It seems this is as good a time as any. Halloween time after all. All Hallows Eve if you grew up religious like me. I guess that’s why the events of that night were so disturbing. You see, when you’re bread to believe in such things as ghosts and spirits and … devils, well, your imagination sometimes betrays you. So, again, this is as good a time as any to relay the story of how I first found myself called by Tiki.
It was dark that night on account of the overcast. Darker than even usual for a beach. Folks don’t realize just how satin black the beach is at night. Not even a twinkle of Orion chasing the seven sisters across the sky. Just a smokey blackness, cut only by an occasional flash of lightning slicing across an inkline horizon. The storm was coming but as of yet my sand was still dry; save the ever constant tide drawing closer and closer.
Arms propped up on my knees, staring out into the tenebrific treacle of ocean, it was peaceful. Then I remembered it was Halloween night. I had been out there on my own so long the days ran on and somehow I had almost lost track. But for the occasional dalliance with nearby villages. It was late now so even the lights of my bungalow barely gave any respite from night through the thick jungle brush above the shore. Only the occasional flicker of my porch lantern lit the clearing I knew would lead me to, well, home, I guess. For now, anyway.
The ephemeral lightning grew nearer, and brighter, as I counted the seconds till hearing thunder. The way my father had taught me when we watched storms from the safety of our garage. I was a boy then, but storms never did scare me. I came to this island to find myself. In that regard perhaps being scared might be a boon to my development.
Finding oneself is a redundancy. When you don’t know what you’re looking for, anything you find is something. Prayers are usually started with the words of Biblical prophets, so I started my prayer that night with the lyrics of my prophet; “Mother, mother Ocean, I have heard your call. Now, it’s my turn. I’m calling to you for some direction!” My exclamation almost more order than request. But alas, the tide just continued to lap the shore unburdened by my demands.
The seconds between lightning and thunder shortened as the storm crept towards the beach. A small aperture in the clouds let a full moon shine through briefly. I leaned back on my hands to take a better look upwards. Reflecting the glow of the porch lantern the moon blanketed the sky with a pallid orange light. I was musing to myself how it resembled the color of a pumpkin when I felt it.
At first the brush atop my hand felt like a sand crab coming out to scavenge. It took my mind a few moments to realize it was too late at night for crabs to be out and when I did I froze. That instant when subconscious fear sets in and the body seems to paralyze. There were no other physical sensations, but that feeling. That feeling of an aura, a presence behind me. My body, unbidden by my mind, on its own spun around!
Call it apathy or expectation, but I didn’t even flinch when I saw him. A small gaunt man, skin the color of aged patina on saddle leather. Under his threadbare shroud he wore only a loincloth save the strings of indiscernible bonelike objects hanging in concentric circles from his neck. He never spoke but in my thoughts I called him the witch doctor. I was trying to make sense of the moment when he motioned for me to stand up. We stared at each other in bemusement for a few seconds until … a strike of lightning lit his face to reveal a large grotesque grin. His teeth clenched together, lips wide and pulled back towards his ear. So uncannily prodigious was his mouth and eyes I jumped at the sight. Just then, with the speed of a striking spider, he clutched my wrist and began towards the sea.
The witch doctor was dragging me into the ocean with enormous strength. I couldn’t yank away, I couldn’t… I couldn”t.
The water was warm and clear and as it reached above my knees I looked down to my agast once again. For, under the water were several more faces such as his. Similar yet distinct individually hideous with their large grinning mouths and triangular glowing eyes. More hands, more gripping, more pulling. My heels dug into the sandy seabed which only seemed to sink me quicker into the tide. As I slipped violently deeper, thrashing and wailing in the surf, the storm was directly overhead now and a loud crash of thunder exploded in crackling light, and I was under.
The speed at which I plied the ocean floor was astonishing. Unlike any feeling I had experienced hitherto. Schools of fish liked to mock me as I descended to the abyss. Predators paid me no mind, and swaying coral seemed dancing in delight at my dismay. Just as I could not hold my breath any longer and I fully expected to gasp myself to Davy Jones locker … there was air.
I was in a room. Dimly lit but for faint flickering glows here and there. Where was here. Seaweed hung from the ceiling and palm fronds bounced on a non-existent breeze. A mind calloused by delusion wanders in amusement. The wicker furniture creaked with gawkers, all turning to gaze at the new arrival with big terrifying faces. Faces that seemed carved rather than living. Frightful emotionless faces. Like, like … totems. There was what seemed to be a bar lined with bamboo stools and odd canvases hung from the walls that seemed to flow with motion to a rhythmic drum beat. Where am I? I didn’t even notice I had said the words aloud when a voice slowly answered, “Why, the Tiki lounge, of course.”
