am writing this after 2 1/2 glasses of Pinot Grigio. Probably not a good idea, but let’s press on.

Mini Me ushered in another year of life. Luckily this is only the filler year between sixteen and eighteen so I didn’t have to take out a mortgage to pay for a birthday party. For the money I spent on last year’s shindig I should have acquired a son-in-law at least.

I was supposed to be on my way to Ghana instead of sitting in my living room but at the 99th hour, the Client bailed. They weren’t ready and thought it best to postpone the trip. So instead of sleeping in Frankfurt airport tomorrow, I will be attending a paternal family memorial in Tobago. What joy!

Don’t get me wrong. I love my family. But…

Three weekends ago I went to a maternal family memorial in Barbados. Reconnected with family I hadn’t seen since Moses was a boy and it was wonderful. Sitting poolside at the Hilton sipping a pina colada found myself pondering the question which has plagued me my whole life – what nationality am I?

Whenever people ask me where I’m from I have to take a beat. The truth is I don’t know. I think of myself as a British West Indian but not many people can relate to that.

Born in England to Tobagonian father, Bajan mother. Grew up in Trinidad ( a year in England and a year in Antigua as a toddler don’t count). Adult years spent in England, Mozambique and Trinidad, in that order. Confused? You bet I am. And did I mention that I’m an only child?

I like to think that I have a little bit of England, Trinidad and Barbados in me in unequal portions. The Brit in me loves order and Systems That Work. This person also loves Coronation St, Sainsbury’s, Christmas pudding and Daniel Craig. The Bajan in me loves Sandy Lane, pristine postcard beaches and service with a smile, not a scowl (A Certain Coffee Chain in T&T – I’m talking about you).

The Trini in me loves Carnival, getting on wassee and the cultural melting pot I call home. Does this make me schizophrenic? Maybe so. I laughed when a Bajan relative complained about pedestrians darting across traffic in Bridgetown. In Trinidad, pedestrians stroll across the road – on their cellphones – and dare you to bounce them.

So where does this leave Tobago? I struggle to place myself there.Being able to demolish a plate of crab and dumplings may not be enough proof that Tobago resides within me. Perhaps this weekend I’ll find out. The shared gene pool will gather and if we manage to get through the event without a Major Incident (unlikely) we may come to a common understanding (even more improbable). And who knows – I may finally recognise myself in my Tobago heritage.

I live in hope.

 

3 Comments | posted in Cirque de Westcott

February 22, 2012

Ode to Carnival

By trinijax

It’s that time of year in T&T. The festive season we Trinis look forward to. For me it means random teenagers taking over my house (“Hello Auntie!”) and glitter covered bed sheets by Ash Wednesday.

Carnival is the season of fashion disasters. The fashion police take a vacation while otherwise sane individuals wear outfits they would normally be jailed for. The sartorially challenged are in their glee. For them Carnival is an invitation to test the limits of spandex and colour combinations that would make Lady Gaga cringe.  Men seize the opportunity to tackle women who would normally repel them with mace; women throw inhibitions (and sometime panties) aside.

As Carnival approaches we willingly part with large sums to wear very little. Women in particular engage in activities they would not dream of doing at any other time of the year – chip miles through the streets of Port of Spain half naked. Cover their bodies in oil, mud and paint under cover of darkness.  Risk dog bite and broken bones to wine on a wall in Woodbrook; and squat furtively behind a parked car in the wee hours of Carnival Monday morning when no other option is available.

A popular saying in Trinidad is ‘Carnival can be enjoyed by everyone at their level’. The truth of the matter is Carnival is an expensive business. The average bikini and beads costume is a snip at a cool US$600. And don’t talk about the all inclusive fetes. Tickets for Lime at the Hyatt this year were a nifty US$300. And you still had to line up for food. Frankly, for that kind of money I want half naked pretty boys following me around with caviar and champagne while I wine on Daniel Craig.

Carnival is as much about survival of the fattest wallet as it is about stamina. The average all inclusive fete will set you back the equivalent of a car payment. Apart from the overpriced ticket, there are all the “must-haves” which complete the fete experience.  Outfit – $700. New shoes – $600. Mani Pedi – $300. Weave – $800. And that’s just the men. Women spend twice as much.

My fete experience this year was limited to the Prince of Port of Spain’s annual shindig on Chancellor Hill. As I observed the steady stream of partygoers making the trek up the hill I marvelled at the amazing number of people who don’t have mirrors in their homes. Ladies if your hair is four colours and two of those colours are yellow and blue – do not leave your house. That is not a hairstyle. That’s a parrot.

