Travelling while Black

They tell you in the guidebooks what to expect if you're gay or if you're a woman. Hell, they need to do it for if you're recognisably black.  

 "Americanah" - Chimamanda Ngozi Adichi

Ain't this the truth! Ain't this the truth!

*Ms Adichi speaks a whole lot of truth in Americanah, by the way.*

So while I am not sure what is going on with my life and what 2015 will hold, I still have to at least think of vacation ideas. It's bad enough being a solo traveller - having to find places where a solo traveller feels safe and secure. It's bad enough being a solo female traveller - having to be extra careful in the choices you make as it relates to hotels, travel etc. But add being black to that - it's just a whole other thing altogether.

Travelling while black is real - the notion that this is an issue, I mean. Shopping trips to Miami and New York - no problem. It's like being at home. London - such a melting pot that it's rare that I actually feel like an alien. Londoners ignore everyone - black, white.  But there are some places where I have felt totally out of sorts. The Rome experience to this day, always makes me a bit upset.

Vacations should be carefree for everyone.
This is not me, btw

Luckily, the good experiences outweigh the bad, and though there have been several moments of "wtf!" on my trips, I think they usually had less to do with racism and more to do with:

Plain and simple ignorance - Dear Europe - all black people do not live in Africa. Ever heard the word "diaspora"? I cannot tell you how many times I have been asked to say an English word in "my language". For example - old guy in Florence, Italy. Worse yet, when they find out I am not from Africa, then I just HAVE TO BE American, even if my accent does not quite fit the bill. "Ever been to New York?" Yes, I have been to New York but that is the magic of air travel. I am not American. If someone actually knows where Trinidad is after I tell them, I give them a virtual hug because it is almost miraculous! I am truly an oddity which takes me to the next point...

Curiousity - I heard someone refer to the impolite staring as "rarism" as opposed to"racism". In some of these quasi-homogeneous cities, people like me are a rarity. You are like the raisin in the bowl of milk so they stop and stare and you check to make sure you don't have something in your nose or that your fly is not open because the stares are so pervasive and invasive. Worse, in some cities, the black people there tend to be immigrants, and in my experience, they were usually street vendors/scam artists or hooking. Enter well-dressed black woman and it's like "wtf"? You have now confused the people even more with your bourgie blackness. For me it is always a bit bizarre, especially coming from a place where people stare at you cause they like your ass and want to grab it. Noone stares at my hair, or wants to touch it here, but it is a real phenomenon in some of these places - one that is not cute no matter how clueless or genuinely curious the people may be. There should be a guidebook for residents of these cities - Dos and Don'ts of Meeting Black People for the First Time.

They are just naturally unfriendly and surly - The haterade may actually have nothing to do with the colour of your skin. The people sometimes are just plain unmannerly, unfriendly, uncouth and as we say in Trinidad, "just not on you" and have no damn "broughtupsy".Sad to say, London always comes to mind. They are just a special breed of homo sapien - totally divorced from the reality of life all around them, but when you get around the cold exterior, and get them to put down the iPhone, they can be lovely people. In some places though, they are just like this - fullstop.

But don't get me wrong - travelling while black has the real issues of racism. I have had bus drivers ignore me, waitresses take their damn time to serve me and when they did, I got none of the smiles and sweetness the white customers got. I have had border control brace me as though I were some kind of hoodlum, and Customs stop me to search my luggage and when I looked around, everyone else being searched looked like me. My friend had the cops called on her as she was pumping gas at an isolated gas station behind God's back in the US. And let's not forget another friend who was followed to her hotel room by a hotel employee, accosted and told that prostitutes were not allowed in the hotel.

And it does not matter that we are not drug mules or international escorts. It does not matter that I am educated to Master's level, have a very nice job, with paid vacation and international medical coverage, and zero desire to stay past the time on my visa. The fact of the matter is my passport looks strange and worse yet, I look strange cause I am dark skinned, with dark brown eyes and dark hair. Oh, I'm black. Right. Forgot about that.

But it would also be unfair to paint one city black (pun very well intended) because of the idiocy of a few. Most of my experiences have been positive and a city like Rome, for example, is so beautiful that you just ignore the nonsense and try to make the best of it until you can get the hell outta there. Not to mention I had the chance to meet a friend for the first time ever, so there were a lot of good memories from that trip. I have learnt over time to not miss the opportunities in front of me because of any stereotypes or prejudice people may have. That's on them.

That being said, I am not sure where to go this year. My tolerance levels for nonsense are at an all time low, and it would be nice to travel among more people like myself, but still - the world is my oyster so onward! Ideas still welcome, keeping in mind the solo, female bit as well.

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Refresh moment in London

So after being absent for a while, here I am, in London. Vacation time took its time to get here but here it is. Much needed after a hellish period at work. I will admit I was not as excited about this vacation as I should have been. Even the planning was lackadaisical.  My days were just too crammed with work and annoying things. But these are sure symptoms of need-a-vacationitis.

Anyway, after a long flight where I slept the majority of the time, I am in London.  Actually, I am still in the airport as I wait for my next flight. Getting in at 8.30am and flying again at 4.30pm meant I would be stuck in the airport for longer than I would like. I hate layovers with a passion, and feeling sick was not helping. Anticipating this annoying feeling way in advance, I booked a cabin at Yotel in the South Terminal of Gatwick Airport.

Yotel is pretty much a layover hater's oasis. The cabin is as big as a closet and this is no lie. But I needed a bed, a shower and some privacy for 4 hours. Yotel offers short stay options, meaning you don't have to pay full price for a room for a few hours. I was so thankful for this as I need a shower and a pick me up nap before I hit the runway again. The free coffee is also a welcome bonus.

