When the Agostinis arrived in Trinidad, it's very unlikely they would have known about what would later be called "Maracas Bay". An extremely beautiful beach situated on Trinidad's north coast. Access was limited, but during World War 2, the American military decided to build a road leading to Maracas Bay. They'd heard about this wonderful Bay, and even visited it, and they were so impressed, they wanted to make it accessible to all. And so they built the road to Maracas Bay.
A winding road with stopping zones, or lookouts, to admire the natural beauty of Trinidad.
For Trinidadians born after World War 2 a visit to Maracas was almost like a ritual or rite of passage. Concrete mileage posts were erected along the way, which we children called "It". "It" was to spot the sign before any peers did. "I spot it." The winner was the person who shouted "It" first. Those with a knowledge of the road to Maracas obviously won the "It" game.
This road became so familiar to young Trinidadians like myself, that we knew virtually every turn of it, and the final breathtaking bend where Maracas Bay came into full sight.
On my last day in Trinidad, in February 1974, I slumbered under a coconut tree at Maracas Bay.
That remains my last memory of Trinidad. Soaking up sunshine at Maracas Bay under coconut trees. I understand that now it's very different, but I prefer to relive these memories as I left them - in youthful innocence. Maracas never had the high waves of a Bondi, but no child ever forgot being tumbled by a wave at Maracas. Even though relatively small, they seemed like mountains to us children. And we would go under, to emerge on the other side, a bit breathless.
No Trinidad family post-1950, I'd venture to guess, escaped the "Maracas experience". But in those days, we knew next to nothing about our ancestor, Simon Agostini, who made all of these tropical delights possible, after he fled a politically divided Corsica, to settle in the warm and inviting climate and waters of the Caribbean.