I found myself explaining the free bumper concept to English visitors on Carnival Sunday night. Carnival is the one time of the year when men have license to wine on any bam bam with abandon. Men are on a mission – grab, grip and grind. Many women enjoy the random encounter aka tiefing a wine from a complete stranger. Especially if the guy is hot.  If however your bottom is the recipient of some unwelcome zipper attention, take Benjai’s advice and wine to the side. Even Prophet Benjamin can’t throw wine on a hip. As a friend pointed out – best not to turn around because then you have to make a judgement call.

This year the band left without me. Literally. I decided to forego the mas experience (crazy, right?) after a particularly expensive year. House renovations deprived me of fun as well as funds.

Today I found myself in the unusual and unwelcome role of Carnival taxi driver, dropping Mini Me and her posse in Port of Spain. Looking at masqueraders hustling through the streets to find their band was torture. How could I be in Trinidad and NOT play mas? If I can’t play it, I don’t want to see it. Please – do not call me after you read this and tell me what a great time you had playing mas. I will cut you. If I didn’t have reports to complete, I would have been on the road. (I have to constantly remind people that I work for a living. It’s not all Vampire Diaries and Twitter).

They say absence make the heart grow fonder. I don’t know about that, but next year? Try keeping me out of the action. Save me a wine.

2 Comments | posted in Trinbago Fabulous

February 8, 2012

It’s A Family Affair

By trinijax

Cue Sly and the Family Stone.

This post is neither a recap nor a review of The Vampire Diaries Episode 313 Bringing Out The Dead. Rather it is a commentary on questions raised during the episode and my thoughts on them.

Bringing Out The Dead was a treat for TVD fans on many levels. Visually it was a  hunkfest with the slickest dinner party guests ever.

Originals and Salvatores – Oh My!

We learnt  more about the origins of the Originals, and were introduced to two new OVs. Caroline broke our hearts (again) and the mystery of who’s attacking the Council members deepened. It turns out Elena’s prints were on the murder weapon used to attack Bill Forbes.

How does the Mystic Falls PD even HAVE her fingerprints?? And Meredith conveniently had an alibi for the attack on Alaric.

Something doesn’t add up here. Meredith claims she discharged Daddy Forbes to shut him up, but Bill told Caroline someone jumped him when he was trying to sneak out of the hospital. Either Meredith is lying or….well I don’t know or what. I just don’t trust her. And did anyone else notice the look Matt gave Elena when they walked into her kitchen? (Seriously, haven’t these kids seen Scream?)

This is Mystic Falls and as far as I’m concerned, everyone is a suspect. Could the evil Katherine be involved somehow?

The dinner party illustrated yet more parallels between the Original and Salvatore Brothers. Klaus’s commentary on Elena’s future with the Salvatores was cruelly accurate and struck a chord with Damon at least.

Damon  began to realise that maybe –  just maybe – neither he nor Stefan  is the best man for Elena. Later on in the episode Stefan admitted he still loves Elena (shocked!), displaying another crack in his douchebag persona.

Klaus was the perfect host though, and entertained his guests with  delectable  fare of the culinary and human variety before indulging in a little after dinner drink.

Klaus’s reaction to Kol’s undaggering was interesting:

Why was Klaus so afraid of Kol? He seemed just as thrilled to see Finn:

But it was the arrival of  Mama Esther which struck  real terror into Klaus’s unbeating heart:

For the first time we saw a truly terrified – and cowering – Klaus, convinced he had literally met his maker.

Just what is Original Mama up to? Team Elijah appeared delighted to see her (not). What does she possess or know that can kill Klaus; and more importantly – who else knows about this? Katherine goaded Stefan into stealing the coffins for a reason. Our Kathy only acts out of self interest – what does she know about Mama O?

I’m still trying to figure out exactly what Mama O is. We know she isn’t a vampire, but is she a manifested ghost a la Anna and Vicki? Could her ultimate goal be to un-vamp the Originals with Rebekkah’s help (two generations, blood knot – natch). Yes I know Evil Blood Slut isn’t a witch, but even Klaus noted she has supernatural gifts beyond vampirism.

We are meant to believe that Esther emerged from her casket, KO’d the Bennet babes and legged it ASAP to the Klaus Haus.

Story lines are rarely that simple on TVD. I can’t help thinking something or someone else was in that coffin. I’m probably completely wrong but … it’s fun to speculate.

So many questions! I need answers! But enough from me. What do you think? Agree/disagree? Sound off in the comments below.

