Tobago after diving
Now we had our own transport, it was time to explore the island a bit more. The Dutch people we'd met on our arrival in Speyside had been singing the praises of the small town of Castara on the north end of the Caribbean coast, so we decided to head up that way.
Esther had been diligently reading the weekend newspaper travel sections, and had read about a place that looked very nice and relaxing, in a minimalist-but-cool way. It also had its own kitchen so we could save a bit of cash by eating in for once, maybe having something other than chicken or shrimp. We survived our first road journey unscathed, and arrived in Castara mid-afternoon. Again we were greeted by a fantastic bay view as we descended the hill into town. Some teenagers were hanging around by the bridge at the start of the town, and all eyes followed us as we rumbled by. We looked out for signs as we drove through but the buildings thinned out and trees took over, and we decided to turn around and look harder. The teenagers were still watching as we rumbled by in the other direction and all eyes followed us again. Still no sign of it. Turn again, and this time decided to ask the kids. They seemed to compete to be the one to give us directions, but the general consensus was to go all through town again, and turn at the bar where everyone was liming. As we left, one called out "Hey man, I like your wife!". I think Esther appreciated being appreciated, even if was by a 12 year old. We finally found a cottage with the name of the place we were looking for, but it looked like a private residence. There was a small building site next door and no sign of anyone. We'd phoned ahead to check availability so this seemed a bit odd. We called again, and someone appeared from nowhere to show us a cottage. Well, we knew it was meant to be basic, but it seemed just a bit too basic for the money they were asking. I asked where the other guests were, and the highly-rated restaurant. Unfortunately it was no more. The building site is all that was left, just a couple of forlorn looking concrete columns with steel poking out the top. We'd seen the place the Dutch people had recommended on our various passes through the village, so decided to give that a go instead.
We drove up their improbably steep driveway and pulled in. Before we'd had a chance to get out of the car, a chap looking a little like Johnny Rotten bounded over saying "Welcome to Sandcastles!" with an English accent. Adam, for that was his name, showed us a room which, while it had no kitchen, was pleasant enough. We asked what the options were for food, and he said he often cooked for guests. In fact he had a full menu of pleasantly varied dishes. He had a group of Germans staying that evening, and would be cooking for them, but could fit us in too. And becuase we were eating with him, we'd get a discount on the room. Sorted.
It felt a little odd being cooked for. I know that technically that's what happens in a restaurant, it feels different when you meet the chef and his family (Ria, his wife, the incredibly cute baby daughter Lizzie, and the more-soppy-than-cute pit-bulls, BigBoy, Xena and Marbles).
The Germans arrived shortly before dinner, and lo and behold it was the tatooed gang from Speyside. They decided to eat on the terrace by their room, so we were invited over to the large table next to the kitchen. It was a great atmosphere. Adam and Ria were very chatty and gave us the lowdown on the area. The place we were originally going to be staying in was being pulled down a bit at a time and being sold off. The owner had had enough, as was cashing in on property prices (well, land prices - the buildings came down when they were lent on heavily). Adam said that the place had been a victim of its own success. The glossy supplements in the papers led to a lot of well-to-do Brits to expect rather more than the reality, and meant people were being disappointed. Adam had lived in the area for about ten years, longer than tourists had been coming in any numbers and seen the place change a lot in that decade, from outsider animosity to pretty much a full embrace of the change. But the town still had a sleepy backwater feel to it, and certainly wasn't overrun with tourism.
When dinner arrived, it was as nice as the testimonials with the menu had indicated. We had a pumpkin soup, served in the pumpkin with various ingredients that Adam refused to divulge. There was definitely brie in there but beyond that my tastebuds could discern little other than that it was delicious. The main course of a baked fish for me (caught that day by the fisherman in the village, and therefore a secret to both me and Adam until only shortly before), and a jumbo prawn dish for Esther was also very good. Lovely with a bottle of good French Bordeaux (yes, I know it was red, but we'd not had good experiences with wine in Tobago so far and really fancied it). Adam couldn't stop talking about the lovely tenderloin he was determined to cook us the next day, and at that point we agreed we'd splash out.
