If your heart has ever been broken, you know what the morning after feels like. For an instant after you first wake up, you feel gloomy without quite knowing why. Then it all comes flooding back.
We wandered out into the living room, bleary-eyed, not quite sure what to do with ourselves. Unni and Veena were packing, getting ready to leave for their afternoon flight. The atmosphere was like a tournament after the final, a party after the last guest had left. Sigh.
Well, our hopes may have been destroyed but our vanity was still intact. Our first order of business was to go out and buy what seemed like every brand of newspaper sold in Port of Spain. Why? To see if our pictures were splashed across the pages, of course! It appears we still managed to underestimate our newsworthiness. Some of us made a splash far beyond the island. Veena was BBC's face of distraught India!
Saying goodbye to Unni and Veena left our sadly depleted party feeling even more glum so we decided to drown our sorrows in food. We still hadn't managed to visit the much-recommended Hot Shoppe so we made our way there. It was worth the wait. We had dhalpuri (parathas stuffed with daal), a crumbly paratha called buss-up-shut (which, if research on Google is to be believed, originates from busted-up shirt), and the delicious mango curry which we'd been craving since we first tried it at the cricket grounds.
Then there was only one more thing left to do. Inevitably, we made our way back to the Hilton. The guys were somewhat reluctant so we agreed to "just one drink, and then we'll leave." The Indian cricketers were of course nowhere to be seen (chicken). Fortunately we saw our good old friend OJ wandering about the hallways so we were able to maintain our perfect record of celebrity sightings. I have to say he looked more like a rapper than a cricket star, gold chain, baseball hat and all, but who's complaining?
And so ends the story of seven days in T&T. Goodbye T&T, hello...Michigan??!! That's right, folks. The next stop for this bunch is the Rothbury Festival in Rothbury, MI. If you'd never heard of it before, join the club. Perhaps my next blog will be titled, "The Rothbury Festival Seen Through the Eyes of an Outsider Who Sticks Out Like a Sore Thumb."
Bye, bye!
The match against Bermuda was the warm-up for today's big game against Sri Lanka. For us, that is. We know the drill now. Get up. Get ready. Knot bandanas. Paint faces. Queen's Park, here we come.
The lessons we learned from the game against Bermuda have led to two major upgrades--a big broad bright brilliant blue banner (Dr. Seuss would be proud) with Dileepan's calypso and new India t-shirts for the ladies--two things that the cameras cannot afford to miss (even though I say so myself).
The stadium is abuzz when we arrive. The teams are just wrapping up their warm-ups on the ground. Irfan Pathan remains, bowling to Greg Chappell. It seems the boy (I call him this to remind myself he is several years younger than I) spends every free minute practicing and he and the coach apparently share a good relationship.
India has won the toss and elected to field. We think it's the right decision. As Smi points out, at least we can watch half the match without biting our nails. Our seats are fabulous and we are ready to roll.
The first half of the game goes to our satisfaction. The icing on the cake is Tendulkar's bowling. He looks delighted with his wicket, which is all we need to gladden our hearts (and focus the cameras on our banner). We get our five minutes of fame, too, but not without working hard for it. An imperious cameraman comes by and asks us to cheer for the cameras. We start chanting "जीतेगा भाई जीतेगा" but he cuts us short, peremptorily demanding that we come up with something else that hasn't been beaten to death. We are stumped (no pun intended). Unni recovers first and makes up some nonsensical ditty that we recite, a creditable performance under pressure. Next, the cameraman pounces on the fan from Mumbai who is sitting is front of us. The poor man is quiet and unassuming, and up to this point has been showing his support by silently waving his flag and creating chart paper banners on the spot as demanded by the occasion. His response to the pressure exerted by the cameraman is to chant "गणपती बाप्पा मोरिया," which we are exhorted to join.
All in all, it is a good half day's work and we think the bowlers have done well to restrict the Sri Lankans to a total of 254 on a ground this size. We watch the canival-esqe half time entertainment and eat our hot Trini lunch in the afternoon sun with a pleasant sense of anticipation, not even batting an eyelid when the belligerent cameraman comes back to film us eating.
