mercredi 27.12.06 Drama on board
It’s funny just how quickly all the Christmas fuss dies down. Nicola’s fussing over Chris will come to an end in a week when he heads back to France before taking up his post in some far-flung, war-torn dessert. For the moment however she has more French oddities to deal with – Edith. This is one of Nicola’s teachers who hit on Gethin, was dejected by him, rejected Nicola and has been nasty to her ever since… well, ever since Friday when she was as nice as pie, or birthday cake, and invited us to her birthday. The fuss today is that Edith left a voice message asking where exactly we’d be for New Year’s; not just the location but the hotel we’re staying in, and the price and availability too. She’d be a bundle of laughs. Cackles perhaps.
We decide to hang out with a saner French lady today. Her name is Chloë and she’s an English teacher in Terreville AKA Terrorville. Over lunch in Rond Point she tells us how hard she’s finding her work here. The kids are tough. The staff are unsympathetic and the direction are meddling. She had an incident before Christmas when a student stole some money from her. Any organised school would try crack-down on it a.s.a.p, and before Christmas, but this isn’t the case in Terreville and I’m sure it’s safe to say this would be similar procedure in any other educational institute in Martinique. Chloë was eager to get it sorted and she talked to the pupils but was then told by the headmaster than she had disturbed the investigation!
Another faux pas was when she told the kids to stop barking at her. Here, any reference to dogs, whether you make a kicking motion or tell someone to sit, is a direct reference to slavery. The kids didn’t say anything to her about the remark and she was none the wiser until the headmaster brought it up a few days later. Everything seems so sly and underground in her school environment. It turns out that the kids told their parents, who in turn told some teachers and it finally was brought to the headmaster’s attention that there was a new, young, white, French teacher growling and yapping at students and worse still she was openly insulting them. Chloë got no support from her colleagues, even the other white, French bitches. Well, what could be worse; bitch, dog or frog?
I don’t think Chloë gets much support from her boyfriend either. Eh, husband actually. He’s Martiniquan. His name is Willy or ‘Illy as she fondly calls him. There apartment is full of classy pictures of the two of them. He’s better looking in the flesh but he’s as protective of her as she makes him out to be. I’d call it permission-granting protectiveness. In other words she has to ask his permission before she ventures out. I’m sure she had tell him she was meeting us for lunch earlier, and not by Post-It but by saying it, face-to-face. I’m a bit concerned for her actually. She trapped both at work and at home. As we munch on pancakes and sip mint tea she sidles up to him in the kitchen asking if it’s alright to go out with us later. Never mind just telling her yes and setting a curfew, this boyo has to know where we’re going, who we’ll be with and what it’s all about. “Do you want to come too ‘Illy?” we ask. He’s working. He always works nights. As it happens we’re going on board a German research ship which travels all around the world taking water, salt and seaweed samples. You’d think he’d let her go and be spared the boring drivel but he’s not content until Nic and I assure him that it’s only a tour of a ship. And yes, it’s docked. I think Chloë should jump ship…
To be honest neither Nicola nor myself know more than what Thomas, or 2nd Lieutenant Thomas Knack, has scribbled on a scrappy, make-shift invitation. He hails from Hanover but the Mayflower is his port of call here in Martinique. His vessel is indeed a German research ship at port in Fort-de-France but other than being interested in spicing up our day I don’t think either of us has any interest in seaweed and we may have to feign a nautical interest.
Before we head to the port we collect Chris. He’s our insurance. Plus I don’t think he’d pass on the opportunity to see how the German navy operate.
We’ve time to kill before Lieutenant Knack picks us up and so we wander around La Savanne. Chloë comes out of her shell. She dances a jig with us on the stage in the park and she reveals her love of rap. Gangsta’, or wanksta’, rap is her forte. She won tickets for a 50 Cent concert last year just by phoning into a radio-station and rapping along to Candy Shop… I’ll show you what I got. I’ll let you lick my lollipop. Plus being from the banlieue she’s pretty street. Herself and Chris hail from Paris. And both their parents are divorced. Fanciful Frenchies. They slip into some verlan slang; inverse French language, and Chloë later slips into a hotel to check out prices for her Mum and sister who will be soon coming to visit her. We three wander around looking for somewhere to perch ourselves but instead we end up sheltering from the torrents, running from the weirdoes and avoiding the Army dudes who have escaped for the day.
Lieutenant Thomas Knack greets us at the portail; or portal rather as it soon seems like we’re not in Martinique anymore. The Maria. M. Marion is a 100 metre by 20 metre German research vessel. It can withstand moderate Artic conditions though it’s not an ice-breaker. It is not even a year a sea and with its recent newness and its German crew it still seems brand new. Thomas proudly parades us around the different levels as we take in the research, recreational and robotic sections of the ship. The chefs are in the galley making the evening meal and the dining room is decked out with decorations and a bar to boot – though the bar looks so spotless I doubt a pint has ever been pulled there.
