Beach bums - mercredi, 29.11.06

mercredi 29.11.06 Beach bums

Heather, Raketa and I are off to the beach today. Nicola’s still feeling poorly and the fact that Heather and I are nattering away early in the morning doesn’t help her head. I had fired out a few texts last night telling people to meet at McDo is they were on for a bit of beaching across the bay; David got back saying he had classes (for once!), Lola said she was busy but nobody else replied so rapidly. You spend a fortune here on phone credit. Digicel and Orange are the main providers but Heather was telling us about the ONLY network which gives you 12 hours of free calls a month for €35. However, you can’t use that phone outside of Martinique and you also can’t text internationally. Rip. On top of that the phone coverage and services in general aren’t great - I got a delayed text from Kesha the next morning telling me she couldn’t make the beach trip.

Raketa didn’t reply but I spotted her on the street and flagged her down. Heather and herself had both just been to the health centre to pick up their medical results to say they don’t have tuberculosis or bronchitis or lung cancer or whatever suspected illness the French establishment believe they may have; this administrative procedure leaves North Americans, and other non-Europeans, hanging around for two months without their social security numbers and long term visas.

Thankfully crossing the bay isn’t so tedious. We leave the black billowing clouds in Fort-de-France and chase the sun over to Anse l’Ane. The sea is a bit rougher than usual but the wild waves don’t deter us from jumping in. The sun fades a bit but the heat is still on; my sun cream clearly isn’t, as I turn crimson by the end of the day.

The sun cream may be forgotten but there’s one son who isn’t; Raketa’s son. Honestly, I’ve forgotten his name but he’s two years-old and has a plastic tri-cycle – what more do you need to know?! How does she manage to work here with him? I did ask that. He’s in day-care during the day. You could opt for private day-care at €340 a month but public day-care is also available and it is calculated at 12% of the parent’s/mother’s weekly wage. Raketa goes for the later. She’s considering renewing her contract and staying here for another year. She’s settled in and to move in half a year would be quiet unsettling for her child. She, herself, has lived in Africa, America and France so her wanderlust has perhaps been satisfied for a while. She tells us about the job she left at home in the States. She worked in a private secondary school teaching English, French and Literature and although she quit the classroom work before she moved to Martinique she still does on-line classes with a few students, including one who is training as a swimmer for the Olympics and another who is running his own business. It’s fascinating to hear how it works and how it works out. Heather mentions that she took a few online classes, such as geology, in her final year of college to make credits.

It’s soon time for some lunch. Chips and dips are the order of the day from the beach café. We inspect and compare the girls’ x-ray reports. Leering lads don’t need x-ray specs to check out the talent on this shoreline; a lady whips off her top in front of us and bounces across the beach before diving into the sea. All eyes are on the sea but we’re on the lookout for other buoyant devices; the navettes. We hop on board and in no time at all (well 25 minutes), we’re back in Fort-de-France.

Ceri is at the jetty waiting on the navette. She’s on her way across the bay to teach her tutrice’s four year-old son. Raketa goes to collect her son. Heather heads for the TaxiCo, and I say bye-bye and go to buy some groceries. I pick-up Nicola’s herbal brew in LeaderPrice. She has actually ventured into town to check out the ONLY phone deal but as fate would have it she forgot her bank details.

Back at the ROWANTREE RANCH we crack open a few bevvies and set about planning our Christmas trip with Pam, Dan and Fergal. Nicola’s in charge of lodgings and I’m taking care of logistics. By the end of the night various brochures, leaflets, tourist books, travel guides, maps and calendars are spread across the terrace, and not long after we find ourselves spread across our beds.