And that's when it all starts to fall apart. Before we have even settled down to watch the batting, Uthappa succumbs. I train my binoculars on the dressing room to see how they are taking it. To my astonishment, many of the players, not least of all Tendulkar, are gnawing at their nails! It's disconcerting, to say the least, to see world-class players looking like nervous schoolboys even before the going gets tough. I've never seen anything like it in any other sport. Either they know something I don't or they need to fire the person in charge of their mental fitness. One way or the other it doesn't bode well for us. Sure enough when Ganguly gets out, Tendulkar comes out looking tense, shoulders arms to a couple of deliveries, and is back in the pavilion all in the space of five minutes. We stare at each other in disbelief. There is no rewind button to convince us that what we just saw did indeed take place.
Fortunately for us, Veeru and Rahul get it together and we reach the nineties without losing another wicket. A few more runs, I pray; make it 100 for 3 and then I can take a breath. But it is not to be. At 98, the wickets start to tumble once more like a recurring nightmare. When Agarkar replaces Dhoni we know there is no one left to save us. His innings does nothing to change that impression and, like all the others before him, he leaves all too soon. We sit there, bemused, as the match unravels before our eyes. I will never forget the image of the solitary figure of Dravid, leaning on his bat, standing alone at the wicket among the ruins. Something must have snapped inside him because he lets loose a flurry of effortless fours before scooping the ball up to Murali as if saying "enough is enough." And that signals the beginning of the end.
The game reaches its inevitable conclusion and the India fans start streaming out of the stadium. We decide to stay till the team leaves to show our support and make our way to the balcony overlooking the dressing room and the waiting bus.
The only person we see for a long time is Ganguly, who appears on the opposite balcony and has a quiet chat with Sanat Jayasuriya. The Sri Lankan supporters standing with us call out to "Sanat Maali," urging him to smile for a picture, which he does with good cheer. Ganguly, not surprisingly, is not as obliging. I think it is sporting of the two players to interact in this way but I can't help wondering what motivated Ganguly to leave the confines of his own team's dressing room.
One of the Sri Lanka supporters is a lady who takes great pride in informing us that she is Arjuna Ranatunga's cousin. She is happy and animated and tells us many stories. To her credit, she is sympathetic and says she would support India over any other team besides Sri Lanka. I feel like the old girlfriend talking to the new wife, smiling on the surface, crushed on the inside, knowing that she knows how I feel.
What can you say to support a team that is facing an irrevocable truth? The indefatigable fan from Mumbai, (the one who'd been making his banners on the spot throughout the game), has an answer. "See you in India in 2011," his chart says. Seeing him standing there, quiet and steadfast in his support, is somehow more poignant than any other display of emotion.
The players slowly emerge from the dressing room and board the bus in silence. We are strangely comforted by seeing how hard they are taking it and our hearts go out to them. The straggling group of fans surrounds the bus and applauds lightly as it leaves. Rahul Dravid draws the curtain on his window, bringing the curtain down, as it were, on India's performance.
Later that evening, we decided to drown our sorrows by going clubbing. Lystra, kind as always, piled us all into her car and drove us to the nightclub. The boys' shoes didn't pass muster with the bouncer so that idea was a non-starter. We decided it was the club's loss and made our way to find a place to eat instead.
If you ever find yourself hungry and heartbroken (or even heart whole and fancy free) in Trinidad, I highly recommend a visit to Veni Mange. It is a charming, colorful restaurant on Port of Spain's fashionable Ariapita Avenue and its owners, sisters Rosemary and Allyson, are straight out of a storybook. We arrived there after the kitchen had closed but the sisters took one look at us and decided we needed to be fed. Rosemary, herself a vegetarian, tackled the cooking, while Allyson fussed over us. She reminded me of the oracle from the Matrix, right down to the unhurried speech, ample frame, and fondness for clean-cut young men. She had our drinks brought to us while we waited (the best rum punch in the country, she averred) and we sipped them, feeling the blue mood recede.