On an average exposition there would be thirty crew and 20 scientists. The scientists are two to a cabin and it seems very cosy and comfortable. The crew get their own cabins which are kitted out with DVDs, radios and TV to occupy their spare time at sea. If that’s not enough this home from home also includes a foosball table, dartboard, mini-gym and a sauna; by the end of the tour Chris is considering trading his bunker for a bunk bed.
The next voyage will see the scientists doing seismic research off the coast of Guadeloupe. All the contraptions and equipment either look extremely fussy and futuristic or bulky and durable like giant two tonne toys. There are some toys which are far more interesting; the rescue boat and the free fall boat. The free fall boat can accommodate 40 people some of whom would be seated in space-ship style spatula seats. Chloë and I venture down the steep incline into the boat. It stinks of warm plastic and it’s hotter than the sauna. Thomas tells us that they’ll be launching the rescue speedboat tomorrow – just for fun. As its Christmas there are no researchers on the boat; only the crew are present including about mechanical staff, living staff and officials. Thomas asks if we want to see the Captain. We don’t have much choice as we’re sheparded into his headquarters where we meet the Captain, Freidlium Von Holan, and his second in command, First Lieutenant Holga Flurenstein. The captain looks like Steven Spielberg whereas the other official looks at the girls… They invite us to dine with them downstairs before resuming our tour and we’re soon tucking into pizza and salad in their seasonal dining room.
We’re brought up to the bridge where we get to sit behind he driving seats, look at the sea charts and get informed about all the navigational procedures that happen on board. As we’re decked out in flip-flops we don’t risk visiting Monkey Island with all it’s masts and ladders but instead we pose for pictures on the recreational deck while performing the YMCA to the ship’s own unique semaphore acronym. DBBT. Delta. Bravo. Bravo. Tango.
Thomas shows us the boat’s hospital and the contents of the medicine cupboard which have helped him out after a few too many ports in various ports of call. I think we’ll soon be calling in for some sedatives after we’ve return to the Captain’s headquarters: we only came back to thank him for his hospitality but instead we’re greeted with a bottle of champagne in the recreational suite. It feels extremely far removed from reality gulping champagne while listening to Ramstein on a German research vessel!
The duty free isn’t open on the way out but a kind German’s sense of duty has given us plenty of good memories to bring home. But home is where the drama is – home in Ireland that it. Our visitors are due to arrive in Martinique tomorrow night and with only three hours to go before they take their first flight we hear that Dan has lost his passport. The whole night is one of frantic calls, tentative texting and helpless fretting. In the end Pam and Dan decide to get another flight once Dan’s provisional passport has come through… Trouble in Portlaoise. Trouble in Paradise.
It’s funny just how quickly all the Christmas fuss dies down. Nicola’s fussing over Chris will come to an end in a week when he heads back to France before taking up his post in some far-flung, war-torn dessert. For the moment however she has more French oddities to deal with – Edith. This is one of Nicola’s teachers who hit on Gethin, was dejected by him, rejected Nicola and has been nasty to her ever since… well, ever since Friday when she was as nice as pie, or birthday cake, and invited us to her birthday. The fuss today is that Edith left a voice message asking where exactly we’d be for New Year’s; not just the location but the hotel we’re staying in, and the price and availability too. She’d be a bundle of laughs. Cackles perhaps.
We decide to hang out with a saner French lady today. Her name is Chloë and she’s an English teacher in Terreville AKA Terrorville. Over lunch in Rond Point she tells us how hard she’s finding her work here. The kids are tough. The staff are unsympathetic and the direction are meddling. She had an incident before Christmas when a student stole some money from her. Any organised school would try crack-down on it a.s.a.p, and before Christmas, but this isn’t the case in Terreville and I’m sure it’s safe to say this would be similar procedure in any other educational institute in Martinique. Chloë was eager to get it sorted and she talked to the pupils but was then told by the headmaster than she had disturbed the investigation!
Another faux pas was when she told the kids to stop barking at her. Here, any reference to dogs, whether you make a kicking motion or tell someone to sit, is a direct reference to slavery. The kids didn’t say anything to her about the remark and she was none the wiser until the headmaster brought it up a few days later. Everything seems so sly and underground in her school environment. It turns out that the kids told their parents, who in turn told some teachers and it finally was brought to the headmaster’s attention that there was a new, young, white, French teacher growling and yapping at students and worse still she was openly insulting them. Chloë got no support from her colleagues, even the other white, French bitches. Well, what could be worse; bitch, dog or frog?
