An Afternoon In San Fernando; Something's Different.

The world is always an interesting place, and when I got an automated phone call this morning from Telecommunications Services of Trinidad and Tobago (TSTT) threatened to cut off my access to you unless I left the house and paid them. So I hustled around the house, broke the small emergency fund out (since the people at GenderWSIS still haven't paid for the work I did - more on that later) and headed down in the afternoon sun. I had stalled as long as I could, and had used up my good reputation waiting for others to live up to their reputation, so... I have to move on.

On the way down, I finally got a nice clear shot (above) of the old chalk board on the corner of Upper Hill Side and Coffee Street - there's always something interesting there. Since the 1980s, someone has been expressing themselves with chalk - I think it's one of the vagrants who is still around, an old professor with a bit of difficulty with reality. I relate. Every time I pass by, I check the board. Most of the time, it's a thoughtful message. Today, it sort of sent a message that some taxi driver had done or not done something over $12 (roughly $2 US) related to a child. I pondered what this could be about as I walked down the Coffee.

Coffee Street was so much more sensible when it was one way. Two way, it's a mess which someone with more pride than sense is afraid to change back to the way it used to be. Parking is difficult, cars jostle across lanes to avoid parked cars. Walking is easier.

The Bank

First stop, the bank, where I waited in line to convert my emergency funds to a currency that TSTT would like. They were short on staff, so I whipped out the magazine from my back pocket and started reading. People in front of me were complaining, but - complaining doesn't make things move faster. Being a master of one's own time means taking that time to do something constructive. Being a slave to time means waiting on some other person.

In other words, be ready to take advantage of time being wasted, especially in banks in the Caribbean - it's not that the staff are bad, in fact, they are quite good most of the time - it's these archaic, antiquated bureaucratic processes that trap the staff as much as we lowly people who have money in banks. Fortunately, it's not pensioner day (end of the month), and everyone who I know waves a hello. It's a funny thing, this bank. I remember when nobody knew me 5 years ago, and how different everything was. Once they got to know me, they found I wasn't unreasonable, I just liked to get things done right and quickly. They told me their problems, I listened and learned. We laugh about it now.

High Street

Chugging my way down High Street - the main shopping drag of San Fernando, I mentally note once again that the people who occupy the most space on a sidewalk tend to be the slowest moving and tend to stop frequently to either stare at some vendor's goods, speak to another person of equal or greater girth, or perhaps pick their noses. I never understood this. If you have some place to go, the goal should be getting there. Pick your nose and talk to your friends when you're off the thoroughfare, please.

As I move down toward the second half of the first block, I notice that the sidewalk is clearer. Less people. That there's not much traffic. That there's a lone policeman walking up and down, looking professional. I felt like I landed in a time warp, circa 1985. This was the way it used to be when I broke class to (believe it or not) go to a hole in the wall place that sold pastries and coffee somewhere before Carlton Centre. It had a french name. But the place was much more quiet than usual. It was... cleaner, too. The street was clean. The garbage boxes were neatly picked up. Everything seemed... nice. Odd, this. I get to TSTT, blow in and expect a line.

Empty. Someone heard I was on the way, and cleared the area. I go up to the counter, and the lady accepting my money is my late neighbour's niece. No line, the emergency over, we talk about the renovation of the house next door to me that is supposed to be happening - but isn't. She's surprised. I'm not. No work being done there, sorry, I'd know.

The Bookstore

Racing up High Street, I bump into a friend who - oddly enough - owes me money, and even more strangely, he pays me. On the spot, without having to be asked. Woohoo. So I do the only sane thing I can think of when I have some money outside of my budget. I head to the bookstore; find the book Benjamin Franklin by Edmund S. Morgan that the saleswoman had dutifully held for me as requested. We talked about Valentine's Day. We laughed, and I saw that they had Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore there. I cocked an eyebrow, pulled it out and she and I spoke about it for a bit. She'd looked at it a bit, but hadn't dug into it - so I dropped some tidbits on it from the introduction, and her eyes became slightly wider.

