I have a visitor this morning. It’s John’s lizard friend. I can hear him squelching beside me. He’s a bit of an acrobat this morning – he was almost sent packing back to Ireland yesterday in John’s bag and today he’s trying to get into my underwear drawer. He’s taking a gamble going in there!
Nic and Oliver meet up at Anse Mitan for a day by the sea. Our good neighbour John is there perving on the ladies. I think it’s almost sacrilegious to visit nightclubs by day but Nic and Oli manage to call around to Coconuts before heading off to the chocolate and coffee museum where Oli stocks up on bars of dark chocolate. He would have to leave it in the glove compartment wouldn’t he?
I’m at the popote for lunch today. J.V calls around to pick me up and I’m soon munching on ribs and sipping rum with the lads. I find out a lot about the lads; their different vices and views. J.V was barred from Lil Buddha last weekend for chatting up a hostess. Someone else on the other hand can’t get enough of the hostesses. Someone’s girlfriend has cancer and is pregnant with twins. Someone secretly loves Scrabble. And someone else loves to play on-line chess with his daughter every Thursday.
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dimanche 08.04.07 Homeward Bound
For some reason I’m fully awake at 8,00. John is too and we chat for a while before falling silent as the wind and rain drowns out our conversation. La Gorge de Falaise was on the cards today but since the girls don’t stir until afternoon and the rain is substantial we stay put. It’s probably just as well because bags have to be packed and repacked and passports, souvenirs and lizards have to be rooted out from every nook and cranny before the panic subsides and we can have our Easter Sunday supper in peace.
Our food hardly has time to settle before we’re on the road to the airport with David. Its David’s first time back to the airport since he arrived here in September. He’ll be leaving Martinique for good on Wednesday morning as his contract is up and he’s outta here. He has a mega holiday to look forward to and he shows me the itinerary at the sun-faded Venezuelan air company kiosk. Final drinks are had by all at the outdoor bar across the road. The intercom works outside. We hear four final announcements for STEDMAN and CULBERT before they eventually get to departures, say their farewells and shuffle off to passport control. David, Nic and I roam about the airport stores until we tire of madras memorabilia and are certain that our friends are homeward bound.
For some reason I’m fully awake at 8,00. John is too and we chat for a while before falling silent as the wind and rain drowns out our conversation. La Gorge de Falaise was on the cards today but since the girls don’t stir until afternoon and the rain is substantial we stay put. It’s probably just as well because bags have to be packed and repacked and passports, souvenirs and lizards have to be rooted out from every nook and cranny before the panic subsides and we can have our Easter Sunday supper in peace.
Our food hardly has time to settle before we’re on the road to the airport with David. Its David’s first time back to the airport since he arrived here in September. He’ll be leaving Martinique for good on Wednesday morning as his contract is up and he’s outta here. He has a mega holiday to look forward to and he shows me the itinerary at the sun-faded Venezuelan air company kiosk. Final drinks are had by all at the outdoor bar across the road. The intercom works outside. We hear four final announcements for STEDMAN and CULBERT before they eventually get to departures, say their farewells and shuffle off to passport control. David, Nic and I roam about the airport stores until we tire of madras memorabilia and are certain that our friends are homeward bound.
My driving lesson is long overdue. David tips off to the IUFM to see some mates while us ladies do 3.1 turns and emergency stops at Rond Point; I only run over one imaginary dog and I don’t hit any trolleys so Nicola deems me a good driver. That is until we see a strange puddle under the car. The lighting is so dim in the parking lot and the leakage is so evident that we automatically presume its oil. Only seconds before David and Nicola had cast their cigarette butts close to where the dark mass is now accumulating. We’re down on our knees with mobiles; I call Fred the mechanic, Nicola calls the car rental company and David examines the leak. We’re on the Rocade back to the airport when Fred rings us back to say he’ll tow us. He doesn’t understand we’re actually driving along the motorway - not stopped along the verge, but we’re soon at Europcar in line for a closer inspection.
From the instant we coast up to the valeting depot I sense that our panic was uncalled for. The mechanic quizzically asks us to show him the leakage. The car is parked under the glaring lights but there’s no dripping now. The only evident fluid is the small puddle five yards away where we left the car running. Even from here I can see it’s not black. I mutter something about the air-con. If we were in engineering school I would be top of the class. Tonight we just look like a group of panicked pale-faced tourists. The mechanic is bemused. We’re relived though piqued plus we did miss out on trading the Clio in for a soft-top…
The drama has made us hungry so we head to Snack Elize for high-security bodily leakage manoeuvres and madras burgers dripping with fried egg and mustard sauce. The night is still young and the car is still going so we decide to go to Anse d’Arlets for some good times at Ti Sable. David has been ranting about this place for ages and we soon find out why it’s worthy of such eulogies; the beachside location, the live music, the good time vibes, the quirky huts and the delicious food. The people are as mixed as the drinks selection. We’ve only just got frisked and leered at by the bouncers when we bump into Ceri, Fran and Alex dining with Gilbert and Fran’s anonymous mute-like boyfriend. Bex and her family are at a nearby table, Jasmine and Janiquca are hanging out with Jasmine’s Mum and Kyla is here with her spitting-image sister Meera. Nic, David and I mingle for a while before retreating to a beach-view bench infused with yummy scents from the open BBQ behind us.
A group of guys across the way keep staring at us. One has a scorpion tattoo on his left shoulder. His shorts are too tight for him. I recognise him from somewhere… All is slowly revealed when he greets us. Ten minutes into the conversation I admit I don’t remember his name. Nor does Nic but she’s certain it begins with J. Not Jean-Pierre-Philippe-Vincent-Claude. Nor Jerome. But Julien. Oh, yeah! He’s the one who got into a strop on Paddy’s Day when I told him he looked thirty-one; he’s twenty-eight. He’s a right knob but his comrade Dorian is sound and sensible. Chicken is also here. We’re told that we just missed his performance on the beach though we soon witness his other talents as he joins us with his trademark fix-fag and food and starts eating his rice and chicken with his hands. Lionel still hasn’t given him back his Scottish hat so he goes off on a tangent with me about rules before I set him straight. The lads invite us to join then at L’Amphore in Trois Ilets but David’s in shorts and we’re not too keen on the club scene tonight. We bump into one of Nicola’s pupils as we ourselves hurry to extract the car from the dung dungeon. Another car drama unfolds tonight as we try to help Kyla find her car keys. Eventually she has to call her man and get a lift home as her car is shut into the cow-dung field for the night.
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