The Royal Palm Suite Maraval

I decided to take advantage of my paid vacation and spend two weeks in Trinidad and Tobago. My good friend Kevin Fortune, who I met in college, is from Trinidad and was a phenomenal tour guide. I stayed away from computers, cell phones and any reading materials related to the economy and/or the environment. <br><br> <br>

... at the Nature Seekers office in the white diesel flatbed truck, as he had most nights. The truck was extra full, since the following day was a Trini holiday, meaning that the beach would be swarmed tonight with mobs of tourists. We took our final drive through the streets of Matura, busy this night with men standing outside shops and bars, exchanging un-understandable jaw-jacking with the young guys on our truck---then lots of laughter and watching them disappear into the distance ...

... all of our teammates had disappeared. We assumed that Rodger and the guide had simply looped out of our sight to the far side of the island...but where were the others? I looked back and far off in the distance, between the rise and fall of the swells and the glints of sun bouncing off the water, I made out the shapes of two kayaks. But I didn't see any people. And the kayaks looked strange. I squinted and squinted and realized that was I was looking at was ...

... Christopher Mitchell how much of a crime problem is in Matura. Christopher said, "There is no crime."<br><br>I didn't know this until just recently, but every evening when the volunteers leave Suzan's Guesthouse for the beach, Suzan's husband, Baptiste stays behind. I thought it was because of Baptiste's bum knee and one-eyed status, rendering him challenged for beach patrols. But I found out that the reason Baptiste stays behind is to watch the house. Apparently everyone ...

... of the tagging, and bucked her head and front flippers upward...I barely missed getting clocked. And in the funniest execution of turtle-science yet, one girl finished laying and covering her nest, and by the time we reached her, she was starting to drag herself down the beach to re-enter the ocean. We saw that she had been previously tagged and we decided to try to record her tag numbers. Now, it's dark, the tags are small and shiny, and they're ...

... except for the constant rush and roll of the surf...when it was truly quiet, I sat next to her in the cool sand. I turned off my red headlamp and her shape and shadows were transformed by the bright moon. I could hear her groan and her long breaths, and thick salty streams dropped from her eyes. This was the time when she was like a human in a coma...aware of my presence on some level, but not alert to anything other than the baseball sized warm eggs that were dropping into the ...

... the ocean and the Orozco River where we'd be swimming. As I was scouting around a while later, I observed that this sandbar was like a bizarre vulture campground experience. There were areas that looked like fire pits (I was fairly certain the vultures weren't responsible for those), littered with human-type objects like bottles, bottlecaps, flip-flop remains (I'm also certain the vultures weren't wearing flip-flops). And layered amidst the camping ...

... with illegal substances.) The other common expression we have heard is "brain flood," or "to flood one's brain," also assocated with the numbing of one's brain with various substances! People surely move to a different beat and on a different (read non-existent) timetable. We are working at slowing down!

... we didn't get up to much except get flights sorted for our trip to Venezuela (Things like that take time here in T&amp;T!!) as the ferry route was not gonna work out for us. So that's the story until now folks. I'll conclude with a few facts about T&amp;T: 1. They drive on the left side of the road here (just in case ye were wondering). 2. Although they speak english here, it may aswell be a foreign language!!! The accent is very strong. 3. There is a ...

... short ring of the cuatro, looked at the "arrecho" (angry) sea, and passed a bottle of rum. A large group of us had come to Maracas Bay for a Saturday. Fedora, Willfreddy, Gerardo, Caracas. Our bags rested beneath a bamboo lifeguard's hut. We rested on the orange, cushion-comfortable beach that contrasted with the 300 surrounding degrees of treacherous jungle summits like a diamond in mud. As usual, we eventually had to give up on the sun penetrating the ...