Crown Point: Paradise Lost
There was nothing much to do, so I spent the next day at Pigeon Point as well. But it was harder to get out of bed each morning. The thought of passing Bago’s Bar, with its set of ageing swingers, filled me with dread. And the long road to Pigeon Point is lined with men, all of whom are filled with a sense of entitlement. After three days of this, I was all chatted out. I didn’t want to see or talk to anybody.
But there is nowhere else to go in Crown Point. Store Bay beach is beset by a pack of rabid glassbottom boat wallahs, and I didn’t feel like going on a ride with any of them.
It could be worse. It could be Indonesia. Especially Lombok, where I nearly had to beat up a bunch of touts. I still carry the scars of that trip.
With a sigh, I packed my bag. I could get a sunchair and nobody would bother me. But the beach was a long way away,and it would cost me 34TT to go there and get that chair. On the other hand, nobody was forcing me to do anything. I could just stay here and dream of my backpacker paradise, and go in search for it tomorrow.
Half-way through packing my bag I paused, considering my options, and realised that I was feeling shaky and peculiar. Great, I’m now officially the only person on Tobago with panic disorder.
I took half a Xanax. I didn’t trust myself to get as far as the next corner, but if I’d holed myself away, I’d still be a house-bound agoraphobic. Time to go to the beach.
I made it as far as the Penny Saver’s supermarket on the corner, and only by pressing the key hard into my palm. Half a Xanax is not quite enough, and I was shaking again while waiting in the long Sunday queue with two litres of chilled orange juice. For some reason, chilled orange juice is a lifesaver, so I don’t care what it costs (which is a lot). With that I got a pack of Marlborough Lights, foregoing my usual Broadway. Today I would need all the creature comforts I could get.
But no rum.
Then I went home, pressing hard on that key, to ride it out.
The Tai Chi commencement exercise helped for a while, then I wimpered and went to bed. I didn’t fully detach and was OK about fifteen minutes later. Perhaps that little half-pill was enough. Or there is something about Tai Chi. However, I think it was the Xanax, which means that I must take it a full hour before going out and not twenty minutes beforehand.
Oh man, this could have gone badly. It’s just as well that the Hope Guesthouse is right next to the hospital. If this is still going on in three days’ time I’ll have to pay the emergency room another visit. Upright this time, I hope.
I felt calm and sleepy about one and a half hours after taking the pill. But it was artificial. I almost prefer to thrash around: get it over with. The goddamn chemicals were preventing things from running their course. It wasn’t a good feeling and I don’t know what is worse: no tranqs at all or too little of them.
I lay on the bed as quiet as a mouse while all around me chaos reigned. The scaffolding on the veranda collapsed, setting a bucket of paint flying. There was shouting and, minutes later, there was a knock on the door. No, I didn’t have a bucket but Shern did. Of course she asked whether I was alright and since I was plainly not on the beach where I belonged, I told her a half-lie that I had overindulged on the rum yesterday. (I had, somewhat. There was barely a table that hadn’t been converted into a bar. I even saw bottles of Johnny Walker, that sure sign that I’m on the road again).
I went back inside and the shuffling and banging continued. The landlord walked by shouting into his phone, barking like a sealion. The painter kept calling out “hello” and I thought he meant me until I realised that he was probably talking into his phone.
It was just as well that the tranqs were holding. It didn’t seem to be too serious, otherwise I could have popped them like Smarties and it would barely have made a difference.
The tranqs held until four thirty and by that time the place had calmed down, and so had I.
Tags: Americas, Crown Point, Panic attacks, Tobago, Tag Index
Denni