dimanche 21.01.07 Fort de Prance
I start to stir around midday. The heat usually makes it too unbearable to stay undercover much later though I nod off for another while until I’m awoken by the beep-beep of an incoming message. It’s David. He’s planning to head into town. It’s a cracking day outside and I’d rather get blisters than bedsores so I text back saying I’ll be in later. I softly call Nicola but there’s no reply. She’s supposed to meet up Thomas the German this afternoon but I doubt it’ll come about as she still hasn’t made any motions by the time I leave the house. The buses are really erratic and unreliable on Sundays and I’m beginning to regret not taking a lift with the local lad who asked where I was going when a lime green Twingo pulls up. A lady sticks her head out the window and asks if I’m going into town. We’re soon weaving down the road as she tells me about all the festivities we’ve to watch out for; there’s even a day to celebrate crêpes coming up before Carnival time.
I’m dropped off in town and I trundle down Boulevard General de Gaulle past dozing flowerpot men – homeless guys asleep in the flowerbeds in the middle of the street. This part of town is eerily quiet but I can hear the sound of tambours in the distance. No doubt some groups are preparing for Carnival on this fine day.
I meet David in what seems to be the only open eatery. He has already eaten. The hunger is on me so I order some poulet boucanée from the vendor outside and I’m soon tucking into chicken and chips while I tell David about the brilliant night he missed out on!
We decide to go exploring. There’s a church on a green, tree-covered hill not so far away and we decide to take a Sunday stroll up to it. We really don’t know how to get to it but we follow a few narrow streets until we find a grassy path which looks like it could lead us to Calvary, or La Calvaire as this landmark is called. The path takes us past ramshackle houses and dog-guarded gardens and over galvanised roofs and roof-top deckchairs before the trees and bristly bushes appear. The path is gravely in parts and it soon feels more like a holy hike than a sunny stroll as our sandaled feet take to the beaten track. David’s heading to Montagne Pelée tomorrow so this should be good training – though I think the sandals and jeans should go!
We soon reach a flower-laden shrine, with red and white candles, carved out of a large rock at a bend on this pilgrim’s path. The trail snakes higher and steeper until we can see the steeple emerging from the hill above, and an assortment of white crosses scattered among the yew-like trees surrounding this place of worship. The hill is too vertical to climb straight up so we take the stone steps up one side of the holy hill. You wouldn’t want to have vertigo though once you reach the top you can forget everything and take in the view of Fort-de-France and all around about. It’s a surprisingly exciting sight as you take in the city sprawl in all its raw and soaring glory.
The church turns out to be a towering shrine with a small candle adorned altar. If you gutted it out it’d be little more than a white and blue bandstand though I don’t think Jesus, on his cross, would look down too kindly upon modern day Martiniquan melodies. Though who knows what he gazes upon once the sun sets. I’m sure the local lads and ladies aren’t getting on their knees to make contact with the blessed virgin…
We take in the view and sit for a bit on the elevated walkway outside the shrine before making our way past meditating Martiniquans praying and chanting as they rise and fall along the overgrown rocky route.
We got a good view of Fort-Louis from our cloud-clipping standpoint and we decide to see if it can be explored from the tarmac as well as the treetops. Unfortunately there’s no sign of life (though what would you expect with it being a Sunday and it being right beside La Savane), and the faded sign above the fastened wooden gates gives little hope or information. The sea looks extra inviting this evening and I go for a paddle while David suns himself and takes to town planning. Some of the ideas would surely be welcomed but I don’t think the Martiniquan’s would fancy erecting a monument of a modest man wielding an umbrella in memory of this Scot’s schemes. Though if they’re really going to erect an observation tower by Pointe Simone then I guess anything is possible. Just about anything is possible alright. A lady and a young girl pass behind us. We wonder where they could be going as there’s only the fortified fort and a little lawn past this paddling pool. Our curiosity is rewarded as we catch sight of them arrosing and fertilising the land. Nice. Not. We up and leave – without leaving a trail, and walk along the waterfront before deciding to obey our thirst.
Marjorie and Bea are outside MacDonald’s with a group of guys. It’s reassuring to know they got back from their island adventure in one piece but being burnt is not a nice look. David, the strange Scot that he is, doesn’t like ice-cream but I get an M&M McFlurry while he has a strawberry milkshake. For some reason I usually feel more parched after an ice-cream and so water is in order too. We sit in the square outside the Saint-Louis Cathedral. There’s a guy washing himself in the fountain with bottled water. It’s not a holy fountain but I’m sure he’s feeling refreshed and clean nonetheless.
The day is coming to an end so we head to the bus. There’s a gigantic poster of a Martiniquan musical group on the path and I decide to take it; it’ll brighten up my room and keep out the midday heat. We continue our closing circuit by taking a tour by the river to see what else we can spy in the final hour of sunlight. There’s a funny fountain shrine across an ornate iron bridge but we both spy a dodgy looking dude on the other side and quietly scuttle by. It’s great to have these silent Sunday’s to explore the city though it’s a pity so many weirdoes and gangsters have similar plans. We later find out that there was a fight in La Savane which ended in one guy receiving a fatal shot. The other antagonist settled the score by being scored and is now lying in a hospital bed with slashes and gashes across his back and chest.
My bus-stop is not the nicest place to hang about at after dark but thankfully David stays with me till the bus comes. The sky is doing strange things. It warps from burnt orange into charcoal grey. God suddenly starts to wring out the clouds. We’re thankful for the bus shelter and my delayed bus most likely saved Dave from the sudden soakage. At least he now has my rain-jacket to save him should it pick up again. I sit behind a girl and her kid. The girl’s hair is dyed bright red but her black roots are showing. She’s talking to three young guys. Two of them are in regular street gear but one of them is dressed totally in red and white. He has a bandana around his neck; like the cowboy he is. I saw many people dressed similarly on Saturday night so I presume he has been at band practice. I’m right; he sits down next to me and I ask him so. His name is Johan. He goes to Lycée Acajou. I make him guess where I’m from. His first guess is France but I give him some hints. “It’s green and full of Leprechauns and Guinness,” I tell him. I know by the look on his face that it’s on the tip of his tongue but he asks for help from his goldie-chain gang. The guys are delighted with my Créole reserve and they alight with checks flung my way. I don’t get much further on the bus as there are cars parking along the verge and the bus waits for them. I get out and walk. I’m only a minute from my stop.
Back at home Nicola is up and out with Jane Eyre on the terrace. Fred pops around for a few drinks. This time its Nicola’s washing which is on the line. Fred gets an eyeful! I retreat to my room for a while to plan my lessons for the week. Heather rings a while later. I chat to her for a bit before coming back out to the cool night and cool beers. I’m feeling the cold much more these nights but it’s not long before Fred puts some colour on our cheeks with his mobile magic; he’ll either have pleasant visions during the night or he’ll just have blurred vision for the rest of his life!
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