Nobody down here seems to know much about Tagore.

Then I saw that they had 'Atlas Shrugged' by Ayn Rand, so I picked up a copy. The saleslady looked at me funny, and says, "You bought that one last year 2 times. Have you considered reading the same book twice?" We laugh, and I tell her that a friend from Martinique had made off with another copy of mine, so I needed one around. She asked why and I said simply, "Galt's Gulch. Read it sometime, you'll get an idea."

Of course, when I said that there was no hyperlink.

The bonus here was that she gave me a discount - which meant I was under budget, and could splurge on a lunch. She asks me what will be doing for Carnival, and I smile and say I'll be quietly reading somewhere. She looks disappointed, but smiles. When flirting, always be honest with (1) yourself and (2) the other person, and anyone who knows me knows I was flirting.

I'd rather read a book. Sorry. I guess I won't get into Global Voices that way with two editors who derive income on their blogs from making people want to come to Carnival, but there are people like myself who have enjoyed it in the past and have had enough. I don't need an excuse to drink and dance; I do that when I feel like it - not on a national timetable.

The Policeman

As I return to the street, I see the policeman up the hill slightly further, and a very nice and tranquil High Street. This is not what I'm used to these days - it reminds me of the 80s. Amazing. As I'm walking toward him, I hear the thump of deep bass coming closer from behind, and am amazed when the policeman motions him to the side of the road. I continue my pace, moving toward them...

"You know, your car is making a lot of noise."
"Yes, but..."
"Turn it down, keep it down. We already have music playing around here. '

He pulled the man over for making excessive noise! And told him to stop! Amazing!! Shock, awe. And done professionally. No shouting, no yelling, no screaming. Everyone around seemed to respect this particular policeman instead of fear him. Apparently he's known, and if he can keep High Street the way it was today - excellent. Amazing.

Lunch

Ben Franklin and I had lunch. Well, he didn't eat much, as dead people don't eat very much - but with my savings, I cruised into one of my old haunts and had the lunch which you can see off to the left. A malta, to keep my sugar levels within normal limits. Chicken corn soup, with a teaspoon of soy and 6 teaspoons of pepper sauce, followed by an egg roll to clean the bowl with.

The waitresses there know me well, too, and when nobody is around in the back area, we laugh and joke about Valentine's Day - and they crack a few dirty jokes for me, knowing that they can tell me safely. We laugh, the food comes, and they leave me to my book and lunch... it's good to be understood, you know? So, Ben Franklin and I hit it off pretty well - I like the book and should have it finished by Friday at latest. Lunch is done, I joke with the owner of the restaraunt a bit, and I'm off on the home stretch - elapsed time from the start, about 2 hours. To pay a phone bill. And eat lunch. And bump into people.

Homeward bound.

Heading home, Coffee Street has so much congestion that surgery is needed. There's a different feel to the street, though, and it's something I need to find out more about. The 'usual suspects' were either laying low, or had gone on vacation. I find this strange, and decide to head toward where one of the key vagrant/crackheads in the area sleeps at the corner of Marryat and Coffee Streets. He's not there. In fact, his stuff is gone. The pavement is clean.

I don't know what's going on, but I like it.

On the way up, I pick up some seeds from some dried flowers on the side of the road - and catch site of some flowers on a tree with water on them from the last drizzle. Nice. It about sums up how my trip back from TSTT was; nice, quiet, and uncharacteristically serene. I wonder if I took that serenity with me, or if it came from the environment that I walked through.

I'm not sure what happened today, but I hope it keeps happening in San Fernando. Life is good. Tomorrow, I head to 'town' (Port of Spain) for the day, to deal with a potential contract. Oddly enough, the company found me from my site - here - and found my resume here as well. Odd how that works out; on an island 60 miles by 40 miles, I got found on the web. Thought provoking, that.