A leisurely day is in order and today sees us going to Tartane along the northeast coast of the island. The roads are clear and though Chef Masaille’s rented Peugeot 106 struggles to pass out a few Nissan Micras we make it to the sparkly beach with plenty of daylight hours to spare. Alex, Lionel, Nicola, Chef and I are soon sprawled out like starfish along the sandy shores. Alex and Lionel are itching to go surfing but without their boards all they can do is race either other in the sea or lie under the sun dreaming of the crashing waves.
I tell the guys that I had once harboured the idea of joining the army. In no time at all Drill Sergeant Oli is putting me through my paces along the beach. We must look a sight pegging it up the strand; knees up, chest out. The ample flat beach provides the ideal running track. It’s not too strenuous and I easily accompany him. At the end of the strand there’s a small wood with pre-Carnaval tunes pumping and poulet boucanée crisping. We or I rather, decide to turn our run into a bit of an assault course. I lead Oli up a grassy knoll, down a woodchip path and through the semi-sandy car park before we arrive back rough-footed at the beach. For a military, and a native, I’m not too impressed with his gravely grumbling as we hot-foot it along the roadside. However, it’s soon payback time as sit-ups and push-ups are rolled out. It’s now my turn to be the wimpiest recruit. Chef Masaille stands on my feet and counts me in as I atoll my sins with full sit-ups. I must say I rose to the challenge, succeeded the feat and was about to rise to my feet when I’m told to drop for thirty. Push-ups are not my thing; girly ones perhaps but not full on pumps. I manage three feeble fumbling lifts but I crash and burn on the beach instead. My punishment? Latrine duty for a month. Pooh!
As the day disappears we decide to move on. There’s a parade in Trinity. The traffic’s so slow we get to see most of it as we crawl along the street for half an hour before taking the mountain road and connecting with the auto route. All the good those exercises did for us is rapidly undone with an excess of McDo. It may be a feast but it’s nothing compared to the nugget binges in Fort-de-France.
Nicola nicks Oli’s car keys. He’s certain he gave them to someone but to be sure he hasn’t disposed of them he has to rummage through the empties on the table. He’s such a gentle soul that his lack of anger and his resolve at being right means that he’s not as provoked as expected. The keys are returned and we’re returned home.
The day is not yet over as we later regroup. We find ourselves in Karaoke Café. It’s Brazilian Night. Ooopsie. We seem to have mis-read the pamphlet. It’s actually Brazilian Kids Night. Karaoke Café is also a late night diner and so even at this hour of the night there are kids milling around. We’re just in time for the spectacle so we sit by the main dance floor and prepare to be dazzled by the twirling sequins, and ripped-off by the crazy prices.
Aside from the thin, toned bronzed Brazilian babes and the lycra-clad glue-grinned lads other people are dressed up for Carnaval. Most men have raided their wives wardrobes. Many are wearing plunging tops and short skirts so tonight there’s no shortage of cross-dressers. Some of them look scarily well as women – including our company. I have my long, curly lilac wig with me and during the night the lads take it in turns to try it on. My cutesy pink dress top also gets them in character; Lionel could really pass for a Tahitian girl with his cat-like eyes and pursed lips: Oliver needs to cut out carbs but he still loves being a lady, even with his cigarette box boobs: and Alex is a cheeky girly with his curly locks and bubblegum pose. The kids may soon disappear but there are now three more big babies out on the dance floor.
Before we know it the place is closing. Lionel has to work in the morning but he’s on for keeping the night alight. Our plans are somewhat quashed however as we find ourselves at the end of a very long and very black queue for Tropicana. We start to get a bit restless and decide to call it a night; a busy week of Carnaval and carousing lies ahead so it’s probably in all our interests to conserve energy and expenses.
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