Four desi uncles seated at the table next to us were drowning their sorrows in drink, or perhaps using their sorrow as an excuse to drink, and using their drunkenness as an excuse to dance with the hostesses. At any rate, they were considerably further along than we were and yet showed no signs of slowing down. They invited us to join them at a nightclub later and we used our recent experience with one as an excuse to refuse.
We were rescued by the arrival of our food--fresh, flavourful, and served steaming hot in generous platters. Allyson plonked herself down next to Unni ("let me sit next to this handsome young man") and Rosemary joined us soon after. They regaled us, telling us stories of "Briiiiian" (as Allyson referred to Lara with her drawn out vowels) and how he considered Allyson a mother to him. According to Allyson, he had brought "Sashin" to her restaurant some years ago ("what a lovely young man").
By the time we were ready to leave we were feeling warm and mellow. They called us a taxi and bid us goodbye with hugs and kisses (especially for the young men). See, women? The secret to aging gracefully is to call all the lads "young men" and then flirt shamelessly with them.
Tomorrow we say goodbye. Come back to read about it!
- Who do we like?
- Irfan Pathan, for his hard work and dedication
- Rahul Dravid, for standing tall among the ruins
- Saurav Ganguly, for being a sport in defeat
- The fan from Mumbai, for his stoicism in the face of defeat
- Allyson and Rosemary, for their warmth and hospitality
- Not so much?
- Sri Lanka fans whose unabashed glee is like salt on our wounds
- Bouncers who are finicky about footwear
Smi is right! My little viewing of Dada playing it cool had me forgetting all about Moody, the moodier Bhajji, and Mashrafe Mortaza, all of whom we also saw on Day 4. Nikhil saw Moody in the loo, so I needs must relate the story in third person. Sri Lanka had just routed Bangladesh so the conversation between Moody and his buddy went something like this:
Buddy: Tough day at the office?
Moody: Not really.
We saw Bhajji as we were leaving the Hilton. He was sitting at the makeshift bar in the lobby looking as cheery as ever.
As we were walking back to the apartment, we saw a great commotion outside Apsara. Naturally we decided to step right into the thick of it. Our friend the waiter (see Day 1) saw us and waved so I felt more like an invitee than a gatecrasher. We managed to get a photo with Mashrafe in the melee and then had a nice little chat with a Bangladeshi fan, talking about everything but the elephant in the room.
But that was yesterday. Today we've got up bright and early, put on our beach wear, slathered on the sunscreen, slipped into our flip-flops and are headed for...the airport.
We get there 45 minutes before the island-hopper is scheduled to depart for Tobago. Checking in is a leisurely affair; the agents use a makeshift seating-chart and write out our boarding passes by hand. We load the beach bag onto the x-ray belt and unhurriedly saunter through security and on to the plane in our flip-flops. (I am amazed at how easily we've adopted the casual Trini attitude.) A short flight later, we are at the airport in Tobago, walking distance away from the beach. Leisure travel has taken on a whole new meaning.
It is still early and no one is open for business. We decide to explore the beaches by foot. We reach Store Bay first, an idyllic but tiny patch of beach. We walk further to Pigeon Point, solicited on the way by several glass-bottom boat owners with varying degrees of savvy. We take all their phone numbers, making no promises, and settle on the guy we talk to right outside the gates of Pigeon Point for no other reason than that he seems like a nice guy.
Tickets, waterproof wristbands, and a few Patel snaps later, we are in Paradise: a quiet, long stretch of beach, white sands dotted with yellow umbrellas, and waters that take on ever-changing shades of blue. The water is cool, calm, and inviting, and remains shallow far out into the sea. We take leisurely swims (that sometimes degenerate into races), toss a frisbee around, and loll about on the deck chairs. As the day progresses, more visitors arrive, including our fan friends from the Bermuda game. They start a game of cricket on the beach, which some of us inevitably join. The one o'clock hour rolls around, and it's time for us to head out on the glass-bottomed boat.
