I know, I know, this is old news by now. I'm trying to catch up!
February saw me FINALLY take a real vacation, after all the hectic messes from the last few months. Steven, as you know, is basically the protagonist in my story, which is a little unfair, because it's
my story, but I've learned to live with it. After all, you can't be mad at Steven. You really can't: it's impossible. He's like a marshmallow in a human suit. (I'm assuming he doesn't read my stuff, so it's safe to say that.) Anyways, Steven had this whole trip planned to Trinidad for Carnival. A few other groups of volunteers had similar plans, and I had attempted, but everyone in my group bailed, and I was really crushed by it. Enter Steven, who swooped in just in time with a casual "hey, a spot opened up, wanna come with us?" and saved the day. I love that boy.
I'm going to skip all the boring stuff about filling out the PC forms, and the eye-twitch-and-rage-inducing process of trying to buy plane tickets on shaky Rupununi wi-fi, and the Murphy's Law style of Guyanese travel, and go right to when everything started going perfectly and I could finally relax: when the plane touched down in Trinidad.
Scratch that. When the plane touched down in Trinidad, all our phones lit up with all the Embassy warnings about terrorists planning attacks on Carnival, and J'Ouvert in particular (don't tell my mother that part. She'll worry. Mom, don't read that.)
With all the confidence that comes from telling yourself "that could never happen to me" we decided to ignore the warnings, and proceeded to never think about them again. Okay, for real, it's good from here on out.
Couchsurfing. It's this amazing thing, where instead of a hotel, you either meet the coolest people, or you get murdered in a stranger's house. Couchsurfing and hostels are the best ways to travel when you're young and broke. Steven, with his infallible luck, managed to find the best couchsurfing house in the world. Our host, Kyle, was like the concierge in the swankiest hotel, catering to our every need like we were Beyonce and her entourage. I'm not even exaggerating. We had half his house to ourselves (a big group of "surfers") and he picked us up at the airport, arranged all our activities from hikes to swimming in the ocean, to tracking down J'Ouvert tickets for us, and he even let us use his washing machine (that may seem like it's in the wrong order, but I've been handwashing all my clothes for almost two years now, so that's a pretty big deal to me.)
At Kyles house, our group of Steven, Catherine (a Guyana PCV from Region Ten), Catherine's friend Lilly and I were joined by Astrid from Denmark, Tjark from Germany, Ken from Japan, and Sandy from the States. One of Kyle's friends was also hosting several people, so we also had Eric from the States, and a revolving door of other international folk. You'd think it would be crowded, but no. Kyle's house, continuing our trend of luck, could have fit even more, easily. Even better, our fellow revelers were so chill we actually
enjoyed hanging out with them. Shocking, I know.
Day one (when we flew in) we stopped by a little house party hosted by some friends of Kyle's. Free dinner and drinks, even. Who DOES that anymore?! One very drunk local man decided to give Steven tips on dancing with the ladies. I wish I'd filmed it, because I almost couldn't breathe for laughing. Now that in Trinidad guys have to get consent (yay!) before "winin' up" on the ladies, there's a method to asking when there's loud music playing. For girls, there's a special look of disgust you're supposed to use on the guys. Excellent advice from Mr. Drunky, and some wonderful demonstrations. Steven and the other boys didn't have much trouble with it; they got mobbed by the ladies almost immediately.
