mercredi 28.02.07 Beach boys
Oh to be in… Dun na Rí. I do sometimes wish that I was at home. Not Ireland in general but Cavan in particular. I love the Caribbean countryside but when it’s unbearably warm like it is here today I’d gladly exchange it for the windy, whin-bush fields of Brefiní. It’s my day off so I just lie in bed relishing the calmly ascending heat until it gets so warm that I have to cover the window and my eyes to convince myself that I’m not boiling alive in this mini-oven world of ours. I eventually rise around midday with the withering heat.
The hype of Carnaval kept me going after Christmas and now I need something else to look forward too. Everyone at home sounds a bit down and with bad news filtering in it’s hard to constantly feel upbeat and useful when your thousands of miles away. I need to keep busy. There’s only so much lesson planning you can do, and there are only so many squared metres of our apartment to tidy! I need to keep busy both mentally and physically.
Town is beckoning. I may have just departed with a chunk of pay after coughing up the rent but a new credit card is waiting for me in Credit Mutuel. It’s time to call in and collect the newest addition to my wallet. I could do with a new wallet come to think of it; and new shoes and another watch. For the moment however I settle with lunch in the local Chinese, L’Orient. That magic monosodium-glutamate manages to fill every void inside. A shopping spree is also in order as Nicola and I browse and buy more footwear to see us through the next few weekends.
Some mutual friends, Heather and John, are considering visiting at Easter. Nic and I have already got plans to go on a cruise; it’ll be a good way to see many different islands. But our two pals seem so eager to visit that they don’t mind forking out for a flight and a cruise! It’s good news and there’s a good vibe on the horizon. We pop into two travel agents to suss out the details. Availability, connecting flights and passport details have to be checked and correct before we can put our plan into action but at least the ball’s rolling.
Imagine, we’ll be just like the hoards of annoying tourists who flock into Fort-de-France every day. Today one American lady turns around to us in the street and says: “I really get so excited when I hear people speaking English here.” “Yes. It is a rarity,” I respond somewhat sardonically as I think back to a run-in David had recently with some snap-happy Yanks… Last week he was walking along the quay watching the passengers of the Princess enter the city. An American couple approached him and asked in French if he would take a picture of them. He replied in French and snapped away. On returning the camera the couple said thankyou in English. David replied: Not at all, to which the couple said: Actually, in English we say No problem. David proceeded to tell them that he was Scottish, an Anglophone and was accustomed to this phrase. He-he! David is busy today with classes and a cultural-exchange of some sort, which could be anything from a pastiche session with Parisians to a seminar on President Hu Jintao and the rise of China.
Jean-Alain and Nicolas, two military men we met on Thursday, are about town and so we head to the Mayflower to meet up. Marjorie and Jasmine are there and we try to organise some weekend plans before settling down with our drinks by the bar. Jean-Alain and Nicolas arrive with cling-film wrapped around their biceps; they’ve both spent the past few hours getting tattooed. Nicolas’ first tattoo is a sort of Viking trace with angular axe shapes. Jean-Alain, however, is already a tattoo tapestry though his latest Celtic swirl is really just an extension of his previous bicep band. Two other army chums, Alicia and Cyril, also join us. They’re loved-up in the corner for most of the evening. Smoooooooch.
Sebastian, an original army acquaintance, enters but he declines an offer to join us and instead he heads to the other end of the bar to watch the latest snooker game. It’s not long until Oliver, Lionel and Gwendal appear. We heard from Marjorie that they had been across the way, at the beach. The usual round of cheeky kisses and embraces follows. The guys head to the bar to join Seb and we continue our banter with the bicep boys.
The last bus is at 20,30 so Nic and I soon head. Charlie, or rather J.P, the cheery but slightly pervy young driver is driving us tonight; driving us bonkers perhaps. Before the bus leaves he comes down to chat to us. He’s all grins. Earlier in the day he brought us into town. His friend, ‘Ash-Boy, invited us to dine with him but we told him we were meeting friends. Another time maybe. Another life more likely.
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