Our fellow travellers include a desi couple with a six-month old child who is unfazed by the adventure. The water is very shallow and gives us clear views of coral reefs through the glass bottom. We stop a few kilometers out to snorkel--a first for some of us. It is an exhilarating experience. Our choice of boatman turns out to be fortuitous; experience has given him an unerring instinct. He wades unhurriedly through the water, urging us to keep up with him, and periodically asks us to look in. Sure enough, each dip finds us in close quarters with the most unusually coloured fish in vibrant shades of blue, purple, and orange. He has a hard time getting us back on to the boat!
Our next oceanic stop is at the Nylon Pool, a calm, shallow basin of translucent water located unexpectedly in the middle of sea, miles from the shore. We jump off into waist-deep water and onto a surprisingly soft sea bed of white sand. The boatmen claim the sand has therapeutic properties and encourage us to use it as an exfoliating scrub. We play our part as gullible tourists and do just that.
Our sojourn at sea is over and we find ourselves back on the beach all too soon. We cool off in one of the thatched huts on the beach and are entertained by a couple of guys playing pan drums. They demand tips and we dish out, gullible tourists once more. Kuttan tries his hands at the pan drums to get some पैसा वसूल.
All we have time for is a quick dinner before our flight back to Trinidad. We start walking back to the airport (This has to be a first--walking to the airport) and spot a restaurant on the way. It turns out to be perfect, small and inviting with outdoor seating on the back porch. We enjoy soups, salads, and desserts made with the freshest ingredients, and leave feeling very satisfied.
Adrian Bharat has a Norwegian friend staying in Tobago, and he had encouraged us several times to get in touch with her. We meet her briefly at the restaurant across the street from the airport before heading back. A gigantic Virgin Atlantic Boeing 747 is incongruously parked at the airport, separated from the road only by a slim, chain-link fence. A long line of British tourists are checking in for their flight at equally incongruous open-air counters. Accustomed now to Trini time, we check in with perhaps 15 minutes to spare.
Back in Trinidad, we head to Apsara for dinner. We've been here long enough to know it isn't worth spending time looking for a place that is open for dinner! Not surprisingly, some Bangladeshi players are dining there, too, so we maintain our record of seeing cricketers daily. A beautiful end to a beautiful day!
- Pan drummers under the corrupting influence of tourism
- Desi couple and kid, who are game for all adventures
- Fellow fans who play cricket on the beach
Tomorrow is THE day. Don't miss it.
Two days left for the big game against Sri Lanka. The outfits we wore to Monday's match earned us many compliments but not much press. That has to be remedied. We have just the thing to give us the edge--a made-to-order calypso thanks to Dileepan, the chorus of which we plan to paint on a banner. Our landlady, who is also getting into the swing of things, has given us a tin of white fabric paint. Nikhil and Smi spent the morning looking for cloth to match and have come back with yards of brilliant blue fabric. We plan to devote the evening to getting it ready.
In the meantime, we have places to go and people to see. We think it would be nice for the rest of the gang to meet Adrian Bharat, who lives in Chaguanas. Our guide book tells us that there is an Indian-Chinese restaurant in that town, so that settles it. Chaguanas, here we come!
Our guide book also tells us a street food we must try is "doubles." We've been trying to get our hands on some ever since we got here but our attempts have so far been stymied. You can imagine our delight at finding a doubles vendor as soon as we drive into Chaguanas, especially since the Indian-Chinese restaurant was nowhere to be found.
Chaguanas has to be seen to be believed. It is bustling and chaotic and its charm lies in the incongruity of everything around: a Chandni Chowk-esque town centre where shops selling plastic buckets jostle for space with KFC outlets, a mall where you can buy everything from toothpaste to a bright, sequinned, घागरा चोली, and young men of African descent listening to old Hindi film music that would make our parents nostalgic.
We decided to sample the doubles while we waited for Adrian Bharat. Doubles are two पूरी with चटपटा चना in between, and are absolutely delicious. Apparently triples are available, too. The doubles disappeared in a flash so we caved in and went back for more. While we were at it, we decided we may as well sample everything else on Ravi's list--aloo pie, saheena (पूरी with भाजी baked into the dough) and palourie, which seemed to be a combination of वडा and पानी पूरी chutney. The SUV had a picnic table. We set it up right there in the parking lot and proceeded to devour our food with gusto.