Well, this was a quick one. I threw some curlers in my hair to try to rescue myself from looking like road kill, and after a vanilla scented shower, which I hope the smelliest of my fellow passengers are also getting, I should be less likely to be eyeballed by immigration at my next stop.

The bed. Pod-like.

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Budget Vacation Accommodation in London...with a difference.

I am realising there is a sure fire way to rape people repeatedly without it actually being physical, or illegal. It's called selling or leasing property. I mean, in my real life I gripe ad nauseum about high property prices here on the island and how everyone thinks their 2' x 4' shack is a million or multi-million dollar property. I have seen it all - real dumps which the owners don't even try to make aesthetically palatable before a showing and then bold facedly tell you they want you to part with TT$1.7 million and upwards, when in your mind, you had it valued at nothing more than TT$700,000.

In Tobago, I always laugh at how home owners rent the downstairs of their house and call it a "villa", when it's...the downstairs of a house. Villa screams "pay me three times as much" and it works, especially on long holiday weekends when one island empties out onto the next.

But hotel hunting when planning a vacation is a whole new level of crazy, especially for the cost-conscious and hygienically aware traveller. As much as I love budget accommodation, especially as I just need a room to park my bag, sleep and shower, I don't do hostels for example. I work too hard to stay in a hostel, sharing a shower with dozens of strangers, so no. Some of these "budget" hotels are not really "budget" and some are just also dumps.

But THIS one took the cake and I found this quite by accident cause I was not really looking for a place in London but was curious as to if ever I visited and needed privacy in a non-hotel environment, what that would look like and what it would cost. Well...this guy, who has a photo up (how brave of him) is  renting out his garden shed. Now, most of the homes I have been to in London have a shed in the garden, and most use it as extra storage - kinda like a garage or an attic. It is a small thing really, and my cousin used his to store wine, tools and other such junk. The neighbourhood fox also used it - dug a hole and slept under it during the winter. This guy has listed his shed on Airbnb for RENT!

The Urban Cabin as I have now dubbed it.

The going rate for this - US$67 a night! Are you kidding me?

I read some of the reviews and while there were others who felt this was craziness to the nth power as I did, he actually got great reviews for his urban cabin. Dunno how I felt about this part of the cabin's amenities though -

Shower + bath for an extra £3 a night when available in house (guarantees cannot be given in advance). Otherwise the local swimming pool is very close!

It just reminded me of how blessed I am that while I may not be able to stay in the same hotels as the Kardashians (my heart breaks from the disappointment), I can afford to stay in more comfortable and convenient lodging. Hell, I am blessed enough to be able to take nice vacations. I do not ever take that for granted. I probably would not stay there if I could afford a room at a Travelodge, but hey...to each his own. I would however be a bit alarmed by this "perk"

Family, dog and cat, all friendly and talkative.

Well, if you're looking for interesting conversation, this may be the place for you. lol.

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Come Dine With Me: Reality TV at its best

While living and studying in London, one of my fave tv shows was Come Dine With Me. It was also one of the few tv shows that my cousin and I could watch together - when he was not riveted to the English Premier League. The show is a reality show that takes 4-5 strangers from a particular town or region and have them host a three-course dinner at their homes, where afterwards they would be scored on their evening. The person with the highest score at the end of the week would win 1000 quid.

As you know, I love food, I love dining out, I love cooking. So I love this show. But this is often the "dark" side of dining, the funny side - not the Instagram-ready glamour shots of haute cuisine. The reason this show is so amazing is because these people are Average Joes and Janes. They are NOT chefs by any stretch of the imagination. They are often kitchen novices and there are very often kitchen and hosting disasters. They are often bonkers, nutters, loons, a bit too eccentric to be real. The narrator of the show, Dave Lamb, surely adds to the comedy with his snarky commentary.

I think most people watching this show can catch a glimpse of themselves here. In my own quest for kitchen greatness, I have burnt dishes, had cakes fall or be like gunk, forgot to add eggs in a cake and then tried to add them when it was way too late, forgot to put the lid on the blender. Don't lie - you know you have done it too. Even the best cooks have their little slip-ups, but still, I love seeing the foodie train wrecks - the unabashed walking disasters. I keep thinking of my own friends and how a local version of this show might look and I laugh just thinking about it.

The show is great fun and when I discovered they had a US site on YouTube which would allow me to get my jones all weekend, well, that was all she wrote. I have missed this show, and with the rainstorm plaguing my neighbourhood all weekend, I almost feel like I am back in the den in London, watching my fave show after class in the afternoon. Except, this is much better. I have added an episode here, so you can grab a glass of wine and see for yourself.

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Mind the Foodie Gap in London Town

So the final leg of my holiday adventure has been back in the UK, where I met up with friends and relatives. It's funny how we bond and communicate over food and drink, isn't it? A shared love of food can often be that common thread and whether it is eating out, or cooking together or for each other, some of the best memories can be created over food.

And so I wrap up another amazing trip with some of the best food creations and best people, starting off with my girls' catchup session at Shutterbug, a great little creperie in Shoreditch, and which I am now in love with. Such a pity that I only had that one moment to enjoy it, but enjoy I did. Having already had a wonderful savoury snack with another friend, I decided I would order a sweet crepe creation - red velvet crepe with marscapone, strawberries and chocolate. To say it was delightful would be a gross understatement. My friend had a savoury crepe with goat's cheese, spinach, walnuts and fig relish. They also serve some awesome cocktails and coffee. I love this place. I cannot make a crepe to save my life and love them so, so this find so late in the game is almost a tragedy for me.

Later, I journeyed into the macaroon kingdom with yet another friend, at Ladurée in Covent Garden. It was a tolerable enough evening that I could brave outdoor seating overlooking the shenanigans in the courtyard below from street entertainers. The real stars were our treats, mine being the religieuse pistachio, and my girlfriend had the rose raspberry.

