On the north easterly side of Tobago, the higher up Mount St George you go, the thicker, greener and more lush the forests become, and with that there are plenty of mosquitos, I came home with plenty of bites to prove it, and I remember hearing the mosquitos buzzing around my ears at night, making me shiver.
A steep, winding corkscrew road takes me up this Caribbean mountain, with sparkling views of the ocean all the way back down, perfectly blue and calm.
A shepherd appears, his face framed with dreadlocks while holding an inquisitive look in his eye as he passed by. He walked down the steep road with his flock, a sturdy wooden cane in his hand, pounding the ground with each step.
In the mountain, nature seems closer and society seems to have been left somewhere further down below at ground level – you can hide away from the world up there and pretend it doesn’t exist.
Each day I heard the call of the Cocricos bird, a melodic and very loud bird call that was impossible to ignore or mimic. Locally, the Cocricos are regarded as a nuisance for eating ripe fruit from the trees – but who can blame them, they’re only taking what they need and singing because they’re happy!