The Caravan was a faithful servant, hardly giving me any problems, never leaving me on the road, and was a godsend during Hurricane Ivan in 2004, which is another story for another day. In short, I loved it.
So when I moved to Guyana, along with my musical gear and my handyman tools and my books and paintings, I brought the Caravan. Mind you, in both Cayman and Guyana, it’s been a case of my close family (particularly the young ones) being on my case to sell the van and get something more “appropriate.” They’re nuts. I knew what I had.
The week the van arrived here, I went to John Fernandes in Ruimveldt to clear it, and when the container door opened and I saw the Caravan staring at me, a smile came to my face; your boy was set.
To begin with, there is clearly some sentiment operating here, as will become clear when I tell you the Ivan Hurricane story some day, but the practical side in this town is huge.
The first plus is that the van seats 7 comfortably, and in Guyana, where you can easily end up going home with four more people than you started out with, that is a definite bonus.
Also, if Auntie Theresa is coming from Canada with a gargantuan suitcase that taxi drivers run from, the Caravan will take it, and not even belch.
The Caravan is normal vehicle size outside, but with the two back seats out – you just pull two levers – that expansive interior room is a saviour time and again.
On one of my trips back here, I brought in a dozen fruit tree seedlings from the US in a large reinforced cardboard box almost 8 feet long and 3 feet wide; for the trip to the Miami airport, I had to practically use a crowbar to get the thing into the rented car with all the seats down.
To my distinct surprise, Caribbean Airlines accepted the box for an extra US$20 without blinking, but at Timehri it took almost half an hour to find a minibus to accommodate the box, manoeuvering the seats to get the box in, and then we had to hire a taxi to take us.
I was standing there wishing I had the Caravan; it would have taken the box and the two of us with a smile, and we would have been off to town in a flash.
Here’s another bonus: Not having lived in Guyana for so many years, I was in for a big surprise when I started going around buying stuff; very few stores here deliver your purchases.
If the item is too big for your car, you have to rely on the Canter trucks for hire outside, or the horse cart for very long items. The Caravan makes all that a breeze. Whether fetching floor tiles, or two large garbage cans, or 8 boxes of magazines for the wife, I can just load up and go.
We bought a freezer in Water Street – they wheeled it out to the sidewalk, put it in the back (I had taken out one back seat in advance) and I had room left to give two guys a drop to Lamaha Street; they kept looking in the back like they expected this huge box to blow up.
Recently, a friend is looking for some emergency housework that requires a ladder. I have one, about 8 feet long, but his car is one of those Japanese machines where somebody like Ramesh Dookhoo would have trouble fitting, never mind an 8-foot ladder.
The Caravan took the ladder and my friend and we’re off to Subryanville, cool breeze. Try that with your Corolla or your SUV.
I can’t begin to tell you how many times the Caravan has come in handy. I fetched sand in it; I mean 7 bags of sand, serious weight – the guys loading it at Frankie Camacho’s job site were sceptical – but no problem. I’ve used it to bring home lumber from the Embankment – all right, it was only 2×4 greenheart in 8ft lengths, but without the van I would have needed a horse cart, and if, like now, rain falling, your lumber gets wet; in the Caravan, mine gets home dry. My wife had four barrels of stuff for the Amerindian communities, each weighing over 100 pounds.
Two strong guys lifted them in the back of the Caravan, rolled the barrels in, and away we went to the Amerindian Hostel. The Caravan, I’m here to report, didn’t even sag.
The van is now 12 years old – the plastic in the middle of the steering wheel has calcified and is cracking, and the cigarette lighter doesn’t work.
Also it doesn’t have that warning feature that beeps when you’re backing up, and getting parts here for an American vehicle can tax the patience of an Ursuline nun, but I plan to hang onto it as long as I can. In the first instance, turning my head and looking back as I reverse keeps me flexible, and 40 years in the music business have left me with more patience than Job.
My connection to the Caravan is rock solid. In this country, it’s like a best friend you can always rely on. The folks around me can preach about a more “appropriate vehicle” all they want; I’m sticking with the Caravan, and my Campbellville mechanic whiz Adrian DeSouza keeps her shipshape.
Last month, I’m driving up the East Coast road. A fellow in a Honda pulls up alongside me, and shouts across: “I love your minivan; you want to sell it?” I shouted back, “Thanks, but I love it more than you do.”