We spent the next day touring the island;
Englishman's Bay was a stunning crescent of white sand fringed with palm trees and framed by cliffs. We were the first on the beach, and only saw one or two other couples in the two or three hours as we relaxed. We also saw our first manchineel trees. It's not often I get nervous around trees, but these have a bit of a reputation. The fruit is highly poisonous, and the sap can cause painful blisters. In fact even the rainwater run-off can cause blisters, so it's unadvisable to use them for shelter.
We drove on around the island and stopped at the Arnos Grove Hotel for a nose around. It's set in a few acres of rainforest, and a bird-watchers paradise. The bar is up amongst the tree canopy and birds flit through the open room very at ease. A parrot also seemed very at home amongst the furniture and would climb the rattan chairs with his claws and beak in that endearing way parrots do. I love these birds, There seems to be a lot going on in their heads, and they have distinct personalities. Unfortunately the cocktails were not so impressive. Horribly sweet and decidedly disappointing.
On up to the northernmost tip to Charlotteville near Speyside which had had the fête the previous week. It was a quiet town with a pleasant beach and a few small boats bobbing about in the bay. A relaxing place to sit on the quayside with our legs dangling over the edge, sipping on a Carib.
By this time we'd driven around most of the island, so it was time to head back for the tenderloin. But alas, there was no tenderloin to be had. Adam had tried to persuade his butcher to sell him the cut he wanted, but he hadn't got to that point on the cow yet. Something like that anyway. So into town to the restaurant for yet another choice from a menu listed as "chicken, shrimp, lobster", though this time it was surprisingly good.
The next morning we wanted to move away from the beach and into the rainforest to an eco-lodge. We said goodbye to Adam, Ria, Lizzie and the dogs and drove off to get a phone signal to call the lodge. When we got hold of them, it was bad news. No, it wasn't full, but the opposite. They were empty so had given the staff the day off. So, back to Castara for one more night, and finally the tenderloin. I think Adam was pleased he could finally cook it for us, and nice it was too - worth waiting for.
After our false start we made it to the lodge. It was no longer empty, but that's because we were there. It was odd. Occasionally you'd see someone around, but the place was as shut as it could be without actually refusing guests.
There was no chance of getting food in the restuarant, but we had the cheap room with a kitchen, so cooked for ourselves for the first time since leaving London. I'm not quite sure in what sense it was and eco-lodge. It seemed to be a hotel in a forest, but there was nothing particularly "eco" about it. Rooms with air-conditioning don't seem either ecological, economical or environmentally friendly to me. Anyway, we went on a walk with Desmond who seemed to double up as both tour guide and odd-job man. In fact this was his second job; he worked as a dustman in Scarborough, the capital, early in the mornings. He was a bright man, and had an informed view of topics ranging from world politics and religion to environmental issues. Most learnt from the Discovery Channel, but that's not such a bad thing. I couldn't help think it unfair that he was working in two menial jobs. In addition to this, he worked hard in the community via his church. 
His faith is Seventh Day Adventist which is not something I knew much about, and still don't but I now know it has its roots in Judaism which was a surprise to me. As you can probably tell, the conversation on our hike wasn't really focussed on the rainforest, but occasionally we'd see something to bring us back to the matter at hand. We got to see our first live snake in the wild. A small green tree snake was hanging off a branch over the path. After Desmond assured us it was safe we got close enough to snap a few pictures of it to add to our dangerous animal collection (we just won't tell anyone it wasn't poisonous).
Apart from the wide ranging chat with Desmond the so-called hike was rather disappointing considering we'd paid a lot for it. It only lasted an hour and a half or so, and was hardly good practice for what we'd be doing on the hike to Machu Pichu in Peru. Stilll, it was a change from the beach.