Finally, I brought it back home, almost, when I had lunch with my cousin the day after, at Mango Room in good ole Camden Town. Though initially I was averse to going to a Caribbean restaurant, only because I live there and can get authentic Caribbean dishes anytime, I changed my tune when I saw the menu and then tasted the food. We both ordered the Jamaican curried goat, which was fall-off-the-bone tender, well seasoned, and in one word, fantastic. The one letdown was that the one guy who seemed to be on the frontline was not a bartender and so it made the fabulous drinks menu and the well stocked bar behind us, very pointless. Still, what a wonderful meal that was.

The hardest part of it all though, is the reality that over the next few weeks, I will need to live on carrots and rice cake to tackle the damage done to my waistline by this culinary carnage over the past 3 weeks. Still, it was all so worth it, from the tapas of Madrid, to the pizza and pasta of Rome, to the hodge podge awesomeness that is London and beyond. I loved it all. Life is beautiful.

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Who needs gym when you can go on vacation!

Sweet Lord!  So I am sitting in my seat on Iberia Airways, heading to Madrid,  Spain and what a morning it has been already. With a 9.00am take off, I unwillingly got off the bed at 4.45 since of course, I take ages to get ready and my bags were also in a bit of a helter skelter. Now it was my misson to pack one medium sized bag for this 10 day excursion and lemme tell you, it was a challenge. In the end I did manage it but squashed as much as physically possible in this poor pink contraption.  Being stylish is a bit of a headache when travelling.  

Then try travelling in London peak time - morning rush hour. With a heavy suitcase and cute purse. With changing temps as you move from ground level where it is chilly - jacket needed; to tube level where it is warm - lose jacket; to ground level on tube - scramble to get jacket back on. Then factor in the long walk between trains and no escalator but awesome flights of stairs where you lug the pink burden up what seems like 1000 steps, with the jacket now off, dragging on the floor, and rush hour London hamsters not giving a rat's ass that your bag is heavy and you are doing the best you can. Hell no. They bump into you, and scowl at you and your now evil bag. Who needs a gym membership at this point? I worked my arms, glutes, my core in one walk through Green Park Station with my adventure bag. Last night's rose' is now in a puddle of sweat near a staircase. Lol.

Of course, you then get on the train and there are no seats so you stand while balancing the adventure bag and yourself as the train turns and lurches. What fun! Of course at 6-something in the morning, some guy gets on in what looks like his pyjamas sith a jacket thrown over it, smelling like dried sweat, testing your already strained tolerance as you concentrate on not falling and now also on not passing out from the stink. There is also the smack smacking of soon to be separated lovers kissing for 5 stops - yes, I counted. All good fun, right?

But I got to the airport, got a full body massage from airport security and I mean FULL! From ears to boobs to ass to little toes. Do they hide weapons between toes now or is it just me? Massage over, I grab a coffee, scamper to my gate, get on my plane and "eagerly" await repeating this nightmare at a tube station I do not know in Madrid.

Next - Another one, please - Foodie Adventures from Madrid

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On the other side of the pond

It is cold in London town. So I am here in London my old stomping ground where it is currently 16 degrees Celsius, which for some here is warm and maybe when I still lived here was a pretty good outcome as well, but coming straight from a 35 degree day in Trinidad - in fact a 35 degree life - this is just cold! But as always I am prepared and managed to hit the walks of Greenwich last evening without freezing.

The trip over was more or less uneventful, which for the random traveller is good but for the single girl adventures could be a bit of a buzzkill. There is always that pesky mind game of "spot the best potential seatmate" where you try to find the guy you would like to sit with for 10 hours.  I spotted a couple guys whom I really prayed were not going to sit with me. But in the end, I got an older woman who clearly had some bladder issues and who interrupted my sleep every hour or so as she needed to go to the loo. 

Today is my last day in London, thankfully, at least for the next few days. I love the city but if I wanted a winter vacation I would have planned one for my birthday trip. Tomorrow morning I join the rush hour throngs as I make my way to the airport again, bound for a city where the weather is much better, and is well known for its Golden Triangle of Art, and where girls' reunion #1 will get underway - the beautiful city of Madrid.

Next - Who needs gym when you can go on vacation

The street outside my temporary accomodation in North Greenwich, London. Love the Mini!

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Lost in Translation...in Reading

I spent a good deal of my time in Reading and not in London. I must say, with the exception of the rude and intolerable Pakistani bus driver, the people in Reading were a breath of fresh air. Granted, most of the people hanging around during the day were in their twilight years since Reading is a commuter city, with the chunk of the people commuting into evil London for work. It was funny. During the day, loads of pensioners and empty bars and restaurants. It was truly a bit surreal. At one point, I felt like there were definitely more stores and shops than there were people. We went into a pub – what was clearly the busiest pub on the waterfront – and there were 2 other people in there. In the evening! A far cry from the sweaty underarm crowds and throngs of London.

But everyone was super polite. Every single person got off the bus and thanked the bus driver. The rare young person got up to give up their seats. There was no loud, annoying passenger or aggravating teenagers. Of course, the rude Pakistani driver tainted the idyllic paradise that was Reading. I got on the bus and quickly realized it did not have the bus stop monitor which usually signals what the next stop would be. Not being from Reading, and on a solo adventure, I had no clue where I was going and simply asked this gem of a driver to stop when he got to Stop X. Oh but this was too hard…he could not do that and made a grand production of it. The nice lady who got on the bus acknowledged his universal stupidity and kindly offered to tell me when I was approaching my stop. The only profanity on the bus at that point came from me as I had to let him know what I thought of him. Nothing too caustic, I promise. Lol

Still…Reading. It’s no London!!