“What the fu…”, I began. “Uh uh uh, language. Language.” The voice said. A tall shadow appeared from behind the bar. “We wouldn’t want to … disturb anyone.” As the shadowed figure drew near I began to make out his green skinned face, zombie-like, under thick black hair done in a pompadour style. I had to chuckle at his likeness to an undead Elvis. He smiled as if to concur in my delight.
He wore a loose fitting Hawaiian shirt and from his khaki shorts stretched slinky boney legs. “Our time here is short”, he spoke, “so we must continue post haste.” “Continue with what” I petishined. “You asked for meaning. Well, I am to grant you your request.” I oddly felt no hesitation as he placed one hand on my forehead and the other on my body above my liver. “I bestow upon you the means to relay our tales. Go, tell our stories.” He handed me a tiki mug and instructed me to drink. “Why me?” I beckoned. Laughing he responded, “You were sitting alone on the beach on Halloween night in a storm calling to the ocean. What did you expect?”
After one sip my body gave way to a sinking feeling. Clutching my side I fell to the ground as the world went dark. Blinking awake I found myself lying on the beach.
The memory of that night faded. I chalked it up to a rum soaked dream. I drank tiki drinks and wrote about them and figured I was fulfilling my duty, until the other night. My wife and I had just finished carving pumpkins for Halloween night. We set them up outside and were admiring the candles giving each one a pallid orange grin when I noticed it. There in the phosphorescent glow one lambent gord took on the shape of a tiki face.
“You ok?”, my wife asked with concern. “Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah. Just thought I saw something.” But I knew it wasn’t nothing. I knew they were telling me exactly what they wanted. That night I belabored the cupboard and the liquor cabinet, toiling over recipes and searching all my cocktail tomes to no avail. Then it hit me, this one was on me. And thus, born from the spirit of tropicalia and thrust upon my heavy shoulders with a nod of inspiration from the gods comes … the Pumpkina Colada!
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I’ve created my own cocktails before, thanks be to the quarantine, but this is the first one I’ll be sharing to Pod Tiki. It’s an easy concoction eerily similar to the Pina Colada, hence the name. Basically, I simply replace pineapple juice for pumpkin puree. It’s low-fi on purpose, made to be a batch drink one can throw together in a blender with minimal ingredients and affordable rum.
We begin where we always do, with said rum. You’ll need a spiced rum for this. The added flavor adds to the festive nature and rounds out a drink with scant ingredients for maximum palate. Being partial to Caribbean rums I went with good ol’ faithful Captain Morgan. Sure, there are fancier spiced rums, and I urge you to use what you like, especially if there is a local artisinal distillery nearby (support local), but keep in mind that the rum flavor will mostly take a backseat to pumpkin and spice. I feel the same way about the good Captain as I do about Bacardi, there is nothing wrong with a good standard mid-grade rum when it’s called for. I started my rum journey with Captain Morgan before I became the rum_poet, so I’m brand loyal.
Next we need some pumpkin puree. A can of any store brand will do. Some coconut cream. As per the Pina Colada I prefer Coco Lopez brand. Most major grocery chains and/or liquor stores should carry it or some version. Lastly, get yourself some pumpkin spice. You can make your own from nutmeg, cloves, cinnamon etc., but a lot of stores will sell a pre-mixed pumpkin pie spice.
For prep you’ll need a blender of choice, I use Nutribullet or Ninja, and glassware should be a spooky Tiki mug or double rocks glass. Now, let’s make a drink!
2 oz Spiced Rum
2 oz Pumpkin Puree
1 ½ oz Coconut Cream
1 Pinch of Pumpkin Spice
½ Cup Ice
Mix all ingredients in a blender and pour directly into your vessel of vice. It should be creamy, a little less frozen than your average Pina Colada. If it’s too sweet add a ½ oz of lime juice or a few dashes of bitters. If you enjoy your drinks cloyingly sweet add ¼ oz of simple syrup to taste, but I warn you it’s already pretty rich.
There it is, folks. Credits this week go to the Witch Doctor, Zombie Elvis, and full moon ocean horizons. Visit podtiki.com for the full blog post and please follow us on Spotify or itunes. Rate and review to help us. You can find us on social media @pod_tiki and myself @rum_poet. Most of all and as always stay safe and drink responsibly. Thank you for listening, and Happy Halloween!