Mercredi 18.04.07 Khaki Colours
Wee Morgane is full of the joys of Spring this morning as we design a Mother’s Day card, sing and play animal charades. It’s a pity I’ll have to give her up as I’ll soon be hopping across the water to Trois Ilets.
I don’t have time to prepare rice for our beach picnic later on but the lads aren’t too bothered as they always fall on their feet regarding food. My military enthusiasm has paid off and I’ve been invited to dine with them in the canteen today. J.V comes to collect me and we drop Nicola off in town before heading to the regiment and our steak and chips feed. However, I can only speculate about what was on the menu today as J.V and I have to wait so long for Alex and Lionel that by the time they arrive it’s time for me to set sail to Trois Ilets. My disappointment is doubled when I find out that they couldn’t find a small enough pair of Rangers for me and my G.I Jane fetish.
I arrive at Point du Bout to be greeted by Jean-Paul. He hitched from Anse à l’Ane as his cousin is borrowing his car. We’re soon joined by a red-faced Nicola who had to traipse all the way from Anse Mitan after taking the wrong boat. Since we’re in the vicinity we view another apartment which is advertised across the road from the slow-service crêperie and the €12 a cycle laundrette. Adelaide is the owner though I bet her aging, mumbling mother and pack of black dogs all get a say in how business is dealt here.
Jean-Paul has to hitch back home but Nicola and I take to the Copacabana to wait for Lionel who is heading to Anse Dufour where Chef Masaille and J.V are already sunning themselves. The beach is no great shakes but the sea is only marvellous. I’m not one for depths but the sight literally takes my breath away – for all the right reasons. The profoundness, the underwater expanse, the multi-coloured fish, urchins, plants and weeds, the wonderful aquatic wildlife and the fishing tackle of yesteryear are there to take in. I spy a sea-snake near to the shallows; it could be an eel but I don’t think it’d be wise to test fate and ask him.
The world is small but Martinique is miniscule. I spot a ginger-haired kid under some palm trees and my facial-recognition system immediately kicks in. It’s Sonia’s son Guillaume. Sonia’s partner is there too. It would only be rude not to say hello so I take to the lapping lip of the sea with Sonia before some other Frenchie barges in. We briefly talk business but now’s neither the time nor the place to conjure up hypothetical payment schemes.
Lionel skipped lunch so when he returns from the shop with his ice-cream fix we’re all soon tucking into the creamy coolness. As we’re packing up Mr Montlouis from the dingy apartments calls to see why we haven’t rang him. I don’t know what he’d say if I told him I’m living by Irish time but somehow I think he’d still be just as abrupt and curt; I agree to ring tomorrow for an update and the removal of my second ear.
The hunger is still on us and the evening is young but unfortunately Ti Sable is closed. We retreat to the slow-service crêperie where we’re all wound up by the slow staff and Oliver is reunited with a long-lost cousin. We finish the night with a night-cap at the popote before it’s locked-up and we’re turfed-out.
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