We left about 4pm. The wind, which was supposed to have an element of North instead had a firm grip from the South. This meant that we wouldn’t avoid Hibiscus.. hold on, at this rate we wouldn’t avoid Venezuela. Not that we’d want to under normal circumstances. But Venezuela has been under a state of emergency since the beginning of the year. There was only one thing for it. Motor with your third sail. You know, the noisy one. 

Without further ado, we arrived at Trinidad’s steep and wild North shore at dawn. After getting used to the light, you can’t believe your eyes. Everything is different. The birdsong, the rainforest, the colour of the water. So close to South America, just under seven miles from Venezuela at its northeastern point, Trinidad sits firmly on the South America plate. The Orinoco river; the fourth largest river in the world for discharge volume, comes out of Venezuela and straight into Trinidad. We looked down. Sometime overnight the water had gone from blue to a dark shade of red. And yet for all its looks, Trinidad doesn’t claim to be South American. Trinidad calls itself Caribbean and backs it up with English language and Caribbean culture. But herein lies Trinidad’s fate. Not quite the Caribbean for geography and not quite South America for culture. Trinidad is Trinidad. She’s on her own.

We came in and found the last mooring buoy in the anchorage. Made tea and watched the girls wake up from their passage slumber to take in this new place. In Chaguaramas, ships surround you on all sides; huge projects in dry docks and ships out at anchor waiting to be called to a gas field. The boatyards lined up neatly on our left. The marina on our right. We were hauling in just under a week. Perfect.