We get another beach proposal today but to be honest I’ve had my full of saltwater and sand for the moment. J.V and Oliver head off to Madinia Beach at Schoelcher for the day. Nicola has another private lesson rendezvous today so she hops off to town while I settle down to watch the rugby. The Irish cream the English 39-13. France nail Wales and Italy beat Scotland. By coincidence Gethin, our Welsh friend, calls. He has another two weeks to rest his foot. It’s Saturday night and I reckon he’s a bit sick of hobbling around the pool table in a cold pub in Wales.
It’s not long before it’s time to have more intercultural action. Oliver and his Guadeloupean friend and colleague Matthew come around to collect us. Matthew seems in awe of our various displays of Irishness. We don our hats and flags and sing a few songs for him. He’s almost more snap happy than the two of us put together. I now fully appreciate how annoying it can be to have someone flashing in your face all night. He tells us he would love to make a compilation of our songs and asks if we’d like to do a sort of cultural exchange. I’m a bit dubious as to what sort of exchange he’s really up for. For the time being we’ll have to do with singing in the back of the car. The journey into town is a short one as we take it in turn to croon more national anthems and rousing chants.
It’s Gwendal’s birthday today. He’s just turning twenty-four. J.V has been helping him turn green all evening. They’re upstairs in Le Terminal with their Breton buddy, and bar owner, Jean-Pierre. A combination of birthday cheer, recent rugby success and tropical shots has them in high spirits. Strophe has the night off and the entertainment comes in the form of a blonde, blue-eyed, shoeless Irish girl. At the birthday boy’s request Jean-Pierre has put on some Irish traditional music. Nicola takes to the floor for a jig and Jean-Pierre signs her up for a future gig.
Apart from Nicola’s Celtic capers Le Terminal, being the expensive establishment that it is, is dead so we decide to head to the Mayflower for music and revelry. The others hurry on while Oliver and I skirt around the various late-night burger vans looking for some sort of birthday cake substitute for Gwendal. Martiniquans must be prone to giving up baked goodies for Lent as not one of the five stalls around Pointe Simone caters for cake-heads. McDonald’s isn’t even open and neither is the panini joint behind the Mayflower. Ah well. It’s the thought that counts isn’t it?
The Mayflower is hopping. There’s the usual catchment of marines, soldiers and civilians. Alex, Jean-Alain and Nicolas greet us. Celine and Marianne the barmaids are by the pool table and I chat to them for a bit as the toilet queue eases. Michel is in the zone on the DJ decks. The music is good but it’s hard to find a spot to dance. Sebastian and Lionel re-enter a while later. When we left Le Terminal they were already on their way over. The Cranberries, U2 and The Pogues are brought out to end the night. A big circle forms as vit or vit-out you is chanted before the Marseilles brings everyone to a swaying standpoint.
By Caribbean standards the night is still young so before we’re turfed out onto the street we debate where to go next. Some people want to hit Karaoke Café but Lil Buddha shines through in the end. Everyone must have all their money spent after Carnaval as there’s not much sign of life. It’s just as well though because once again the dance floor is jammed as Gwendal and Co. and throwing some mad shapes. Eventually they konk out on the couches and with two of the four booths vacant Gwendal, Alex and Sebastian each have a couch to call their own.
Morning has broken and those of us who are not part of the drunken-dozing drove decide to get some breakfast. The sleepyheads are bundled into a taxi back to the regiment while Oli, J.V, Lionel, Nic and I head to Patisserie des Iles. With our mega family box of pastries and gallon of juice we head to the ROWANTREE RANCH for refreshments. The croissants, pain au chocolat, pain au raison, custard beignets and baguettes disappear over a very leisurely brunch. Naughty Nicola is on the road to ruin as she joins us in dunking sweet bread into even sweeter tea; she will later pay for this guilty pain au chocolat pleasure with pain and a long stay in bed, and the bathroom. Another pain au raison goes down her gullet with her raison d’être.
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