I don’t think Chloë gets much support from her boyfriend either. Eh, husband actually. He’s Martiniquan. His name is Willy or ‘Illy as she fondly calls him. There apartment is full of classy pictures of the two of them. He’s better looking in the flesh but he’s as protective of her as she makes him out to be. I’d call it permission-granting protectiveness. In other words she has to ask his permission before she ventures out. I’m sure she had tell him she was meeting us for lunch earlier, and not by Post-It but by saying it, face-to-face. I’m a bit concerned for her actually. She trapped both at work and at home. As we munch on pancakes and sip mint tea she sidles up to him in the kitchen asking if it’s alright to go out with us later. Never mind just telling her yes and setting a curfew, this boyo has to know where we’re going, who we’ll be with and what it’s all about. “Do you want to come too ‘Illy?” we ask. He’s working. He always works nights. As it happens we’re going on board a German research ship which travels all around the world taking water, salt and seaweed samples. You’d think he’d let her go and be spared the boring drivel but he’s not content until Nic and I assure him that it’s only a tour of a ship. And yes, it’s docked. I think Chloë should jump ship…
To be honest neither Nicola nor myself know more than what Thomas, or 2nd Lieutenant Thomas Knack, has scribbled on a scrappy, make-shift invitation. He hails from Hanover but the Mayflower is his port of call here in Martinique. His vessel is indeed a German research ship at port in Fort-de-France but other than being interested in spicing up our day I don’t think either of us has any interest in seaweed and we may have to feign a nautical interest.
Before we head to the port we collect Chris. He’s our insurance. Plus I don’t think he’d pass on the opportunity to see how the German navy operate.
We’ve time to kill before Lieutenant Knack picks us up and so we wander around La Savanne. Chloë comes out of her shell. She dances a jig with us on the stage in the park and she reveals her love of rap. Gangsta’, or wanksta’, rap is her forte. She won tickets for a 50 Cent concert last year just by phoning into a radio-station and rapping along to Candy Shop… I’ll show you what I got. I’ll let you lick my lollipop. Plus being from the banlieue she’s pretty street. Herself and Chris hail from Paris. And both their parents are divorced. Fanciful Frenchies. They slip into some verlan slang; inverse French language, and Chloë later slips into a hotel to check out prices for her Mum and sister who will be soon coming to visit her. We three wander around looking for somewhere to perch ourselves but instead we end up sheltering from the torrents, running from the weirdoes and avoiding the Army dudes who have escaped for the day.
Lieutenant Thomas Knack greets us at the portail; or portal rather as it soon seems like we’re not in Martinique anymore. The Maria. M. Marion is a 100 metre by 20 metre German research vessel. It can withstand moderate Artic conditions though it’s not an ice-breaker. It is not even a year a sea and with its recent newness and its German crew it still seems brand new. Thomas proudly parades us around the different levels as we take in the research, recreational and robotic sections of the ship. The chefs are in the galley making the evening meal and the dining room is decked out with decorations and a bar to boot – though the bar looks so spotless I doubt a pint has ever been pulled there.
On an average exposition there would be thirty crew and 20 scientists. The scientists are two to a cabin and it seems very cosy and comfortable. The crew get their own cabins which are kitted out with DVDs, radios and TV to occupy their spare time at sea. If that’s not enough this home from home also includes a foosball table, dartboard, mini-gym and a sauna; by the end of the tour Chris is considering trading his bunker for a bunk bed.
The next voyage will see the scientists doing seismic research off the coast of Guadeloupe. All the contraptions and equipment either look extremely fussy and futuristic or bulky and durable like giant two tonne toys. There are some toys which are far more interesting; the rescue boat and the free fall boat. The free fall boat can accommodate 40 people some of whom would be seated in space-ship style spatula seats. Chloë and I venture down the steep incline into the boat. It stinks of warm plastic and it’s hotter than the sauna. Thomas tells us that they’ll be launching the rescue speedboat tomorrow – just for fun. As its Christmas there are no researchers on the boat; only the crew are present including about mechanical staff, living staff and officials. Thomas asks if we want to see the Captain. We don’t have much choice as we’re sheparded into his headquarters where we meet the Captain, Freidlium Von Holan, and his second in command, First Lieutenant Holga Flurenstein. The captain looks like Steven Spielberg whereas the other official looks at the girls… They invite us to dine with them downstairs before resuming our tour and we’re soon tucking into pizza and salad in their seasonal dining room.
We’re brought up to the bridge where we get to sit behind he driving seats, look at the sea charts and get informed about all the navigational procedures that happen on board. As we’re decked out in flip-flops we don’t risk visiting Monkey Island with all it’s masts and ladders but instead we pose for pictures on the recreational deck while performing the YMCA to the ship’s own unique semaphore acronym. DBBT. Delta. Bravo. Bravo. Tango.
Thomas shows us the boat’s hospital and the contents of the medicine cupboard which have helped him out after a few too many ports in various ports of call. I think we’ll soon be calling in for some sedatives after we’ve return to the Captain’s headquarters: we only came back to thank him for his hospitality but instead we’re greeted with a bottle of champagne in the recreational suite. It feels extremely far removed from reality gulping champagne while listening to Ramstein on a German research vessel!
The duty free isn’t open on the way out but a kind German’s sense of duty has given us plenty of good memories to bring home. But home is where the drama is – home in Ireland that it. Our visitors are due to arrive in Martinique tomorrow night and with only three hours to go before they take their first flight we hear that Dan has lost his passport. The whole night is one of frantic calls, tentative texting and helpless fretting. In the end Pam and Dan decide to get another flight once Dan’s provisional passport has come through… Trouble in Portlaoise. Trouble in Paradise.
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