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Are graduates most likely to be victims of crime? Not this one.

Again, many apologies for being such a horrible blogger lately. Busy times in trininista world. As I mentioned briefly yesterday, I spent the last week in England – back to winter! I left Trinidad in 31 degree heat and 10 hrs later, got off the plane and stepped out of Gatwick airport to a gust of icy breeze at the mercury boiling maximum of 5 degrees. Lovely. The trip was short but fun. I finally got to put on my cap and gown and walk across a stage with no bitterness in my heart. When I finished my undergrad degree, I was unemployed for months and months and so boycotted my graduation cause in my eyes it was a complete farce. With age, brings reason and wanderlust so off to London I went for my 5 seconds in the spotlight!! Apologies to everyone I did not see and that was 95% of people, and kisses to the ones I did.

One less savoury moment was during my second day in London, when I was still at my hotel. I had a really busy day, running back and forth to get stuff shipped home and packed and so on. Tired, and with two extra bags, I walked into the hotel lobby around 1.30pm, and headed to my room to plop my cold, weary ass on the warm bed. As I was walking in, a young guy was walking out. I only noticed him cause he was leering at me and then when next I turned my head, he was not out on the street as I had expected him to be, but following me onto the elevator. Now, for a brief second, I thought, well, there are two scenarios here -1. He must really think I am da bizniz, or more likely, 2. He saw me as his next victim. Victim of what I am not sure. In hindsight, I should have stopped the elevator or sounded the alarm but it was happening so quickly. I had already pressed the number to my floor and noticed that he had not pressed anything. Coincidence? I think not.

Mugging victim, I am not.

Now the hotel is one of those where you need an access key to get on to the floor, so when the elevator doors opened on the 7^th floor, I waited…to see what he was going to do next. I think in my head I thought, he looks young and inexperienced, and probably thought the tired girl with all the bags would be distracted and slim pickings. But buddy, I am Trini. We are always alert to scam artists and criminal elements. Lol. When he saw I was not going towards the access door, he picked up a bag of dirty sheets from the housekeeper’s cart next to the elevator and as luck (for him) would have it, the male housekeeper opened the door, giving him easy and convenient access to the floor.

Well, helllllllll nooooo I was not getting into that corridor with him on the floor, so I waited. The housekeeper was already gone and the lift was taking its bleedin’ time to get back up. Then the door opened and he – wannabe attacker – came back out without the bag and pressed the down button on the elevator. I took my pass key and opened the door to the floor and swung my head around and sure enough, Mr Wonderful was following me in. In my best, most aggressive and cut-eye Trini accent, I asked – “What happen? You have a problem? You (bleep) want something?”

Not sure if he was stunned that I spoke to him or just really scared cause I was really kinda menacing but he shook his head and walked back to the elevator. At the same moment, the housekeeper was making his way back up the hallway and I asked him if that guy worked in the hotel.

“No. I thought he was a guest. He’s not with you?”

Well needless to say, walkie talkie came out and calls were made, but by that time, he was long gone. I noticed the bag of dirty sheets on the floor next to one of the rooms – a foiled ruse for sure.

Two hours later as I was making my way to the train station, who should I notice exiting another hotel, possibly after casing the guests there? You guessed it. I wonder how many women he has managed to actually rob/attack successfully? Pretty scary. I do not try to test fate. Hardly. But I do not try to just be a victim either.

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I'm Back!!!

I have missed so much including my SITS Day. Thank you to everyone who visited and please accept my apologies for not having a dedicated SITS Day post. I have been super busy and distracted, and only just came back from London this evening - totally knackered but will write more about it hopefully soon.

Thanks for your patience everybody!!

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A Fond Farewell to 2011, Hello and Welcome to 2012

I think 2011 was a good year. Really. It started off a bit shaky, as I had a bad flu and started the year bundled up, freezing and seething at the St George’s Circus bus stop in London – waiting for almost 2 hours for my bus.

But it was a year of successes and great people and I am happy about that. I had my fair share of stress –with exams in the very first week. Add trying to study with sinus headaches, sore throat, hacking cough and fever, in the dead of London winter, and you can imagine my ultimate joy! Semester 2, while on paper, looked like it would be a cake walk, was probably worse than the jam-packed semester 1. The assignments never stopped and then of course, the dreaded D – dissertation which was a nightmare of epic proportions! But even with all that, I managed to get it done, with Distinction, and will be heading back to the Big Smoke in no time at all for my graduation.

I started the year as a student and end it as a grad – an employed grad no less, which is much better than many others can say. I am beyond grateful for that, on a very serious level, because so many of my friends are still job hunting and scouring the job ads, and waiting. I gripe about having to roll off my bed at 3.30 am each day and about how tired I am, but I am thankful that I have a job to get off the bed for. The car won’t pay for itself. Yes…the end of public transportation came at the end of 2011 as well – a real triumph for the high heeled princess. I do not miss running after the South Eastern, South West or Southern trains, or hopping maxis back home. Nope. Don’t miss it.

The Pavilion, Brighton

Though I did not get on a plane this year, other than between home and London, I did manage to do some adventuring. The UK, while cold and grisly, is a beautiful country and I explored other parts of London I had not yet explored (not just the cocktail bars and pubs) and also ventured to areas outside of London for a change, including Windsor, Wales, Bath, Bristol, Brighton, Rye and Hastings. If I could sneak in a trip to Edinburgh on my short escape, 2012 would have started off nicely I think – cold but pleasant.

I enjoyed a few great festivals in London as well, like Taste of London and the Wine and Cheese Festival. I miss events like those actually.