Our time in Tobago was drawing to a close, so it was back to Crown Point for our one night before our flight over to Trinidad. Bonkers the parrot was still as chatty as ever, and we relaxed watching the rain come down. Looks like we were leaving Tobago at the right time.
Esther had been diligently reading the weekend newspaper travel sections, and had read about a place that looked very nice and relaxing, in a minimalist-but-cool way. It also had its own kitchen so we could save a bit of cash by eating in for once, maybe having something other than chicken or shrimp. We survived our first road journey unscathed, and arrived in Castara mid-afternoon. Again we were greeted by a fantastic bay view as we descended the hill into town. Some teenagers were hanging around by the bridge at the start of the town, and all eyes followed us as we rumbled by. We looked out for signs as we drove through but the buildings thinned out and trees took over, and we decided to turn around and look harder. The teenagers were still watching as we rumbled by in the other direction and all eyes followed us again. Still no sign of it. Turn again, and this time decided to ask the kids. They seemed to compete to be the one to give us directions, but the general consensus was to go all through town again, and turn at the bar where everyone was liming. As we left, one called out "Hey man, I like your wife!". I think Esther appreciated being appreciated, even if was by a 12 year old. We finally found a cottage with the name of the place we were looking for, but it looked like a private residence. There was a small building site next door and no sign of anyone. We'd phoned ahead to check availability so this seemed a bit odd. We called again, and someone appeared from nowhere to show us a cottage. Well, we knew it was meant to be basic, but it seemed just a bit too basic for the money they were asking. I asked where the other guests were, and the highly-rated restaurant. Unfortunately it was no more. The building site is all that was left, just a couple of forlorn looking concrete columns with steel poking out the top. We'd seen the place the Dutch people had recommended on our various passes through the village, so decided to give that a go instead.
We drove up their improbably steep driveway and pulled in. Before we'd had a chance to get out of the car, a chap looking a little like Johnny Rotten bounded over saying "Welcome to Sandcastles!" with an English accent. Adam, for that was his name, showed us a room which, while it had no kitchen, was pleasant enough. We asked what the options were for food, and he said he often cooked for guests. In fact he had a full menu of pleasantly varied dishes. He had a group of Germans staying that evening, and would be cooking for them, but could fit us in too. And becuase we were eating with him, we'd get a discount on the room. Sorted.
It felt a little odd being cooked for. I know that technically that's what happens in a restaurant, it feels different when you meet the chef and his family (Ria, his wife, the incredibly cute baby daughter Lizzie, and the more-soppy-than-cute pit-bulls, BigBoy, Xena and Marbles).The Germans arrived shortly before dinner, and lo and behold it was the tatooed gang from Speyside. They decided to eat on the terrace by their room, so we were invited over to the large table next to the kitchen. It was a great atmosphere. Adam and Ria were very chatty and gave us the lowdown on the area. The place we were originally going to be staying in was being pulled down a bit at a time and being sold off. The owner had had enough, as was cashing in on property prices (well, land prices - the buildings came down when they were lent on heavily). Adam said that the place had been a victim of its own success. The glossy supplements in the papers led to a lot of well-to-do Brits to expect rather more than the reality, and meant people were being disappointed. Adam had lived in the area for about ten years, longer than tourists had been coming in any numbers and seen the place change a lot in that decade, from outsider animosity to pretty much a full embrace of the change. But the town still had a sleepy backwater feel to it, and certainly wasn't overrun with tourism.
When dinner arrived, it was as nice as the testimonials with the menu had indicated. We had a pumpkin soup, served in the pumpkin with various ingredients that Adam refused to divulge. There was definitely brie in there but beyond that my tastebuds could discern little other than that it was delicious. The main course of a baked fish for me (caught that day by the fisherman in the village, and therefore a secret to both me and Adam until only shortly before), and a jumbo prawn dish for Esther was also very good. Lovely with a bottle of good French Bordeaux (yes, I know it was red, but we'd not had good experiences with wine in Tobago so far and really fancied it). Adam couldn't stop talking about the lovely tenderloin he was determined to cook us the next day, and at that point we agreed we'd splash out.