1 Comment | posted in The Vampire Diaries

February 2, 2012

Da Yaee Ghana

By trinijax

Time has moved on since my last blog. I’ve had four days to soak in a bit of Accra and get acquainted with the new client system. (FYI I’m on maximum strength Nexium. Taking in front…) My hotel is fine and I have no complaints except for the abundance of slim, pretty women working here. This is nature’s way of reminding me that there is no way in HELL I’ll have a Bliss costume-ready body by February 20th. But seriously, when did Ghana get all these gorgeous women? I forbid my husband to come here again.

My Ghanaian hosts were gracious, helpful and extremely pleased to have me with them. I had three productive and extremely busy days. It’s very detailed work, and the sort of stuff I love to do. They are trying to inveigle me to help them with a host of organisational issues. I’ve committed to visiting Ghana next month and we‘re discussing additional projects.

Whenever I visit any country where football, cricket or both are popular I inevitably get asked about Trinbago’s most famous sporting icons, and Ghana is no exception. What – we all know each other? The place is so small? Canny observers who pick up on my surname often follow up with “Are you related to…?” And then I have to concede that the country IS indeed that small and half of Buccoo and Patience Hill share my DNA. But there are benefits to living in a pimple on the South American continent – topics to be explored in future blog posts, perhaps.

Things I learned about Ghana:

Fact – Ghana had the world’s fastest  growing economy in 2011 according to the International Monetary Fund – a ridiculous 20.15% in the first half of 2011.

Fact – The traffic in Accra makes Bangkok look like a kiddies’ bumper car circuit.  Everyone drives like a Crystal Stream maxi-taxi driver. But on Wednesday night the roads were exceptionally clear. The Africa Cup of Nations is on and Ghana played Guinea last night. By 6pm every man, woman and stray dog was gathered around a TV.  Huge screens set up in Accra’s commercial district pulled large crowds. Ghana drew 1-1 with Guinea, putting them through to the quarter finals.

Fact – The Ghanaian Cedi is 1.66 to the US dollar. Sheesh – even if you reverse the numbers it’s still worth more than the Trini dollar. And we feel we’re so great.

Fact – Ghana is one of the most religious countries in the world; 90% of the population belong to an organised religion and believe in a higher being. What was it T&T is famous for again? Oh yeah – feting and bobol.

On Wednesday afternoon I got the opportunity to see beyond my hotel and the client’s building. I met up with some Trinis working here (we’re like Bruno Mars and salt – in everything) and they took me on a tour of the city.

Accra is a huge place (population 2.3M). Lonely Planet describes it as “Africa for Beginners” – a mixture of the modern and the traditional, with sufficient comforts to appease a Western palate. The people are friendly and despite what I read on the internet, the incidence of crime against foreigners is relatively low. Busy, dusty streets are packed with traffic, people and commerce. A visual smorgasbord of poverty, prosperity, religion, art and culture; all impatiently jostling for attention. I visited the Independence Square, Kwame Nkrumah Memorial Park (what’s the deal with African leaders and HUGE mausoleums?) and bought a few artefacts at the Art Center. I apologise for the poor quality pics – I was in a moving car, after all. Hopefully I’ll have more time to explore on my next visit.

Similar to Trinidad, hawkers converge on cars at traffic lights offering a variety of goods. Unlike Trinidad, the items for sale are somewhat…unusual. I’m used to people vending fruit, vegetables, even the odd As Seen On TV item. But fake Pringles chips (yes, fake Pringles), toilet paper, Scrabble games? SMH.

I spent my last night in Ghana at the Trini posse’s house (which was spectacular) watching the football and chilling out before trekking to the airport. I don’t know what I enjoyed more – the lime or watching the intense expression on their Ghanaian colleague’s face as he concentrated on the match.

All too soon my Ghanaian adventure was over and I was boarding a United Airlines flight bound for the USA. BTW – anybody reading this remember what Piarco airport was like 25 years ago? THAT is Accra’s airport today. Nuff said.

So now I’m sitting in Washington Dulles airport passing time before my next flight. New blog posts will appear on Sunday evening/Monday morning depending on your time zone. Have an opinion on this post? Sound off in the comments below. Ta ta for now!

3 Comments | posted in Travel

January 30, 2012

Greetings from Ghana

By trinijax

I arrived in Ghana dishevelled and reeking of vomit. But let’s start at the beginning, shall we?

Previously on The Trini Travel Diaries…(cue harps and blurry wave motion visuals)

To quote my mother, Ghana ain’t here. It’s FAR. And getting there involved a two day journey over three continents. I set off from sunny T&T on a Friday morning bound for cold, foggy New York. Considering I was on a flight which originated in Guyana, this leg of the journey was trouble free. Apologies to all Guyanese but you guys KNOW what I’m talking about.