Lots of cooking as well - and now that I am back home, I am sure there will be much more.

I also made my debut as tv star, in the T-Mobile wedding ad, though you can only see the length of my dress and not much else. Still it was a fun experience. Met some great people during that experience.

But not as great as the people I met over the year in London, from classmates, some of whom will be lifelong friends, to the oddball adventures, public dating disasters and funny stories, to those who made the cut. Lol. These people brought fun, laughter, support and everythingness. A girl can only be this lucky once, right? Well, I am awesome, so I have it a hundred times over. My peeps are great!

We lost a friend this year but move forward with renewed hope because friendship is powerful and so is forgiveness.

Blog-wise, I have not always been consistent. When I was too busy with school to blog, I then became too busy with work. Balancing a real life with blogging is often challenging. Still, it is a fun outlet. I did my one and only anonymous vlog, as did Pablo. Did a photo challenge, but in the end, I blogged when I could.

So what will 2012 bring? God knows. I am praying for it to be a happy year – more happiness than sadness. Really hoping everyone, including myself, remains safe and healthy and happy over the 366 days of 2012. We can only ever take it one day at a time but I can still have a long term vision!

The lovely Grenadines, West Indies - right next door

While my movements will be restricted for a while, seeing that I have started a new job and thus have no real vacation time, I will have weekends, so there are places I can still go on a time crunch, including St Lucia, Grenada/Grenadines, Antigua, Miami (of course!), New York (not in the winter like last time) and who knows where else. 2013 will see me back in Europe but until then, gonna love my hemisphere as best as I can.

People wise – the year will undoubtedly end with some farse aunt or family friend asking if the husband will come in 2012 and my farse and bright response will probably be, “Find him and ask him”. I will again be forced to defend singledom and my right to life despite not being tied to some loser til death do us part. I have no idea what life will hold for me but guess what…life does not wait. I have learnt a lot about myself in the past year and reaffirmed what I already knew, and I will be having fun and being the fabulista that I have always been.

That being said, I want to wish you all a very Happy 2012. May all the things you wish for yourselves and your loved ones come to pass, and just have fun. Life is short and love is endless – love life.

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Secret Santa and Secret Loathing

I have now managed to survive not only a slew of parties but also the team Secret Santa nightmare...I mean...exercise. Not being a Christmas elf myself and bordering more on the Grinch side of life, this was not a fun task for me. At all. Especially since I just met everyone and have no idea what they like and don't like. But luckily I got the one person I do know better than most, and who happens to be my boss, and managed to get him a present that was a-okay - an Italian silk scarf and an autobiography by a guy he lists as a hero. So job well done, me!

This week will be harrowing I am sure. Have you started Christmas shopping? I have not and I won't. It is a pet peeve, this Christmas shopping nonsense. Traffic is a nightmare. My parents always get an IOU when it comes to Christmas but I will risk death to get something for my nephew.

I am also hotel hunting. I have started my graduation trip planning. Back to London I go. I never did the whole cap and gown thing the first time around. So this time, it means a lot - I suffered through winter for that degree, dammit. You better believe I am walking across that stage to get my reward!

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Elated!

It's been a long road - with cold weather, no sleep, homesickness, crusty books. But my results came today and I am graduating with my Masters, with Distinction. And you have all been there through my adventures - scholastic and otherwise so I had to share my happiness with you. I am really thankful to have made it through with my sanity, with great times and awesome people. Thank you for making me smile and keeping me off the brink.

Cheers! I can soooo use a freakin' caipirinha right now!

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Home is Allegedly Where The Heart Is

Tired airline passenger

So all I could think about yesterday as I sat on BA 2159 was my bed, with my pillows and my stuffed dog, Muffy. I was totally exhausted and even with the cat naps on the flight, I got home just wanting to take a long, hot shower and sleep. So why am I awake at 4.05am??

So yes, I am back in Trinidad. The flight was not uneventful. From start to finish, there were the moments which make my life such a comedy treat.

1. The taxi ride from home to Gatwick. My cousin uses the guy all the time and trusts him. Turning up late did not inspire confidence, but he was wearing a full suit, so I forgave the slight time casualty. Yes. A suit. To drive a taxi. I was not sure whether to be impressed or amused. In any event, I was also warned that he is a devout Christian and before we could turn the corner, he asks, "Do you love God?" I do love God, friend, but I did not want to talk about it. The sermon was short thankfully but in hindsight, I needed it. To face the day. And the traffic. I sat stewing in angry juices for a while as we sat in London traffic, but somehow by God's grace and by some rather un-Christian driving, I got to Gatwick International safe and sound and without missing my flight.

2. The seat. So I have a habit of using online check-in to get myself a comfortable seat and in my opinion, with my budget, comfortable does not mean first class or whatever fancy name they call the posh sleeper seats. Comfortable means...the bulkhead seat.

The bulkhead seats

I have not had any bad experiences in the past. I crave legroom and also the convenience of either not having to get up to let my seatmate with an overactive bladder jam their backside in my face as they try to get out, or me jamming my backside in theirs. Also, when you're tired and want to sleep, you don't need people waking you up so they could go get their pee on. The bulkhead seat is my answer to convenience. I will open the exit door, no problem. I do not even mind sitting near the washroom - once I can stretch my legs and not be bothered by silly people.

The thing about the bulkhead seat is that they are right next to the seats typically reserved for passengers travelling with small children. Again, never a problem in the past but these 2 babies yesterday, while very good babies, hardly crying, very cute and happy, seemed to have some serious intestinal issues. lol. I mean, how much can a baby shit? Apparently, a lot! After a while, the cute chubby cheeks and goo goo gah gah sounds were not enough to save them from getting a face.

