Mercredi 20.12.06 Skype me
Wow! Weather alert! It’s a warm, water-free Wednesday in Martinique. Wonders may never cease, but the bus service does… Almost an hour has gone by and no bus has passed. William, our neighbour, drives by and we hop in. Thank God for Belgium Bob’s! He parks in town and we traipse around with him for a while before nipping off to Europcar to reserve our car for the holidays. It’s a Renault Modus and we’ll have it for 17 days from Saturday.
Nic’s off to the beach with Christophe later and she’s on the lookout for a new bikini. We spy some khaki, army-print ensembles but they’re best kept for the bedroom – not the beach.
There’s a midday dégustation at Lycée Schoelcher. We were toying with the idea of going there for lunch but I’ve brought my laptop into town to try out the Wifi in Café Delisse; we also have to try out the menu. I go for a toasted tuna and tomato sandwich with a side salad and Nicola has the salmon salad. For €8 each it’s not a bad deal for lunch and free internet for two hours. However, I’ll be damned if I’m bringing my laptop into Fort-de-France every time I want to check my email; plus the connection is a bit slow.
I can’t connect with my sister on Skype. Once I’m fed-up redialling home I change my Skype status to Skype Me for a laugh. I’m instantly inundated with messages and dial-ups from various Arabic squiggles and Muslim appellations. I quickly correct my status, washing my hands of the remaining Mustafa. There’s one guy who sounds vaguely normal – Gavin Shepheard. He tells me he’s a product manager in an engineering firm in California. He says he’s originally from Manchester. He doesn’t ask me anything about myself; it’s mostly chit-chat about Christmas and sunshine, and my question quota which is generally answered with monosyllabic yays and yehs. William, our neighbour, develops websites in his non-existent spare time. I log on to his latest venture – it’s not very exciting: www.getpowerfast.com
By the time I leave the cool cyber café Nic has long since gone to see Christophe. I’m in the mood for shopping and I pickup a nice LBD. There’s an old lady on the bus having trouble with her bags and her ticket and I help her out. James texts asking what we’re up to for Christmas; he’s off to Dominica but has invited us up to Saint-Marie before the year is out. Back at the ranch I put the finishing touches unto Nic’s present; it’s an alternative selection box.
By the time 19,00 comes around I’m beginning to wonder where Nic is as I haven’t heard a dicky-bird all day. No sooner have I thought about calling her than she appears on the terrace with Christophe and two other lads in tow. I recognise one as JP – our philosopher friend. The other is his friend, and neighbour, Majid. Supposedly Nic and Christophe missed the last ferry crossing from Anse Mitan. Nic called JP looking for a lift. He kindly collected them and brought them home. As it turns out the ferry appeared just after Nic called JP and it left just before he arrived. JP doesn’t have a mobile so Nic couldn’t contact him to tell him not to come. It’s just as well he did as they’re good fun.
Majid is from Paris. He’s an English teacher in Martinique and he has a strong American accent. We give him tea and he gives us advice about landlords and renting; he’s a landlord in Paris so he knows the score.
Christophe fills us in on all the antics at Sebastian’s party the night before; multiple giraffes and dépucelage concoctions featured.
Mario also features in our conversations. He’s on his way to pick-up Christophe but in his absence the re-inflated Santa Claus takes his place. We lisp away, hyper-as-hell, as we chat. We stop ourselves every now and again lest he should be listening to us from the shadows. Mario, the marionette, appears around 23,30. He was at a friend’s house playing computer games. Luckily my little brother educated me enough about war and fantasy games that I have ammunition enough to keep Marionette chatting while Nicola and Christophe play their own games… By the time we’re reunited I’ve resorted to kleptomania and pyromania to keep myself amused. I fire Mario’s lighter into the grass and it disappears into oblivion. I have a stash so I can offer him a replacement, though not before I put on my head torch and walk around barefoot looking for it. I nearly twist my ankle in a hole. I bet one of Mario’s friend’s lives in there – a crab.
