In this age of tightened belts, deficit budgets, and austerity measures, it ain’t easy to shell out a cool thousand dollars on a fete. Actually, it isn’t easy to shell out a thousand dollars on a single fete, even in the best of times. Therefore, it took a lot of convincing to prompt me to consider parting with the necessary funds to procure a ticket to Beach House. However, being the idiot that I am, I succumbed to overwhelming peer pressure, and coughed up the dough. But I did so with one caveat. I tend to be a fairly lenient critic of fetes. I’m the kinda guy who can enjoy myself, by myself, in a car park with a cooler and the car radio. Beach House would get no such leeway. The fete would have only one opportunity to impress me. But impressing me alone would not be enough. For the princely ransom of $1000, I demanded excellence, above and beyond my wildest expectations. And by good golly George, Beach House delivered.
From my rookie perspective, the fete can be summed up most easily like this: there is epic, and then, there is Beach House. From top to bottom, this was the best fete that I have attended in years. I don’t know who planned it, but I need to find them and shake their hands. The actual location of the fete, while out of the way, is unique, especially once the sun begins to set. I know Sevilla Golf Course from working in Couva area. Never once did it cross my mind that it could be transformed to look like that. The golf course rests on the top of a series of hills that form part of the Central Range. While the view from the golf course is far from stunning, there is a sense of freedom that the golf provides, which is intoxicating all on its own. Maybe it’s the open air. Maybe it’s the lack of fencing surrounding the fete. Maybe it’s the never-ending Moet and Patron. Who knows? Who cares? And speaking of Patron…
The drinks selection on offer was insane. I wish I could list everything I drank, but my memory started getting fuzzy after my 3rd glass of Moet. Which came after my 4th margarita. Which was nestled somewhere between my 5th or 6th glass of Johnny Green and coconut water. Anyway, my point is there was something on offer for everyone. There were even sno-cones available. With puncheon laced syrup. Even now, I’m still having arguments with TC crew members. One maintains she had nothing but Johnny to drink. I explained that I know differently. How do I know differently? I was the one who brought her the cup of Patron Silver, straight (the one she now claims was water). The same Patron Silver she asked me to obtain for her. Of course, I’m the liar in this argument. Even as she remained mysteriously hung over for the next 3 days after the fete.
The best part of Beach House, however, has to be the actual atmosphere. The metamorphosis that occurs in the vibes, as the sun sets, is difficult to explain. The fete starts off as a pretty run of the mill all-inclusive during the daylight hours. To use more localized parlance, de ting does be rellll social. But as daylight turns to dusk, and the sky takes on its familiar saffron hues, the sense of wanton abandon grows. As the darkness grows, conversation decreases, and the dancing becomes more frenzied and frantic. Then suddenly all hell breaks loose. I would go into more details, but I have brokered “quid pro quo” agreements with the rest of the TC crew members who were present there. (Though I can say, we had to talk one member out of attempting to climb the scaffolding and wining on it.) And then suddenly, at 10 pm, it all ceases.
When Deez called me from Beach House last year, to ramble incoherently about how it was the best fete on Earth, I simply assumed he was drunk. Even though I was correct in making that assumption, I have now experienced the type of drunkenness to which he was referring. And it has left me with the kind of hangover that has me craving more. So with that in mind, I proffer the question: “Meh, a thousand bucks alone?”
(Actually, scratch that. I’m still gonna need some convincing…)
Triniyute is not an actual writer, though his love for life, liquor and liming is genuine. He sometimes maintains the blog Soul Reasoning, you know, when he’s not liming by the bar.