Quelle salle du type... vendredi, 27.10.06

vendredi 27.10.06 Quelle salle du type…

Today I’ve got an opportunity to post my Blogs but first Nic and I have a few things to do in town… We’re in by 11,00. The first port of call is the bank, Credit Mutuel. It has been over three weeks since I set up an account and I still haven’t received by PIN number. The guy at the desk is the same hottie who set up my account. He explains that there was an error with my address – he must have been distracted. He pops into a back office and comes back with my ATM/Maestro card telling me that my PIN will be sent soon. We don’t get paid until the end of November so I’ve nothing in the account anyway. However, my AIB card works perfectly so I skip off to assuage my Irish account.

We need to get some Eastern Caribbean Do$$ars for our trip to Dominica. €200 euros is exchanged for EC$590. It’s great to feel rich. The real big spenders however are in town. There’s a colossal cruise liner docked in the port. I haven’t seen one so close before. It must be 15 stories high. There’s a notable increase in the number of people around town. Tourists with naff bum-bags, glaring pasty limbs and irritating accents revolve around the markets and quayside streets. The ratio of whiteys and blacks must be 50:50.

Nicola needs a bag for our trip and a ball gown for the Grad so I’m only too happy to embark on a quality girly shopathon. She bags a sack, sandals and belt but a formal dress is harder to find. It’s not that there’s a shortage of specialist shops – it’s more the price. We see plenty of gorgeous gowns but €400 is too much for one night of frolicking in frocks. With the dress quest put to rest we decided to go our separate ways.

I’m off to the IUFM to avail of free wireless internet. David, from Scotland, lives and teaches there and he has given an open invitation to use the facilities. I get there just before 13,00. David’s got a class for two hours so he doesn’t mind me sitting in his box room while he goes about his business. His room is indeed a box. The ‘bedroom’ section has just enough room for his bed, locker, fan and a pile of shoes. The other section holds a slide robe, shelving and desk with his laptop. Down the corridor there are shared toilets and showers and there’s a communal kitchen which he shares with about 12 others. There are only three guys on his floor. He complains about the noise the girls make. Their nattering is indeed never-ending and noisy. Most of them are from the Métropole so in true Frenchness they use more words than are necessary and because they’re girls their conversations are also more animated.

David returns a while later as half his class didn’t turn up. I’ve most of my month’s posts up but I spend a bit longer checking emails. I begin to think David has had his girl quota for the day so I say my goodbyes, thankyous and bientôts and I potter off past Rond Point.

I decide to suffer another waxing session. Being fuzz-free is in order for our trip to bushy Guadeloupe and shaggy Dominica. After half an hour of magazine musings and designated door opening (it’s not in the best area so the door can only be opened from the inside), I finally get called into the cool parlour, to get stripped and striped. It’s therapeutic and enterprising as I get to talk to some potential clients for private English classes.

When I arrive home Nicola is preparing for her own one-on-one lessons. When I left her in town she went to a librairie to purchase a carnet de quittances and two contracts but, since they totalled €30 she thought it best to let Madame Arlette get it since the onus is on her to provide us with these things.

However, no expense is spared on an ice-cream birthday cake, toffee and caramel treats, candles, cards and presents as it’s the eve of my birthday. We have our fill of all things sugary and syrupy and advance on to the alcohol. We had invited David and Gethin to join us tomorrow at the beach but they each had their respective excuses; too many woman and not enough. It turns out that Gethin is off to Dominica with Fran and Bex; nice of him to abandon ship and let us know. You can’t trust the British; or Welsh, or whatever.