Day 5: Tobago: Brilliant Shades of Blue

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!

• Who do we like?

• Our boatman in Tobago

• Not so much?

• Pan drummers under the corrupting influence of tourism

• New friends

• 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.