Last Sunday I awoke to patches of gray in conflict with the first peeking of the morning sun. My television programme The Road Less Travelled was meant to have covered St Peter's Day celebrations in the western peninsula last year but unforeseen circumstances scuttled that attempt. My stomach however churned with the prospect of being hopelessly snarled in traffic coming and going. You see, even in the best of circumstances, the Sodom and Gomorrah mayhem that typically follows the solemn religious procession to the water's edge with the statue of St Peter in tow generates enough traffic to trigger a brain aneurysm in any motorist. This particular Sunday I knew would be an unfathomable horror. The inaugural Red Bull Flugtag settled on Chaguaramas for this international event. It is a cheeky concept. Thrill seekers with money and time to flush are enticed to cobble together flying, or more appropriately gliding craft with the ultimate objective of testing whose contraption could travel the farthest distance over the waiting waters of ignominy. In my younger years I could imagine that my friends and I would have been lured to such an event like zombies to throbbing jugular veins; but then in those days I also never missed The Love Boat and I believe we are forgiven for the stupidity of our youth.
I picked up my cameraman at the "train station" in Port-of-Spain, and within minutes we were driving past West Mall when we were confronted with an absolute wall of traffic. Folks, this was at six o'clock in the morning. Already there were thousands of intrepid travellers from as far as Point Fortin forming the building blocks of what would become an unprecedented traffic nightmare. I parked just off the Western Main Road in an abandoned gas station. Baptist women dressed in their impossibly clean white dresses and head ties faced the calm morning sea singing their devotions. As I absorbed this breathtaking aesthetic, a little stinkin' thinkin' crept into my mind. "Jesus de Baptiss and dem in dis jump-up too!" At the corner of a street leading to what is probably the smallest chapel in the country, there was a makeshift stall occupied by the purveyor of what was easily the finest doubles in all of doubledom. Well he might as well have thrown a hundred tyres into the middle of the road and ignited the pile. This compounded the slow moving traffic as hungry motorists pulled over to line their stomachs in anticipation of the drinking ahead. There were also others who were hung over from the night before looking for blottin' paper.
Amazingly, within minutes of this doubles roadblock, two police officers on their brand new motorbikes which haven't been trashed yet pulled up on the scene like CHIPs! With a rapid dismount, exaggerated hand-waving and some harsh words, the traffic began to flow again, back to snail's pace, not macajuel, just eat ah agouti pace. As all of this chaos slowly built, the faithful at the St Peter's Church prepared the grounds for their day of fun which would include games like "bowl the tins," bran tub and, judging by the size of the pumpkins on display, "eat ah ponkin." One church member said they were asked by the Flugtag organisers to shift the date of their celebrations. The response to that was obvious and when asked why they (the Flugtag crew) did not resche-dule, the church was told that this was out of the question given that people were expected from all over the Caribbean and flights were booked and all this. Indeed, the parishioners were faced with the real possibility of having to dramatically curtail the traditional celebrations. This generally involves a street procession down to Pier Two where the devotees would board a large tug boat to witness the blessing of the boats at sea. It was eventually agreed that, with the assistance of a police escort, it was "into the breach we must."
Churchgoers were able to achieve their objectives and the priest presiding over the deeply religious affair was able to bless the boats at sea, only a few though. The others sought their blessings elsewhere, namely at the rocky shoreline along the lone artery into the peninsula. Fishermen who would ordinarily participate in the St Peter's Day religious component got a higher calling that morning, "Go forth and eat ah food." The rest is history: drowning, impenetrable traffic that inconvenienced thousands who had nothing to do with the Flugtag affair, opportunistic robberies and widespread mayhem.
The promoter, Ultimate Events impresario Dean Akin, described the Red Bull Flugtag as a resounding success. He seemed quite pleased with how the competition came off, which is of course all you can expect of a promoter. Said the Akin, "We had no control over the traffic..." Again, all you can expect from a promoter. At least Dean Akin could be excused for his smug indifference, that we are accustomed to in this country, but to hear the chairman of the CDA, Daniel Solomon, echo similar sentiments... He either did not know or did not care about the serious problems created by this event; both are inexcusable. At any rate after his CEO cracked the whip he learned to keep his a-- kwart.
Ian Fitzwilliam, the voice of AS Bryden, distributors of Red Bull, handled the issue with tongs. His remarks in news reports suggested that his company had very little to do with the Flugtag but in retrospect "an event like that would probably not be held in the peninsula in future." The organisers stated that they were expecting a crowd of 30,000 and the number simply swelled beyond that estimate. This is absolute rubbish; even at 30,000 Chaguaramas would be hard-pressed to digest that number of cars and people. Added to that the event was free and, as the organisers had indicated, people were expected from the wider region so please, if you are going to bulls--- people, at least put your back into it.
The tragicomedy entered with reports of the drowning incidents. Fishermen blamed the tusty party people for relinquished responsibility, the mother of a drowned child who could not swim blamed the captain of a sinking, overloaded boat for nut saying nuttin' even though she herself observed that there were no lifejackets on board, and others blamed the coast guard for not regulating the spontaneous ferry service which emerged that Sunday morning.
So to recap, people died and the organisers say the event was a great success. They had nothing to do with the traffic and they talked with whoever they needed to including the ODMP (after this was a fait accompli mind you.) The courts granted approval for this mammoth undertaking on the same day as St Peter's Day. Trinis, upon seeing how horrible the traffic was, parked their cars and walked for miles to get to Chagua-ramas. In true Trini style, everyone has passed the buck on this one so we will likely learn only one thing from this devastating debacle... See you next year, Flugtag.