We spent the next day touring the island;
Englishman's Bay was a stunning crescent of white sand fringed with palm trees and framed by cliffs. We were the first on the beach, and only saw one or two other couples in the two or three hours as we relaxed. We also saw our first manchineel trees. It's not often I get nervous around trees, but these have a bit of a reputation. The fruit is highly poisonous, and the sap can cause painful blisters. In fact even the rainwater run-off can cause blisters, so it's unadvisable to use them for shelter.We drove on around the island and stopped at the Arnos Grove Hotel for a nose around. It's set in a few acres of rainforest, and a bird-watchers paradise. The bar is up amongst the tree canopy and birds flit through the open room very at ease. A parrot also seemed very at home amongst the furniture and would climb the rattan chairs with his claws and beak in that endearing way parrots do. I love these birds, There seems to be a lot going on in their heads, and they have distinct personalities. Unfortunately the cocktails were not so impressive. Horribly sweet and decidedly disappointing.
On up to the northernmost tip to Charlotteville near Speyside which had had the fête the previous week. It was a quiet town with a pleasant beach and a few small boats bobbing about in the bay. A relaxing place to sit on the quayside with our legs dangling over the edge, sipping on a Carib.By this time we'd driven around most of the island, so it was time to head back for the tenderloin. But alas, there was no tenderloin to be had. Adam had tried to persuade his butcher to sell him the cut he wanted, but he hadn't got to that point on the cow yet. Something like that anyway. So into town to the restaurant for yet another choice from a menu listed as "chicken, shrimp, lobster", though this time it was surprisingly good.
The next morning we wanted to move away from the beach and into the rainforest to an eco-lodge. We said goodbye to Adam, Ria, Lizzie and the dogs and drove off to get a phone signal to call the lodge. When we got hold of them, it was bad news. No, it wasn't full, but the opposite. They were empty so had given the staff the day off. So, back to Castara for one more night, and finally the tenderloin. I think Adam was pleased he could finally cook it for us, and nice it was too - worth waiting for.
After our false start we made it to the lodge. It was no longer empty, but that's because we were there. It was odd. Occasionally you'd see someone around, but the place was as shut as it could be without actually refusing guests.
There was no chance of getting food in the restuarant, but we had the cheap room with a kitchen, so cooked for ourselves for the first time since leaving London. I'm not quite sure in what sense it was and eco-lodge. It seemed to be a hotel in a forest, but there was nothing particularly "eco" about it. Rooms with air-conditioning don't seem either ecological, economical or environmentally friendly to me. Anyway, we went on a walk with Desmond who seemed to double up as both tour guide and odd-job man. In fact this was his second job; he worked as a dustman in Scarborough, the capital, early in the mornings. He was a bright man, and had an informed view of topics ranging from world politics and religion to environmental issues. Most learnt from the Discovery Channel, but that's not such a bad thing. I couldn't help think it unfair that he was working in two menial jobs. In addition to this, he worked hard in the community via his church. 
His faith is Seventh Day Adventist which is not something I knew much about, and still don't but I now know it has its roots in Judaism which was a surprise to me. As you can probably tell, the conversation on our hike wasn't really focussed on the rainforest, but occasionally we'd see something to bring us back to the matter at hand. We got to see our first live snake in the wild. A small green tree snake was hanging off a branch over the path. After Desmond assured us it was safe we got close enough to snap a few pictures of it to add to our dangerous animal collection (we just won't tell anyone it wasn't poisonous).Apart from the wide ranging chat with Desmond the so-called hike was rather disappointing considering we'd paid a lot for it. It only lasted an hour and a half or so, and was hardly good practice for what we'd be doing on the hike to Machu Pichu in Peru. Stilll, it was a change from the beach.
Our time in Tobago was drawing to a close, so it was back to Crown Point for our one night before our flight over to Trinidad. Bonkers the parrot was still as chatty as ever, and we relaxed watching the rain come down. Looks like we were leaving Tobago at the right time.
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