Day two was a stunning hike to see a few waterfalls and swim all day. Trinidad is
gorgeous, and Kyle knew all the best spots. I was all prepared with my waterproof camera, but it lied to me about its own battery, and died way too soon. You're just going to have to trust me that the second waterfall was even better than the first.
 |
| Steven carried all our beer bottles in his pockets. He might be my favorite hiking accessory. |
 |
| After all the black water in Guyana, clear water was almost shocking |
 |
| Sunshine and swimming: who could ask for more |
 |
| Apparently the guys were slightly less aquatic |
We also did another hike to another swimming hole, caught the tail end of the Doubles Festival (Doubles are a delicious street food. I ate about a million.), and tried more local food on this pretty little roadside pull-off that overlooks the city. Palourie and sour, and chicken feet. Yum. (No, I'm kidding. Chicken feet are not
bad but they're not that
good either. The taste is fine, but the texture is like meat jello.)
 |
| Ken, always the life of the party |
J'Ouvert was the day we'd specifically gone for: The all-night dance party. J'Ouvert is where everyone parties all night long out in the streets. Each group flings different stuff at each other, and takes different routes, which are kept secret until that night. You pay a price and get a goodie bag and drinks all night. THERE ARE BAR TRUCKS. Driving (veeerrry very slowly, to keep pace with drunk dance people) all along with you are mobile bars, mobile speakers so the music is always blaring, and even --- wait for it *drum roll* PORTA POTTY TRUCKS. Picture a big 18-wheeler, but with a dozen porta potties on the back, and remarkably not as disgusting as you'd expect from a bunch of drunks. This is the best idea ever. Why don't ALL parades have this? The dancing started at around midnight, and trailed off around ten AM. All along the way, everyone is dancing, drinking, and flinging mud and clay and paint and water and all sorts of other weird things at you, so you come out of it soggy, colorful, and super gross. It's fantastic.
 |
| Music truck at the start of the night. Notice how clean it is |
 |
| We started out clean too... |
 |
| ... it didn't last |
Instead of passing out immediately afterwards, Kyle collected us and took us to the ocean. Most just passed out on the beach, but a couple of us had almost as much fun playing in the waves as we had dancing. The lifeguard kept yelling at me, because I was going too far out. Killjoy. The day concluded with a delicious meal of Shark and Bake at the beach (bake is a food, not an activity. I know what you were thinking.) Then we showered off all the paint and mud and sand and salt, and then passed out.
 |
| Hard to tell if it was the waves or the partying that made it so hard to keep our balance |
 |
| Ken braving all the hazards for that one perfect picture |
 |
| Screw you, lifeguard. I may be tiny and unable to stand up in the waves, but I can swim like a drunk little fish. |
 |
| Paradise can be a little crowded, but we managed to find a good spot before long |
 |
| Catherine and Lilly, with their Shark and Bake |
We also ventured out to a boat tour of a bird sanctuary, to watch the scarlet ibises fly in to roust. Hundreds of them. We had to be quite a distance away, so my pictures don't do it justice, but it was beautiful. Sunset on the water, and patches of brilliant red dotting the lush green of the trees, like giant strawberry plants. Mmmmm strawberries. I've almost forgotten what those taste like...
 |
| Our fantastic host, Kyle |
 |
| Ummm... |
 |
| Look how relaxed I am! |
Sorry, I'm getting distracted. We did
not eat the birds.
Our last Carnival activity was the Mas. That's the big bright parade with all the crazy costumes. We were informed that most of the outfits cost
thousands. Bikinis with feathers and sequins. THOUSANDS. Apparently so many people
take out bank loans in order to pay for the outfits (which you can only wear one year) that there are banks that
specialize in Carnival loans. Bonkers. Granted, some of the outfits are
spectacular but we were told that even the ones that look like they were put together in someone's basement cost several hundred. I didn't take many photos of that, but here are some of the crazier ones that probably cost more than your rent:
 |
| We tried to take a selfie with this guy, but it turns out I'm really bad at selfies |
 |
| Often the dancers will jump out of the parade and dance with you |
 |
| Clive (our guide to the waterfalls) poses with his minuscule costume (so tiny it's entirely hidden in this photo) |
 |
| Stilt walkers taking a break on a wall. They dance on those things like you wouldn't believe |
 |
| This woman was posing every step of the way, with the fiercest expressions. She's my new hero. |
 |
| Makeup on point |
Flying home was hard. I didn't want to go.
Kyle says I can come back next year though.