Adrian joined us and took it upon himself to play host and show us Chaguanas. We walked through the Trini equivalent of a सबज़ी मंडी before proceeding to a coffee shop where we treated Adrian to his first ever taste of a frappuccino-style beverage.
Returning to Port of Spain, we got to work on painting the banner, an elaborate operation that involved six people, six yards of cloth, a tub of paint, a paintbrush, and several plastic bags. Not surprisingly, we needed a break halfway.
The girls were keen on "liming," which for us had become synonymous with celebrity-spotting. I, in particular, was looking for some insight into the players as everyday people, an interaction that was person-to-person rather than fan-to-celebrity.
The natural place to start? Apsara, of course. We planned to take a quick peek at the famed guest book to see if there were any reservations for large parties with giveaway comments like "Sri Lanka" in the remarks column. We hadn't bargained for the doorman. I recovered quickly upon seeing him and asked him if reservations were available for an hour later. Veena meanwhile quickly scanned the book and then guilelessly asked the doorman if any players were eating there today.
"Who do you want to see?" he said.
We were thrown by the unexpected question and realized he wasn't going to give an inch, so we beat a retreat and proceeded to our next destination, the Hilton.
A makeshift security checkpoint had been set up for all visitors who were not staying at the hotel. I was the first to walk through the detector; the others got stuck behind a large party of guests who had just arrived. As I waited near the detector, I looked past the line and saw Saurav Ganguly walking towards us, accompanied by David Hemp (a Bermuda player) and others who I presume were Hemp's wife and child. The security guard didn't recognize any of them and held them up, asking Saurav to walk through the detector. Saurav merely smiled and explained that they were staying at the hotel, with no mention of who he was. By this time the others had registered what was going on and told the security guard who he was holding up. Since all of this was taking place right under my nose, it was impossible for me to hide my amusement. Inevitably, I caught Saurav's eye, and we exchanged "hi's."
We didn't see any other players that day but I did get the insight I was looking for. Saurav was clearly a chilled-out guy, relaxed and outgoing enough to go out for a meal with a player from another team. His reaction to being held up by the security guard was, to my mind, both unperturbed and modest. And that's why, ladies and gentlemen, for my money, Saurav Ganguly is the man!
- Ravi, the doubles vendor, coz he's cool and his doubles are hot
- Saurav Ganguly, coz he's the man!
- Not so much?
- Doormen who thwart our efforts at liming
- New friends?
- Our landlady, Lystra, who we owe for supporting the Indian team and our banner-making efforts
- Favourite activites of the day?
- Visiting Chaguanas
- Eating doubles
- Liming
Tomorrow we head to Tobago. Read about it here!
Today is the day we pick up our rental car and drive around to see the real T&T. The guide books did not exaggerate when they said that reserving a car did not in any way guarantee that one would be held for you. Instead of a minivan from Budget, we are now going to pick up an SUV from Thrifty and that’s just the way it works.
Unni, Nikhil, and I were the designated drivers so we left early in the morning with the intention of catching a Maxi Taxi to downtown and another from there to the airport. We were peering at our little map when a well-dressed lady in a suit approached us and asked us where we wanted to go. When we told her, she asked us to walk along with her and pointed us to the bus to hop on to while she went on to her job at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. The bus, she explained, was cheaper, air-conditioned, and would take us to the city bus stop. And so it was! Can you imagine a public transport bus with air-conditioning and plush high-backed seats for less than 30 US cents a ride?
Unfortunately, when we got to the city bus stop, we found out that there were no more buses to the airport till evening. We hadn't even had time to plan our next move when we were approached by another Trini, a man this time, asking us where we wanted to go. We told him.
"Where you from?" he asks.
"India," we reply.
"I'll take you," he says.
The airport was a good half hour's drive on the highway, understand, so we didn't immediately register that he was offering to drive us there himself. He didn't even give us a choice really, saying matter-of-factly that it wasn't every day he got to meet people from India. Nikhil walked along with him. We followed with some hesitation, which rapidly changed to gratitude when we discovered he was a policeman coming off duty after a 24-hour shift, and that he was going to borrow his friend's car to take us.
