Day 8: I'm dreaming of a wet Christmas

Christmas Day it rained. All day. Heavy rain. A few interludes, but mostly drenching, constant rain. The locals say this is the way it usually is in November, but by the end of December, the rainy season should have ended. The locals say the rainy season has been getting longer, extending into January, and they blame it on climate change. I can't say they're wrong.

No big deal, though. Nothing is open on Christmas day, anyway. And you can sit outside, under cover, and it's perfectly pleasant, watch the ocean, down some rum, and scribble scribble scribble.

Christmas dinner we had an open house; for us, our hosts, Reggie (the Sargent's property manager), his fourteen-year old daughter Cassandra, and Caroline. Reggie was shy and seemed a little uncomfortable. Caroline was the first white person I've heard talk with a Tobagan accent; she was born here and has lived here all her life, except for college in Canada. Nice dinner; I peeled the potatoes, as befits an Irishman, but it didn't get me out of paying the bill.

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