vendredi 16.02.07 Lil blubber
I blame this entry for holding up the rest of my updates. There’s nothing out-of-the-ordinary to report – it was just a hectic start to the weekend and the following days were of such a similar pace that this account just got shunted to the back of the pile. Like every entry it’s my memoir so if I can excuse the delay you should be able to too.
As it happens I spend this morning writing-up my past few entries. Eventually an earthly time clocks around and I call Madame Bidoux to accept her invitation for a night in the hills with our neighbours.
Carnaval fever has long been in the air but today when Nic and I hit town we’re hit by the visual feast of stalls and stands displaying a plethora of outfits and miscellaneous festival wear. Nic has her eye on a Rasta hat. Subconsciously her choice is probably spurred by the white lie we just texted Will, our wannabe-Rasta chum. We told him that the reason we’re only just responding to his messages is that we left our phones on a pétrolette last week and have only got them back. He’s more dumb than he looks if he believes that. While Nic tries on the various mad hatter wares I find some traditional madras trimmings to brighten up my costumes. I choose a red pattern and a black and white variety which should see me through the week of wildness.
It’s not just us assistants who stick out like a sore thumb in this city. Cyber Délisse is full of loud-mouth American exchange students who have set up the equivalent of their living room in this internet café. Not only do they talk at the top of their voices about doing work in a prison but they then switch from Prison Break to Family Guy. They may be highly amused as they snort and point at the laptop screen but the patron is not at all entertained – and he doesn’t entertain their behaviour either. He strides over, arse out, hands on hips and asks them to pipe down or go elsewhere. One cheeky creature however tells him to take a chair and join them if he likes. I don’t think this will be the last we’ll see/hear of these brash, arrogant missy’s in their college-sloganeering sweats and track shorts.
Back at home we wallow in the tree-top tranquillity. Nicola retreats to the trees to prepare her interview questions and I lounge on the terrace with my read until dinner is ready. A siesta is soon in order but when we rouse ourselves it’s all engines go as we get ready, and watered, for a night out. I retouch Nic’s roots with some dodgy looking dye. It’s so pungent I fear I’ll go blind from the fumes. It may seem strong but all the goodness or badness rather, must have escaped into the atmosphere because it only lightens Nic’s locks by a fraction. Once we’re satisfactorily dressed, drunk and dyed we make our way to the bus-stop. The last bus doesn’t come and so we call Francois the taximan who comes all the way from Ducos only to drop us into Fort-de-France for free! Either the Irish charm was on full blast or the intense fumes from Nic’s hair were enough to muddle his mind and make him drop us off before he did likewise.
The Mayflower crew are keeping in tune with the changing Carnaval themes as Marianne and Celine have both donned chiffon sarongs and bélé-dancing ensembles. Tonight’s clients however are either reluctant to comply or they have been lost for ideas as the only disguised punter is an old Martiniquan man I remember from last week who is in the same sexy dungarees! The fancy straw hat is also doing the rounds again but apart from that there’s not even a whiff of military camouflage even though most people here tonight are partial to these prints.
Lionel, Christophe, Fabien and Benoit are there to greet us. When Fabien goes off to the toilet the others grumble that he’s not contributing to their communal chalice fund – it’s to be his last warning and subsequently his last night as a collective consumer. Sebastian, Cedric, Alex, J.V, Ludo and Gwendal soon appear for beer. I owe dear Gwendolyn a drink as my rugby prediction wasn’t very accurate. Need I retell the outcome? France vs. Ireland. 20-17. That’ll teach me to makes bets. I leave the Leffe with Gwendolyn and sit beside Ludo who is wearing an English rugby jersey. If you can’t beat them join them… We’ll see!
The Metropole gendarmes are out in force again tonight. I perch myself at the bar with Philip from Guyane and his French friends before catching the scent of something scrumptious; sorry Nic but it isn’t you tonight – you’re tinted hair will either dissolve your scalp or resolve you to tears later. The delicious smell is coming from Julian the Marine and his girlfriend who are both behind me eating paninis. Within minutes half the bar has filed out the back beside the tiny panini stand. Paninis are served squashed and so are we. Nic and I share one; if the dye doesn’t harm her the bread binge will. Nic likes the panini a bit too much and I’m soon craving another one. Lionel buys me another one. For a military man he doesn’t have much of an appetite though if smoke was nutrition he’d be full of force. He tells me that Tahitian men are predisposed to weight gain and when he last tried to give up the fags he put on 20 kg. He introduces me to another two Tahitian military men who either smoke as much as he does to keep thin or they have super speedy metabolisms to stay so slight. I purposely wave my tuna melt under their noses to spark a reaction but they don’t give in to the wonderful waft.
It’s soon time to dance off all those drinks and devoured paninis. We head around the corner to Lil Buddha. The bouncers observe all fourteen of us before we go in. Some of the guys are dressed quite casually but the bouncer thinks twice before testing our group allegiances. Rum for €180. It’s a rip-off though not for us ladies as we’re treated by our top-salary earning soldier friends. Oli and his Martiniquan soldier friend Matthew arrive later and join in on the rum rumba. Oliver has been to see a friend who was kicked out by his wife as his military lifestyle didn’t please her. Someone else is not too pleased tonight. Whether the bread or the booze has gone to her head Nicola takes one of J.V’s sarky comments as a personal jibe. She retorts but by the end of the argy-bargy she’s fed up and upset. It’s the end of the night so we don’t miss much by leaving the club at that point, plus it’s after 6,00 and we can easily get the first bus home half an hour later. Nosy Lionel wants to know what’s up but I tell him not to pry as she won’t stay dry for long. He thinks we’re both emotional alcoholics and bides us farewell before following the lads to Waikiki.
Nic goes down the street to buy fags as she’s in a huff and in need of a puff. In the meantime I wait for the bus with some pervert called David who, like everyone else on this street, wants to know where we live. I give him some bogus story but he’s only more intrigued about my Martiniquan ancestry. Nic returns, the guy scurries off and the bus appears. Nic’s feeling bad about her wrangle with J.V and she calls him. He doesn’t answer so she leaves a message and leaves it at that. Such a silly spat but a bit of deep sleep will wash the quarrelsome thoughts away – and a shower will wash that pungent hair dye pong away too.
No comments:
Post a Comment