The car was parked some distance way at the Department of Labour. We walked through town observing all the ladies in business suits walking briskly to work and all the, ahem, gentlemen, liming and showing no sense of urgency. "Sri Lanka," one of them called out, seeing Unni and me.
Our friend, we discovered, was Adrian Bharat, and, like many other Trinis of Indian origin, felt a great fondness for a motherland he really knew nothing about. He showed us an old New York State driver's licence. He had been there for a year, working in the World Trade Center till 9/11 happened. It was his "Trini attitude" which made him late for work that day and saved his life. It also made him decide to return home.
Adrian dropped us off at the airport and gave us his phone number to call in case we had any "legal troubles" :). And that was how we got to the airport for less than the fare of one Maxi Taxi ride.
We drove back to pick up the rest of the gang and headed out for the Asa Wright nature centre. Stopping for coffee in town, which took its own Trini time, gave us a chance to ask for directions. We wanted to take the Eastern Main Road (EMR), not the highway, we told the Trini man who had (surprise, surprise) stopped to help us. The EMR wasn't the best way to go, he said; the highway would be better.
"We want to see things along the way," explained Unni.
"Ah!" he said, enlightened. "Tourists." He proceeded to give us precise and elaborate directions peppered with uncoventional descriptions of landmarks (like "confusion junction"). These, along with Unni's manful negotiation of the winding roads through the forested mountains, led us to Asa Wright (almost) without a hitch.
Asa Wright, being a protected area, cannot be explored without a guide and the tours for the day were over by the time we reached. We would have left without seeing a thing but for Veena and Unni's never-say-die attitude. They convinced the receptionist to arrange for a special mini-tour for us and it was perfect.
Barry the tour guide was a young man with a dry and sarcastic sense of humour that perhaps belied his affection for the creatures he showed us. According to him, there were over 70 species of birds to be seen from the verandah alone. We stood there and soaked it in for a while before taking a little hike where we encountered a mat lizard, a couple of noisy parrots, exotic plants like haliconias, a colony of ants with a fascinating social structure, and various colourful birds. See my updated albums for pix.
Another long and winding drive through the Northern Range and along the coast brought us back to T&T in time for dinner. Street food in Trinidad vanishes around 5:00pm so dinner is always harder to find. We reluctantly settled for TGIF, giving up all hopes of "sightings." Given the experience of the past couple of days, we should have known better. Leverock was there when we walked in, sitting at a table of four. The intrepid ones got photos, of course, and also found out the name of the other player at the table, Smith.
- Who do we like?
- Adrian Bharat, coz we don't get to meet people like him everyday
- Leverock, coz he stood up and was happy to take a picture with us
- The Trinis, coz they are incredibly helpful
- Not so much?
- The street food vendors, coz they won't stay open for dinner
- Favourite activities of the day?
- Communing with nature
- Getting our daily dose of cricketers!
Yes, Casino Fever deserves a mention, though a written description cannot possibly do justice to the video. After all the excitement yesterday, we spent some time unwinding in the apartment before dinner. Some of us took a nap and the others watched Tempo, T&T's answer to MTV. The song that stuck in our minds? Casino Fever by Crazee. I imagine crazee refers to his manic smile. His similarity to a sadhu begins and ends with his looks; the lyrics of Casino Fever are anything but saintly. Liquor in the front, poker in the back. We all had a eureka moment when we saw him licking his lips and registered the double-entendre. Enough said.
Now to Monday and to our first live game in T&T. Bermuda fans, you ain't got nothin' on us.
Check out our designer clothing (a Kuttan original creation), individually hand-painted (by Smi and Veena) and accessorized with a splash of colour that pulls everything together. The bandanas and warpaint really put us over the top. As THE fans, we have a rep to protect after all. The photo, by the way, was taken by our lovely landlady, Lystra. It's 8:00 am, ladies and gentlemen, and we are ready to roll!