3. The delay. Add a delay to the rank smell of baby poo, and you get an irritable traveller. While I appreciate the airline's deep regard for my safety and I am glad the plane did not have to crash land anywhere, sitting in St Lucia for 2 hours when all I wanted was to get to my house, after already sitting on a plane for 7 or so hours, was not fun.

Blame it on the Henny

4. Immigration and Customs. The fault did not lie with the officers themselves but with the passengers. Why dear Lord, can't people fill out the forms on the plane? Credit to the immigration officer who told the lady to step aside so he could process my form and send me on my way, as she filled out the landing card. But why, lady, do you have to be argumentative and keep me back?  I don't understand it. Why could you not move like a nice old lady and let other people get out of there while you filled out your landing card? It's not hard!

Then the special lady in the Customs line. The customs declaration clearly states that one is allowed 2 bottles of alcohol and anything above that, you have to declare. It's not hard. Hiding 9 bottles of alcohol in between your panties and sweatpants is not going to change that. This, in addition, to the 2 bottles picked up in Duty Free. What? Is a bar yuh running?? Of course, when the suitcases containing the undeclared goods go through the scanner, the form is handed over to the Customs officer where she sees that the passenger has dishonestly ticked "nothing to declare" next to the spirits box, I sucked my teeth, rolled my eyes, and knew I would have at least another 5 minutes of waiting. I already looked like death warmed over, but really??

And after all this, getting home, taking that shower and crashing like a stone out of absolute exhaustion, my eyes were open at 4am? What's the deal here?

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Leaving on a Jet Plane - The Sequel

It's been a rather hectic couple of weeks. I have been here, there and everywhere, both physically and emotionally. I spent a few lovely days out of London, some lovely afternoons in and about London, and embarked on the painful process of packing (I am surely the Imelda Marcos of clothes) and saying goodbye. Many curse words were uttered (packing) and many tears were shed.

But the adventure carries on. See you on the other side of the Atlantic.

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Leaving on a Jet Plane - The Runny Mascara-free version

Tequila!

I have been just awful with my blog and Twitter and all the stuff that helped me stave off insanity while I was still officially a student. But you see, I have my life back and I can do things I enjoy doing without guilt or regret - like going out, watching movies, having drinks, reading books. It's wonderful. So forgive me for being very absent. Absent online. Very alive offline!

Well, my time here in London is also drawing to a rapid close (2 more weeks, though I have not booked a flight yet, so you neverrrrrrrrrr know) and I will admit, it terrifies me a bit.

On the one hand, I am happy to be going back to regular blue skies and sunshine. My skin has taken a real beating in this dry, cold weather. I slather on copious amounts of shea butter lotions every day to avoid looking dry and (n)ashy, not to mention scratchy, and maintain the "mmm...mmmm" goodness that is my chocolatey body. lol. On a serious note, I am happy to be seeing my family, as crazy as they make me sometimes, and my nephew especially cause I have already missed almost a year of his life. My friends - yes, everyone keeps emailing me about how much they miss me and want to see me etc. I have a job to go back to - which puts me in a much better position than most people who have to go back home after a year away.

On the other hand, and I have not said this out loud to many people, there are also reasons I am not too excited about the prospect of going home either, some of which I would be wise to not discuss in any detail here, for real real life/offline life reasons. On a lighter note, one of my friends sent me an email on Friday saying he did not want me to stay here, and would prefer me back home. My reply was "It is funny how everyone wants me home to see me, but when I am there, noone makes the effort". I got no response. lol. But when I wrote this post, it pretty much summed up what I meant by that comment.

Now my girlfriends had husbands and babies and somehow, despite our best efforts, we just did not do things together anymore that often - not even sister neutral things - things both the wives/mummies and the unencumbered single friend could do and enjoy. 

While I go about life on my own beat, not really dependent on anyone really, it's been nice to have people do things with again. I think hearing my own voice over and over while doing hours and hours of transcription reminded me that I sometimes need to be around and enjoy life with other people. Leaving behind the people I have become close to here will be tough. There are a few who have made being here worthwhile and for whom I would probably endure a winter for, and as you know, I HATE winter. That's one of the hardest parts - the people part. I have spent the weekend with some of my favourite people here and I would like to believe that the separation anxiety will be on both sides. I will truly truly miss these people.

No matter what life brings you, the people you meet always leave the greatest impact. And after countless adventures and disasters, I have managed to meet awesomeness. It's kinda hard to leave awesome behind.

Professionally, I can learn a lot here, but one would need to actually get a job wouldn't you? That's the tricky bit. Complications of visa, money,blah blah blah. Don't want to get into the blah blah blahs.

There is a certain independence I have in Trinidad, for sure - including private transportation. Big deal, people, and I say this after another night of running to get the bus to avoid a 30-45min wait in the cold. I really want to reiterate how much I hate public transportation. lol. But there is also an independence and greater courage I have honed while being here. It has been good in that I have learnt a lot more about myself - I have been thrust into a much bigger world than I was accustomed to and really had to dig deep to discover who I am, how deep my strength ran, how completely fabulous and amazing I am. I can tell you typing this is making me well up a bit but I am truly grateful for the experience. I have had a great many adventures here in ole Blighty and what does the future hold? Hopefully even more amazing new experiences.

I wholly believe that when life gives you lemons, you get some salt and some tequila and take a shot - and make the most of it. And so I will.

And, to cope with the separation anxiety and small island stagnation, when life, or the embassy, gives you a visa, you go to Miami for some much needed retail therapy...just to ease one's way back into it, you understand. Baby steps. lol.

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The Anti-Dating Spot: The Nightclub

Now that I have ended academic life, I am having a life. lol. Sorry for the lack of posts, but between mental and physical exhaustion, and socialising, I just was not in the mood for social media. Hope everyone is well though.