Arrived in JFK with three hours to kill and per diem burning a hole in my handbag. Checked in for my next flight (to Frankfurt) and gravitated towards the nearest place offering food and alcohol. Before long I was tucking into a caesar salad and much needed glass of Pinot Grigio. Incidentally, I was delighted to be asked for ID when I placed my order, although a dear friend in the UK pointed out this was probably standard practice for all patrons. I disagree. The couple who followed me weren’t carded. So what if they were both salt and pepper grey and wearing Burberry raincoats? They could have been mature teenagers.

Before I knew it I was on a Lufthansa aircraft heading to Frankfurt. Top class service, roomy seats, and who can argue with an airline that has wifi on transatlantic flights? Pity I was in cattle class and didn’t experience that last perk. It was the first time I’d been on an aircraft where one had to go downstairs to the loo. Or should I say loos – five off them snuggled together. Yes, this was a big-ass plane.

I slept most of the eight hour flight, apart from two hours devoted to ogling Jake Gyllenhaal in Love and Other Drugs (I could write a blog post about him alone – but I digress). Before I blinked twice, it was time to spreken zie Deutsch.

I love the continental European approach to immigration. I got off the plane and basically wandered uninterrupted around the airport for several hours. I was asked to show my passport once – after I had already been in the airport for a good two hours. The official barely glanced at it and waved me on.

Mega kudos to Frankfurt airport for having miniature chilled bottles of Proseco available for sale at 6 am in the morning. This should be mandatory in all international airports. Did I mention that it was Saturday by this time?

What does one do when you have an eight hour layover? Find a comfortable place to sleep for a few hours – again kudos to Frankfurt airport for having reclining lounge chairs at the departure gates – and engage in not too surreptitious people watching.  Frankfurt has an amazingly high percentage of celebrity doppelgangers. In swear I saw Jackie Chan, Jeremy Irons, Shah Rukh Khan and Joan Collins.

By the time I boarded the second Lufthansa plane for the final seven hour leg of my journey, I was feeling a bit weary and my stomach was starting to complain about the strange mixture of food I had ingested. (My philosophy on eating while travelling is simple – eat everything put in front of you because you have no idea when or where the next meal is coming from). This might explain why  I threw up as soon as the plane landed in Accra. The Ghanaian man sitting next to me hurriedly shoved a plastic bag in my face – I was too mortified to look at him, let alone say thank you. I remember thinking “Blast! Not the Coach handbag!”

Which brings me back to the start of this post. I arrived in Ghana dishevelled…yadda yadda. So far my first visit to Ghana was following the Westerner Travels to the Dark Continent Movie Plot. I had the obligatory argument with the sour-faced immigration official “Where’s your visa?” who tried – and failed – to make me pay $100US for a visa I didn’t need.

Two static-filled phone calls to the hotel established that no-one was at the airport to meet me, “But he’s on his way ma’am”. I was started to get a bit irked by the steady stream of strange men  offering to take me wherever I needed to go. It was 8pm on Saturday night and I was tired and in need of a shower.

The driver finally turned up and it was a short ride to the hotel. Of course when I got there I found out my reservation had been cancelled (they thought I was arriving the previous night) but Akuna Matata – soon sorted out.

The hotel is adequate – no ants sharing the bed this time a la South African experience. I did get a bit concerned when the maid turned up this evening to spray the room. Spray for what?? I don’t want to know.

Slept all day today; rising only briefly to have breakfast and crawl back into bed. Around 4pm I decided I’d better do some work. Yes, work – I’m not here on a jolly. There are actually people willing to transport me half way around the world and pay for my expertise (I pity the fools…).

Tomorrow is my first day on Client premises. I’ll be practising my intelligent-and-interested face until I fall asleep. Which will be soon. Stay tuned for the next thrilling installment of “Trini Girl Lands Big Wuk in Foreign”.

9 Comments | posted in Travel

January 29, 2012

Is Everybody’s Family Crazy Or Is It Just Mine?

By trinijax

My children will disown me, but the time has come to share the exploits of Cirque de Westcott with the world. My friends on Facebook already know my family leads a rather….unconventional…lifestyle. But it’s normal to us and fueled by  love, hard work, and an underlying belief – do good always. Karma is a bitch and she WILL get you.

I can’t promise to blog weekly, but I will write semi-regularly. And it will be good. In addition to the crazy goings on in my family, expect rants on topics I’m passionate about:  The Vampire Diaries (well, DUH), social consciousness, politics, sports, books and music. Incidentally, I dreamt Jay-Z and my husband were golf buddies last night. But I digress. Enjoy the blog and please tell me what you think.

5 Comments | posted in Uncategorized