I blame the army duo for my dreams: Christophe as he was telling us about Stephen King’s Marche ou crève before they left; and Mario for his word warfare and video game action. My dreams, however, as not unlike reality as I spend half the night dodging crazy characters…
Wow! Weather alert! It’s a warm, water-free Wednesday in Martinique. Wonders may never cease, but the bus service does… Almost an hour has gone by and no bus has passed. William, our neighbour, drives by and we hop in. Thank God for Belgium Bob’s! He parks in town and we traipse around with him for a while before nipping off to Europcar to reserve our car for the holidays. It’s a Renault Modus and we’ll have it for 17 days from Saturday.
Nic’s off to the beach with Christophe later and she’s on the lookout for a new bikini. We spy some khaki, army-print ensembles but they’re best kept for the bedroom – not the beach.
There’s a midday dégustation at Lycée Schoelcher. We were toying with the idea of going there for lunch but I’ve brought my laptop into town to try out the Wifi in Café Delisse; we also have to try out the menu. I go for a toasted tuna and tomato sandwich with a side salad and Nicola has the salmon salad. For €8 each it’s not a bad deal for lunch and free internet for two hours. However, I’ll be damned if I’m bringing my laptop into Fort-de-France every time I want to check my email; plus the connection is a bit slow.
I can’t connect with my sister on Skype. Once I’m fed-up redialling home I change my Skype status to Skype Me for a laugh. I’m instantly inundated with messages and dial-ups from various Arabic squiggles and Muslim appellations. I quickly correct my status, washing my hands of the remaining Mustafa. There’s one guy who sounds vaguely normal – Gavin Shepheard. He tells me he’s a product manager in an engineering firm in California. He says he’s originally from Manchester. He doesn’t ask me anything about myself; it’s mostly chit-chat about Christmas and sunshine, and my question quota which is generally answered with monosyllabic yays and yehs. William, our neighbour, develops websites in his non-existent spare time. I log on to his latest venture – it’s not very exciting: www.getpowerfast.com
By the time I leave the cool cyber café Nic has long since gone to see Christophe. I’m in the mood for shopping and I pickup a nice LBD. There’s an old lady on the bus having trouble with her bags and her ticket and I help her out. James texts asking what we’re up to for Christmas; he’s off to Dominica but has invited us up to Saint-Marie before the year is out. Back at the ranch I put the finishing touches unto Nic’s present; it’s an alternative selection box.
By the time 19,00 comes around I’m beginning to wonder where Nic is as I haven’t heard a dicky-bird all day. No sooner have I thought about calling her than she appears on the terrace with Christophe and two other lads in tow. I recognise one as JP – our philosopher friend. The other is his friend, and neighbour, Majid. Supposedly Nic and Christophe missed the last ferry crossing from Anse Mitan. Nic called JP looking for a lift. He kindly collected them and brought them home. As it turns out the ferry appeared just after Nic called JP and it left just before he arrived. JP doesn’t have a mobile so Nic couldn’t contact him to tell him not to come. It’s just as well he did as they’re good fun.
Majid is from Paris. He’s an English teacher in Martinique and he has a strong American accent. We give him tea and he gives us advice about landlords and renting; he’s a landlord in Paris so he knows the score.
Christophe fills us in on all the antics at Sebastian’s party the night before; multiple giraffes and dépucelage concoctions featured.
Mario also features in our conversations. He’s on his way to pick-up Christophe but in his absence the re-inflated Santa Claus takes his place. We lisp away, hyper-as-hell, as we chat. We stop ourselves every now and again lest he should be listening to us from the shadows. Mario, the marionette, appears around 23,30. He was at a friend’s house playing computer games. Luckily my little brother educated me enough about war and fantasy games that I have ammunition enough to keep Marionette chatting while Nicola and Christophe play their own games… By the time we’re reunited I’ve resorted to kleptomania and pyromania to keep myself amused. I fire Mario’s lighter into the grass and it disappears into oblivion. I have a stash so I can offer him a replacement, though not before I put on my head torch and walk around barefoot looking for it. I nearly twist my ankle in a hole. I bet one of Mario’s friend’s lives in there – a crab.
I blame the army duo for my dreams: Christophe as he was telling us about Stephen King’s Marche ou crève before they left; and Mario for his word warfare and video game action. My dreams, however, as not unlike reality as I spend half the night dodging crazy characters…
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