The Airport Melting Pot

So I've been hanging out in Piarco International Airport today - about 5 hours so far - and as usual, it is interesting being at the airport. For the first two hours and thirty minutes, I sat around waiting to check in my baggage- I got here very early due to the car pooling, and got my receipt for my electronic ticket to Suriname easily - though it did seem to be training day for someone.

So I asked, "Can I check in my baggage?"

"You can check in your baggage this afternoon."

Checking my watch and seeing it is 12:52 p.m., I say, "It is the afternoon. What time?"

"Oh. 4:30 p.m. or so."

So here I am with two bags, one whose contents are dominated by powdered goat milk and the other whose contents are dominated by... clothing. We all reach an agreement and decide not to go anywhere without each other; the bags were worried that if I were left unattended someone might stick something in me which airline security would find horrendous. I was more concerned about losing the bags, but I let them know my concern transcended ownership.

So, sitting there, I whip out my laptop and start checking email while uploading photos to Flickr. I'm in an airport on my way to Suriname from Trinidad and Tobago and having a rather involved email discussion about Second Life and some concepts when a gentleman taps me on my shoulder.

"Excuse me. May I interrupt you?"

"Hi"

"Have you been using a computer since you were growing up?"

I continue typing while looking at him and processing what he said... not realizing how fast my hand movements must seem after about 25 years of keyboard usage. I finish the email, hit send, and say, "Yes"

"I envy you that."

I look at him closely. He's maybe 10 years older than me, and I tell him that it really isn't that impressive and that computers are typically more of a pain than anything else. From the expression on his face, I sense he may think I'm patronizing him - so I elaborate.

Pointing to my now closed laptop I explain, "This is not the future. This is how we cling on to the past", then pointing at a mobile phone, "that is the future."

He nods, and I get up after shoving my computer away. We start to talk - he's from Tobago proper, born and raised, and runs a business. His girlfriend is headed back to Guyana, so we start to chat. I ask her where she's from, and its around the Demerara. I mistakenly bring up Parika, which is actually near the Essequibo, and she corrects me.

So we're talking about the Caribbean now. And we're talking about Guyana, how it was supposed to be the food basket of CARICOM and how CARICOM seems to have forgotten that.

"No", she says, "Guyana forgot."

A pause. I just learned something and had to weigh that against my own experiences in Guyana, and found that I wasn't really circulating in the right circles to make any sort of assessment of what she said. But if CARICOM forgot - if what I said was indeed true - then perhaps some of the responsibility lies with Guyana itself. She continued:

"Guyana doesn't have a sense of itself, it doesn't seem to know which way it is going."

Again, that seems to sound like CARICOM - but my own experiences with Guyana tend to coincide with hers for different reasons. We shot off in different directions, and I learned a few things - perhaps she did as well.

But then we got to food. This is because one of the common things in the Caribbean to speak of is actually food. So I was describing the egg balls I had in Parika, only to hear the Tobagonian complain that his girlfriend had not told him of these boiled eggs in seasoning that I spoke so highly of.

Amused and engaged, we talked about the region and problems in both Guyana, Trinidad and Tobago as well as neighboring countries. We all seemed to believe that the problems were common, but for different reasons - food for thought.

We parted ways, each for our own desitinations, and I returned to watching the worlds of others as they bounced around in the airport, slaloming past each other and rarely colliding. I checked in my bags, filled out forms and wondered, "Why do I have to fill out this information when most of it is in my ticket and passport?". Trinidad and Tobago customs is plain dismal when it comes to technology.

My laptop battery needed charging, so I wandered in search of outlets. The restroom had some, but that was a last resort. Hanging out at the sinks didn't seem particularly interesting. The vending machine by the ticket counter had an empty outlet behind it, but there was no way that I could move the huge vendor without attracting the attention of overzealous security guards on the lookout for paranoid people moving vendors.

I changed my search patterns. I tracked wiring on the walls. Soon, near the arcade, I spotted a blessed outlet, free and clear, under the fire alarm. I plugged in, and have remained here most of the time with a few chance discussions. As I write, I look up and see people peering at me with interest; I suppose that I seem to be ignoring everyone when really I'm paying attention.

Some note that I have the laptop plugged in and charging, and seem a bit jealous that I found the spot - complete with chair. Others ask me if I'm using Wireless - which I am; the airport does have a hotspot courtesy TSTT which works admirably well. One fellow has been circling, waiting for me to get up - on the periphery. I'm about to tell him to check the bathroom, he looks so disgruntled. Truth is, there is another free outlet right here, he only needs to pull up his own chair.

The security guards seem oblivious to me. Children demand rides on the vehicle behind me, for $2 TT a pop. One young lady in a school uniform reads over my shoulder, as if I do not notice.

She read the last line as I typed it, and I turned around and smiled. She blushed and left.