We walk across the Savannah to the ground. The atmosphere is festive and lively. Seeing our smiles, the Trinis who check our tickets tell us they want to see us smiling just like dat when we come out.
There is just a smattering of people when we get to the stadium and it stays that way through the match. We are seated in the Dos Santos stand, right behind fielder OJ Pitcher. OJ turns out to be a good sport, smiling and giving us the thumbs-up when we sing "OJ, OJ, OJ, OJ." He also keeps us up-to-date on the score when the scoreboard fails. The people in our stand are a fun bunch of folks. Our favourites are the three Trinis who are there to have a good time. They periodically yell out rhetorical questions to anyone who cares to hear. Seeing the Indian batsmen smash the ball around: "Why you couldn't play like dis Saturday?". When the scoreboard fails: "What da score?"
But the story of the day really is about the batting. My favourite innings was Sachin's cameo in which 
he played audacious shots like the good old days. Final score? 413 for 5. We have just witnessed a world record and we're lovin' it.
We get our first taste of Trini food when we buy lunch from the concessions. We also run into some family members of the Bermuda players. The food is delicious, particularly the mango curry, and is liberally spiced with habaneros.
After lunch, the bowling is an anticlimax and India takes far too long to wrap up the tail. There are many empty seats and nobody cares that we walk around the stadium. We sit near a Bermuda fan making strident remarks for all to hear. She wants to know how may people we have to choose cricket players from and makes a point of comparing Bermuda's 56,000 population to our 1 billion. She also informs us that the Bermuda players all have day jobs outside cricket. Leverock, for example, is a police officer. She yells to the Indian players to stop begging for LBWs and to get honest wickets by getting the Bermudans bowled instead. I feel vindicated when Kumble's ball finds Tucker's stumps.
We're a little surprised to see that only the two captains and the man of the match show up for the awards ceremony. It is really too much to ask the players to show some team spirit (and acknowledge their fans)?
But all in all it's a fun day's outing to Queen's Park Oval. We take some pics in the fan zone before heading back and round off the day with our first taste of rum punch at Tamnak Thai.
And now for responses to some of your comments on yesterday's blog. Many of you wanted to know how we managed to get all the players to pose with us. People, you have it backwards. What you should have asked was: Weren't we tired of having all these players around everywhere we went? They couldn't seem to get enough of us, THE fans :). I, on the other hand, even forgot to mention the couple of Bangladeshi players we saw at the Hilton yesterday. You can imagine how bad it was if players were being reduced to mere afterthoughts.
Jokes (and delusions) apart, T&T is extremely relaxed and laid back. The Sri Lankans took full advantage of it. Smi pointed to a bunch of guys sauntering down Queen's Park East and joked that it must be the Sri Lankans, and sure enough, it really turned out to be them. The Indians, on the other hand, need to get out more. I mean that in every sense of the phrase.
- OJ, coz he's a good sport
- Leverock, coz he is to cricket what the bumblebee is to flying
- Fans who heckle OJ
- Fans who heckle other fans
- OJ
- Two Bermuda fans in uniform (we are magnanimous in victory)
- Favourite activites of the day?
- Watching live cricket
- Bashing Bermuda!
See my updated photo album and come back for Day 3!
We arrived in POS late last evening. It's a quiet and balmy Sunday here, and the battles we fought through the chaos at ORD and EWR in the wake of the snow storm are already forgotten.
Today we spent a leisurely morning settling into our cosy apartment. Wandered out at lunch time and instantly became something of a tourist attraction when the policepersons wandering behind us (equally aimlessly, it appeared) stepped out in front of the traffic on Queen's Park East and held it up till we had crossed the road. We soon found ourselves in front of the Hilton and couldn't resist making our way up there knowing it's where the players are put up.
If a couple of India t-shirts and a large cricket underwear hanging out to dry were anything to go by, the first signs were promising. Unni certainly seems to think so! Another promising sign was a large bus with its engine running waiting outside the hotel.
We were not to be disappointed. As soon as we reached the main entrance to the hotel, we spotted Sangakarra leaving and Vaas walking in with yet-to-be-identified man who was nice enough to take a picture of all of us. Note Vaas's photo pose; more on this later.
