vendredi 02.02.07 Vers le Mayflower
It’s Chandeleur today – Crêpe Day; another excuse for commercialism and overindulgence. In Hyper U today they’re offering a free crêpe for every €50 you spend. Nic and I would be well sick if we were doing our shopping today. I pause momentarily outside a crêperie on the way out of school but the queue is ridiculously long so I head home for some solid spuds instead.
We decide to use our new Atrium passes by seeing a film tonight. We take the 20,20 bus into town. There’s another tour du cyclisme around Fort-de-France and the bus driver drops us off by Parc Floral just a few minutes walk from all the action. We walk along Boulevard General de Gaulle to the blast of cautionary sirens and the whirr of wheels as red and pink Rosette wearing men zip by.
Outside the Atrium is a hub of activity with vendors selling sweets, nuts and more teeth-rotting goodness. We purchase our tickets and the people beside us get a giggle as Nicola explains why the details on her card are incorrect. Just at that moment a teacher from her school, Mlle Fortune, comes by and greets her: “Bonsoir Nicola!”
We retreat outside for some air and refreshments as the salle is quiet packed. There’s a beggar boy hanging around the stalls and of course he has to be magnetised to me when I go to buy M&Ms. M&Ms. M&Ms. M&Ms. M&Ms. He repeats the word over and over although it sounds more like a mumble of mmmm’s. Nicola buys some water and he’s off again: d’eau. d’eau. d’eau. d’eau. doh. doh. doh. doh.
The film we’re here for is Vers le Sud. It’s about these women who go to Haiti every summer to have a fumble with the local lads. A glamorous French lady and a svelte American lady are the two main characters and they become rivals of a sort. There’s also a lady from London whose English accent makes Nicola and I look at each as to say, “Is she Irish!?” It’s in French with English phrases cast off as quickly and as frequently as the ladies cast off their clothes. The American lady ends up staying in the Caribbean to savour other cultures. Martinique is on her list and when we later approach the Mayflower and spy a gaggle of local lads outside I can’t help but glance over my shoulder for to see an aging, yet-lithe white lady. She doesn’t appear but three young Martiniquan girls do in an assortment of dresses and beachwear. There’s a fashion show in the Mayflower tonight to launch Jenifer’s latest fashion range for Carnaval. Neither Nic or I are interested in the fashion but the hundred or so military men suddenly are. I must note that there is more encouraging applause than leering jeering. The girls can be no more than 16 years old. The mad compère shrieks down the microphone looking for claps and cheer but the occasional chap take to the catwalk with his beer instead. The whole spectacle is soon over – too quickly to contact David. I know he would have been in his element. He loves fashion.
Music from our childhood takes over from the crazy compères calls and Nic and I settle down for a quiet drink. The weird skinny guy, whose wife is a marine, appears and we greet him and his friend Cyril. We spy Oliver, the Martiniquan soldier, at the table behind us. We wave back to him and his friends without any intention or inclination of inviting them over. However, they take the initiative and we’re soon acquainted with Lionel, Pierre and Jean-Vincent. Lionel is from Tahiti and both J.V and Pierre are from Brittany in France. J.V is so hard to understand. He rambles and talks so quickly. The others are fine.
We all decide to make a night of it and we head to Lil Buddha. J.V buys us all drinks – individual drinks of Heineken. No sooner have we sat down than two glasses shatter; the reverberations from the speakers have broken them. Two more drinks are purchased and within minutes two more glasses have been wasted; due to spillage not shattering this time. It must be an omen but we stay and dance the night away with these tracksuit-bottom, three-quarter length short wearing creatures. It’s amazing they actually got in. One of the marine dudes from the Mayflower, Cryil, joins us. J.V doesn’t see eye-to-eye with him and tells him to clear-off but instead J.V ends up on the other side of the bar with some local ladies.
The company is great but the music isn’t so. It’s a telltale sign of a good night if you don’t take in much detail about the surrounding but tonight I actually note the guild-gold armchairs and carpeted stalls closer to the dance floor. I also no longer wonder where that mysterious, occasional gong noise comes from as I watch the DJ’s accomplice step up on the bar every so often to whack it with his rhythm stick.
Around 5,00 Nic and I leave the lads to soak up the late of the tunes as we take a taxi home. It’s early by club standards and the bouncer tells us so: “Next time you come,” he says, as we get into the taxi, “don’t leave so early!” We’ll see…
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