Anyway, I wrote a post about the so-called best places to pick up guys, according to one magazine. I don't think there are many people though who would argue with me that one of the worst places to go man-hunting is a nightclub, if not THE WORST. 

As an aside, I wondered if I am getting too old for nightclubs. Besides screwing up my face at near sexual acts on the dancefloor, like an old grandmother, the patrons are younger and younger. Don't these kids have parents? lol.

But I digress. In the past couple weeks, I have taken my lovely female self to two different clubs here in good ole London and the experience was generally the same - bad. Sure I had fun in a "I love to dance and release" kinda way, but do men really think their approach in nightclubs will work? Of course they do - cause they are drunk, stupid and overconfident (because of drinks and other substances).

Exhibit A - The half-Trini, as he called himself. Probably the most successful last weekend, cause he got a phone number. But it was not mine. He had his eye on my girlfriend. So why does he make my list? 

Dude, if you want to talk, dance, screw or whatever with my girlfriend, be my guest. However, dude was really spoiling my good time. I mean, we had an initial conversation when I realised he was a bonafide member of the flock (Trini) and we high-fived etc, but okay, you're not interested, I'm not interested and you are scoping out my friend. Great for you but don't come to ruin my good time with idle, slurred conversation when you really want to talk to my friend. Is this frickin' high school? Am I the intermediary? At a night club? Your "game" is ruining my night. Boy, please. Move along. He was - an-noy-ing.

Exhibit B - The Nigerian. You already know where this is going if you have been a loyal reader of my blog. No? Stellar encounters like this one. So I am in the club, and the deejay is putting down some wicked urban beats, and then to my amazement, dropped some Machel, and I am shaking what my mama and Haagen Dazs gave me, and this guy is looking at me. Not even close to my type - short, round head, looking like a bowling ball in a t-shirt. He raises his glass, I dunno, in appreciation, solidarity...whatever and I willed myself not to roll my eyes so instead I nod and avert my gaze back to my drink. Bad move. Worst move ever - don't do it ladies. Rule #1 - never acknowledge them, because in warp speed this dude was in front of me, grabbing my hand like it was his to grab, and trying to pull me on the dancefloor with him. Darling...no. I was like, wtf! 

After much pulling and tugging, I managed to rescue my hand from the vice-like grip and he then engages in more club conversation. Dudes, clubs are not for, as the hood rats would say, "conversating" (lol). I don't wanna talk to you - about your life, your career, your mama. I just wanna dance. If I find you attractive, I will dance with you. If I feel like you need a charity grind, I will dance with you. But I am not interested in screaming at the top of my lungs about my hopes and dreams for the future. Why do they do this?

Anyway, during this shouting match he tells me where he is from (no, made me guess, cause I was privileged enough to have a Nigerian wanting me...my luck) and wants my number. No chance in hell. What's even worse, if you want to be a Grade A nuisance, can you ensure you smell good at least? The guy stank. His 24 hour underarm protection clocked out after maybe 16 hrs, and after hunting high and low yesterday for my regular brand of mouthwash with no luck, I understand why his breath was also as sweet as a city dump. I had to get away. And I did.

I came back from my sweet escape to find him gone and I started shaking again. Within 5 minutes, he materialised like a la diablesse beside me again. And grabs my phone which I had in my hand. Grabs my so and so phone! This guy had his chance to escape without unleashing the brute force of my disgusting Trini mouth, but enough was enough. Needless to say, he spent the rest of the evening on the lower level of the dancefloor looking up at me, like a kicked dog, while I continued shaking my ass - alone.

Exhibit C - Last night. Do you think approaching a group of beautiful black women and going  "I like black girls" will really get you a date, buddy? I mean, he was a cute Scandinavian type and before he opened his mouth I thought, nice. But really?? He left with his love for black women still intact I am sure, cause my friends were not too harsh, but he left without a phone number or a dance.

Exhibit D - The dude who stepped on my foot by accident causing me to physically push him away. He was very apologetic but his brand of apology I could do without. "I am sorry" still works. I did not need the hand holding and the kiss. I don't know you, buddy. WTH!

These were the major highlights, but it is an important reminder to single women everywhere. 

If you are looking for sex - nightclub.

If you are looking for a practice ground to perfect your eyeroll, your fluency in profanity and your dissing mechanisms - nightclub. 

If you are looking for the man of your dreams, you might be better off with Cosmo's picks like the Apple Store and my personal "favourites" - the cocktail bar and the supermarket.

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Blazin' over that Finish Line

One year ago, I quit my job and made plans to hop on a plane to London to commit 12 months of my fabulous life to academia, stress and chill here in London.

Today I submitted my Master's dissertation, ultimately ending my life as a student - re-entering normal adult life. I am ecstatic. It is raining like a mofo here but there is sunshine in my heart.

I am frickin' DONE! There are simply no words to describe this amazing feeling. No words.

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Are you a 30-something Geriatric?

Disclaimer: This is by no means a sweeping indictment of all 20-somethings. I mean, I used to be one and I was pretty awesome then too! And if you ARE a 30-something geriatric, we need to talk, Dr Phil style!

I left the house yesterday to wander through London, ending up at Haagen Dazs for a bit of chocolate orgasm and having the misfortune to sit next to a young lady who apparently had parrot's bottom for breakfast cause God...the girl talked and talked and talked...and talked. I looked over at her friend to see if there were any tell-tale signs of wear and tear on her ears and saw none that were visible but I am sure she was traumatised. While I tried my darndest to ignore her conversation - about her upcoming wedding, her job as an events assistant, her fiance, Canada, who's coming to the wedding, what she had for dinner the night before, the rehearsal dinner - it was really hard not to feel like I was at her table. But one comment that stuck with me was when she was describing some guy named Anthony (??) and she said

"It's incredible. He's 32 and has soooo much energy."