That was celebrity sighting enough for me but the more intrepid among us (Veena and Smi) went back to the bus and charmed the driver into telling them that he was indeed transporting Team India to net practice. Soon enough they were rewarded by a parade of players passing right under their noses and managed to take a couple of snaps when their hands stopped shaking with excitement :).
Those of us who hung back in the lobby had our fair share, too. We watched, as if in a dream, the completely unexpected sight of Rahul, Saurav, Kumble, and Bhajji walking out in single file with Greg Chappell. There may have been others but I was too stunned to register exactly what was happening. Their stony faces were unforgettable though; they looked like they had been given a sound dressing-down after the loss to Bangladesh. The friendly doorman did a little sleuthing and confirmed that nets were being held at the Queen's Park Oval today. Our vacation had started off with a bang!
We rewarded ourselves with a late lunch at...wait for it...SUBWAY! It seemed to be the only place in town open on a Sunday. Take the same ingredients and put them in the hands of Trinis and lunch becomes a lot more...leisurely. It was our first taste of the pace of Trini life and it suited us just fine.
We stopped by at Queen's Park Oval after lunch to watch the team at nets. The setting is lovely--small and intimate and surrounded by mountains. It was sunny and surprisingly quiet with not too many people around besides the team and the press. Saw Kumble bat and Dhoni bowl which is not much to write home about :). We were standing around quietly and minding our own business so we were a little surprised to see cameras trained on us. Turned out ESPN wanted "the fans" to talk about how disappointed we were about the loss to Bangladesh (never mind that none of us had seen the match). So if you watched a segment on Sportscenter with six fans dishing out platitutes and then suddenly bursting into "Jeetega bhai jeetega, India jeetega," you know now what that was all about. Nikhil, Smi, and Kuttan also appeared on Zee TV talking about empty seats at the match despite ICC claiming it was sold out (again, never mind that none of us had seen it).
I wandered off to hear Greg Chappell talk to the press about India's loss (more platitutes) while the intrepid ones hit jackpot with their cameras. These photos are not to be missed! Click on the pic below to see the album.
Some observations:
- How do you tell the veterans from the newbies? The veterans know how to strike "the pose"!
- How do you get them to actually register that you exist? If "them" is Sreesanth and "you" are Mallu, address him in the mother tongue. His response? "Aiyyo!"
- Being diverted by Greg Chappell is not diverting. You snooze AND you lose. I made it back only in time to get the palm of my hand into the pic with Sachin.
Just before the team was getting ready to leave, we heard the sad news of Bob Woolmer's death. It spread through the press like wildfire and most of them, having been on the tour for years, were visibly upset.
Think we had enough excitement for the day? Think again. We go to Apsara for dinner and find ourselves seated a couple of tables away from Greg Chappell, who is having dinner with his wife and another couple. Soon after, the entire Sri Lankan cricket team walks in. Apsara is well-deserving of such a star-studded guest list. The food is delicious, service friendly, and atmosphere upscale yet relaxed.
After dinner we spend time liming (Trini-speak for hanging out) on the benches across the street from Apsara, along the Queen's Park Savannah. We see the Sri Lankan team leaving some time later and are so celebritied-out that we are content with waving to them. Or are we? The intrepid ones change their minds and dash after them as they take the inner roads back to the Hilton. Nikhil manages to get the last snap of the day with Dilhara.
- Munaf bhai, coz he was actually happy to have his picture taken
- Rahul, coz he's a nice guy
- Irfan, coz he works hard (and he's soooo cuuuute)
- The Sri Lankan team, coz they all went to dinner together
- Saurav, coz he's chilled out and no one does "the pose" better
- Bhajji, coz he can't crack a smile
- Kumble coz he can't crack a smile
- Aftab, a mathematician from Delhi, who follows where the team leads
- Vidhanshu, the reporter from ESPN
- The server at Apsara
- Favourite activites of the day?
- Liming
- Seeing and being seen!
Stay tuned for Day 2.
