Lazy, rainy days

Our first full day on the upper Caribbean coast called for a bit of a lie in, with shutters the whole length of the front wall thrown open in the morning to take full advantage of the feeling of almost sleeping in the tree tops. The rest of the day was spent lazing by the poolside, reading on the balcony and generally relaxing. When a bit of exercise was called for we explored the beautiful grounds of the property that was our home for the week. A garden planted with banana, coconut and other unidentified fruit trees, laid out on a steep hillside that dropped away to a creek complete with small waterfall, and on down towards the sea further round. Throw in an infinity pool where we could float admiring the stunning ocean views, teeming bird life including resident hummingbirds, and we had an idyllic place for a lazy holiday.

Night times were becoming more routine now. Darkness falls, mosquito coils and citronella candles are lit, a fan moved to the balcony, dinner (fish delivered by Dwight and barbecued) taken on the balcony. Then a bit of reading, gazing out at the fireflies flitting through the garden, perhaps a visit from the affable Dwight to check up on us, and then early to bed. Once we figured out the cars going past at night were slowing down for the large potholes just up the road rather then to case the joint it was easier to ignore the strange night time noises and sleep rather easier too.

The next morning, Sunday, was spent much the same way. We resolved to venture further afield in the afternoon, perhaps to explore the nearby beaches and do a bit of snorkelling. While we ate lunch the heavens opened. So we lazed and read on the balcony instead, while the rain poured down the rest of the afternoon and into the night. Monday morning the rain had stopped and we even glimpsed the sun. So we jumped in the car and headed off for a tour round the north end of the island, with the intention of perhaps doing a boat trip with some snorkelling on the reefs at Speyside. Along the twisting, diving, climbing coast road we went. Past Parlatuvier, past Bloody Bay, past Man of War Bay, through rain showers towards Charlotteville, where we stopped in an unexpected burst of sunshine for a short stroll on the beach. Then we carried on, up Flagstaff Hill for the views of Man of War Bay and St Giles Island at the northern tip of Tobago, down again and on to Speyside, where we stopped for a drink at a beachside café. While we considered a boat trip the wind got up, the waves crashed a little louder on the beach, and then the clouds burst open. We decided to stay on for lunch, and as the rain continued unceasing, we abandoned the boat trip idea.

After a long lunch we headed back down the Atlantic coast with the idea of perhaps visiting Argyle waterfall, Tobago's highest. But the rain still came down, showed no sign of stopping, even getting heavier as we passed the entrance. We thus abandoned further sightseeing for the day and headed up the road over the middle of the island, through the rainforest. Negotiating potholes, hairpins, rain water cascading across the road, we eventually reached the top and breathed a sigh of relief as we dropped back down towards Bloody Bay. The worst seemed over, but a mere kilometre or so from the coast road, the tarmac disappeared. We bumped and crawled our way on through the rain, somewhat nervous about the rather soft front tyre on our hire car but in the end we made it home without mishap.

The rain continued through the evening and night, but early in the morning it stopped. Tuesday was our last full day in Tobago, and we ventured out once more. This time we headed south to Englishman's Bay, a postcard beach, which we had completely to ourselves. A stroll from one end to the other, then some snorkelling on the rocks at the north end, which hosted a few small colonies of coral and teemed with fish, a small moray, box fish, schools of blue tangs and surgeonfish among them. Then we drove on in search of a roadside fruit stall, which we eventually found south of Castara. On the way back we stopped off to admire the views of Castara and Englishman's bay before returning for our last night in Parlatuvier. A night that was loudly interrupted by a deafening noise rather like a strangled whooping, which emanated from the road just behind the cottage. Tentatively we ventured out onto the road to investigate and were greeted by flashing blue lights. It was the local police stopping by to check that we were okay at the solicitous Dwight's request. The man himself soon appeared, saw the nice policemen off and explained that the loudhailer horns on the police jeep were full of water. Hence the weird noise.

In the morning we packed, cleaned, bid a long adieu to Dwight and finally headed for the airport. With no stop off, the overnight flight back to London was rather quicker and more balanced nosh-wise. We landed at rainy Gatwick just after seven in the morning. After picking up a hire car we headed for Bromley, where la soeur had left her car chez the honeymooning petit frère. When the key he'd given us failed to open the back door, all three of us almost lay down and curled up to sleep in the rain, but the lock eventually gave in to a bit of desperate fiddling and we were in. A quick shower before we went our separate ways, la soeur back oop North, us the short hop to Bexleyheath for a siesta with a rude awakening by two excitable young boys…