I almost choked on my whipped cream - if that is even possible.

The girl is clearly young, and a bit daft, but when did 32 become geriatric? Energy at 32? OMG. The horror! I felt my insides shrivel up and die at that moment - my 30-something year old insides. I should not even be talking about heels and flip flops. I should be reviewing wheelchairs and walkers!

Cheers to 30!

I'm not sure who the 30-somethings in her life are, but 30 is awesome, baby! After this postgrad experience, being around undergrads and just-out-of-undergrad 20-somethings, I honestly have no desire to go back to being 22, 23, 24. Maybe 27 - cause that was an awesome year for me, and I remember my birthday party - I was smokin', but I am pretty okay being a ravishing 30-something, with all the wear and tear of experience on my face (though I am not feeling the grey hairs, Mother Nature), in my smile and on my wisdom and outlook - which for the most part is as as sunny as London is today and it is pretty damn sunny outside.

And just as an FYI, 20-something year old motor mouth - sure you might have a few things up on your 30-something counterparts, like perkier boobs, fewer laugh lines, higher metabolism, but if you want to talk about energy:

When we hit 30, certain things get worse -- our boobs, ability to pull all-nighters, and energy levels -- but our sex life is not one of them - Yahoo! (read more)

Sleep with one eye open if the woman next to you and your hubby at the breakfast buffet on your honeymoon is over 30. lol.

Anyway, the evening ended being surrounded by other London geriatrics, who all seemed very alive, and enjoying life, and many many cocktails and then today started with some soca in New York - Kes The Band on Good Day New York, representing my beautiful country, Trinidad and Tobago - a land known for its energy, joie de vivre and resilience.

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No Awesome Week is Complete Without a Date Chase

Much better time this week!

It feels like I have not been here in quite a while. Well, that's how it goes when you try to have a life. lol. And when you're a student. And all sorts of other reasons. I don't live to blog. I love blogging but I also love not blogging.

Where last week was really awful - even inducing tears - this week was much better, thanks for asking.

Firstly, my supervisor FINALLY emailed me back with feedback on my dissertation, or to be more accurate, the draft I sent her. Needless to say, the "A" on my chest is flashing in neon lights, buddy. She was very impressed with what I sent her so far and the road to completion is now seemingly short. Of course, I am anal and a bit of a perfectionist so what another person may view as a major victory, and I do agree it is a major victory, I will find some way to make it a chore. lol. To make sure it is PERFECT!

Anyway, with the disso news, I felt a bit less pressured and stressed and took some down time. I love London but I always enjoy being out of London for a few days as well. I am a bit miffed I did not take my camera with me as I should really know better. I think it never occurred to me to take it cause when I left the house it was pouring down, cold, grey, blech and my expectations for the rest of the week were probably very low.

However, there were some beautiful weather moments and we took advantage. The English countryside is truly beautiful, when it's sunny, I hasten to add. I spent one lovely afternoon at Virginia Water. Beautiful lakeside park. Lots of dog walking, which usually means lots of me going "awww...doggie". Sorry, I stole these photos but just had to let you know what I experienced.

The Cascade at Virgina Water. Absolutely stunning
Photo Credit: The Royal Landscape - Virgina Water

The Five Arch Bridge at Virginia Water. It is a beautiful view actually. Gorgeous
Photo credit: The Royal Landscape - Virginia Water

Also there was some kitchen love. I always love cooking, but it's always better when it's not just for myself. I think I am an awesome cook so being able to share the love is always great. And having the kitchen love reciprocated is even better, so the apple and blackberry pie - very good, much appreciated, totally consumed. lol. And when it's a man doing the reciprocating in the kitchen, it is a big deal!

I must also take you back to this entry and share a funny story with you, dear readers. Go on, read this entry...I will wait.

Okay, so I always moan and groan about the men-bots in London. Basically, the men here are not very responsive to eye tag, cause well...they never look away from the screens of their smartphones, iPads or Kindles. It's a total waste of time trying to look cute cause noone cares!! Anyway, I was coming back from a lovely evening, complete with drinks at Claridge's (yes, had to drop that in cause I may never go there again) with a long lost friend, and walking through Victoria station, waiting for my train. Of course, I had pulled off student gear and was looking rather cute - and thankfully so, cause Claridge's was not the original plan!

Date chase - who woulda thunk it?

Suddenly (cue dramatic music), this guy runs up to me, breathless, yet eager (too eager??) and introduces himself. To say I was confused would be the understatement of the year. The expression on my face had to have been a combination of fear, shock, and confusion. Was this guy high? Was I about to be mugged, I asked myself, as I clutched my handbag tighter, very much aware that all I had in it was 5quid and lipgloss. But hey, I bought that bag in a very nice store in Manhattan. You don't mess with a girl and her swanky handbag!

Anyway...back to the train station dude.Yeah...chasing after me. What the hell? I have been in this country way too long cause the mere fact that a man, a Londoner no less, would even speak to a strange woman, much less, chase her down in a train station to talk to her, was mind boggling to me. In any event, after I asked him a few times whether he was sober and why he was chasing me, he said he saw me walking past, thought I was incredibly stunning, beautiful, gorgeous etc etc, and wanted to ask me out. As "luck" would have it, we were even going the same way and he followed me on to the train. Stalker or just enthusiastic? Well, you can rest assured, I am alive today as me typing this entry clearly indicates, so I would say "enthusiastic". We did have quite a nice chat on the train and the dude is quite normal, as far as I could tell. How did the story end? Wouldn't you like to know! lol.

Yes. The fun never stops here!

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