It’s great to have a lie-in this morning. Sometimes you really do need a holiday after a holiday. Despite the noise and ultra-cooling effect of the air-con over the past five days I would have been glad of it last night as I had such a restless night’s slumber.
We’ve no grand plans for today. It’s probably just as well that we don’t head up to Case-Pilote to meet Mr. Emmanuel and his sailor chums as we’re all clearly knackered and a lazy day at the beach is in order.
Just to backtrack a bit… Our landlady is away but her husband is still here and he nabs Nic this morning to complain about the noise we made last night. He’s obviously under orders from Madame as he’s not usually so ferocious. There was something else on the tip of his tongue but small chat and a few smiles sent him back upstairs. We’ve a very sluggish start to the day so it’s not until after midday that we make a move.
We cruise up to Balata Church to take in the sights and Easter mass times before zipping downhill to Cluny to pick-up David who has been stuck in Martinique for the holidays. He’s friends with the head of Spanish in the IUFM who is away on holidays and has given him his flat for the week. After our day trip we all cram into the one bedroom gaff to see what David has been raving about. It’s small but it has all he needs; especially a much longed for hot shower and washing machine.
Hunger has popped into the car with us so we decide to suppress him at Cap 110 in Diamant. It’s Good Friday but I decide to be a cretin and indulge in some steak. John braves the fish dish for another day running but he still insists on calculating the number of steak-less meals he has had. Mr. Quantity strikes again!
A deep-sea fisherman emerges from the depths brandishing his five-foot harpoon, kitted out in his skin-tight wetsuit, fins and snorkel. He has three whoppers on a hook and he hangs them up on the fence for all to see. There are some other sights that our friends want to see so we take them to the reconstructed convict’s house La Maison du Bagnard and the colossal white statues at Le Mémorial de L’Anse Cafard. We scramble down to the crashing waves in search of prehistoric molluscs and lounge around on the smooth weatherworn trunks like a pride of lions before making a move. I spy a familiar face hopping into a car – it’s Seb. Nic and I greet him briefly. He’s with his lady and after Nic passes comment on her I set her straight and fill her in on her ill-health.
Fortunately everyone’s full of the joys of spring at Diamant beach. The waves are wild but we play safe and enjoy the pummelling and pulverising effects of the mighty sea. David, John and I play kick-about while the ladies sprawl in the shade. The sun fades with the day and we’re soon on the road again.
David has never been to Point du Bout before and as it’s the most touristy spot we reckon we’ll only need money, not luck, to find an open restaurant even if it is Easter weekend. We go to La Pause with our cheery bleach-haired Hispanic host. He’s run off his feet this evening.
The Bourg is animated tonight and there’s a noticeable surge of English speakers. We decide against taking a table beside a group of cocktail-cradling loud-mouthed British blokes and instead settle beside the steps. Five minutes later the foul-mouthed louts have started a punch-up. One guy gets kicked and walloped by two others while the remaining lads restrain or remain seated and unconsciously sober. Tables are tumbled, chairs crash and the target finally sulks off to a nearby wall to curse his entourage before his tears break-up his blood-stained make-up.
To cut a long story short the cry-baby disappears, the leader of the pack buys everyone in the restaurant a drink in the way of an apology and we all get back to enjoying our outdoor dining experience. Fish, chicken, burger, beef and quiche make-up our table tonight; John is the only one who adheres fully to Christian tradition though we’re bound to hear him harp on about another steak-less triumph and his newest postcard purchases. We fit in another round of drinks before dropping David home, bumping into Roman and grinding the gearbox.
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Jeudi 05.04.07 Naturally nude
It’s the last day of our holiday in St. Martin and we’re determined to get in a tour of the island. As we won’t be back until after lunch we’ve to have checked out by 9,00 so this morning is a furry of pancakes, packing and panic as mislaid passports and tickets have to be found. Dramas aside we’re soon united with Claude our tour guide for the day.
It’s the last day of our holiday in St. Martin and we’re determined to get in a tour of the island. As we won’t be back until after lunch we’ve to have checked out by 9,00 so this morning is a furry of pancakes, packing and panic as mislaid passports and tickets have to be found. Dramas aside we’re soon united with Claude our tour guide for the day.
He’s a funny chap and we soon turn him around to our way of thinking as he takes us to places he admits most American and other European prudes would be horrified at. So after bringing us to Fort Louis, Friar’s Bay, Pic Paradis, Grand Case, Anse Marcel, Pinel Island and French Cul de Sac we’ve hinted that although the beaches are beautiful and the sights are stunning we are partial some alternative tourist attractions. From the safety of our jeep St. Martin, The Friendly Island, soon reveals its dark underbelly as we’re taken to the nudist beaches of Orient Bay and the secluded coves of Cupecoy as well as the Nudist Hotel, Brothel Boulevard and the Bandit Hideout. Claude has an in-depth knowledge of the local amenities and attractions so we’re well informed and warned as to the goings-on on this Caribbean retreat. At Simpson Bay we take in overhead planes and gliders which are really too close for comfort.
Claude also fills us with duty free tales of woe. Since we’re returning to Martinique from duty free St. Martin we’ve been advised on how to avoid being stung at customs. Some electrical goods can be fobbed off as being for personal use while alcohol and cigarettes are harder to carry through. We decide to give Claude our bottle of Absinthe as we’re sure he’d appreciate it more than the slippery tiles of Aimée Cesaire airport would. Claude tells us that he’s going to Martinique in a few weeks and that we should meet up for a Full House – Guinness with raw egg. We may have to abstain for that too…
Even though we’ve checked out of our rooms we’re still entitled to use the hotel facilities. Unfortunately the massage parlour isn’t open this afternoon. Nic and Heather take to the lagoon on jet-skis while John and I indulge by the poolside before unwinding in the Jacuzzi.
The hotel staff are very friendly and helpful and one of them goes out of his way to track me down and tell me that there are two funerals in St. Martin this evening. It may sound like morbid parting advice but if we’re to get to the airport in time this is vital information. Romano our taxi man comes a few minutes before our appointed time and we’re soon at Grand Case airport with plenty of time to chill and check out smutty websites – for John’s benefit.
The flight to Guadeloupe is hassle-free. As passengers disembark at Point-à-Pitre us four shift to the back of the plane so that we can be first off at Lamentin. At the carousel we shift uneasily as we wait for our baggage to appear before scurrying past the shifty-eyed customs officer. We can’t believe it when we walk right through without even the wave of a magnetic baton. All that perfume sprayed to make it look as of we’d brought it with us, all those electrical bits and bobs hidden in our laundry bags and the rumpled designer togs and accessories purposely soiled. Anyway it’s good to know that the ineffectual Martiniquan ways have paid off instead of making us pay out. We may have been first off the plane but we’re three couples from the top of the car rental queue. John generously offers to pay for this part of the car rental. His card is on the blink so Nic ends up paying but after a quick call to Ireland all is rectified and reimbursed.
The holiday abroad may be over but we’re still in holiday mode and so late night dining is on the cards. Martinique, we admit, does not cater for such tastes and so we find ourselves being sucked into McDo. McNo. The one thing I hate about holidays is eating when you don’t feel like it but while I’m here I may as well have chicken burger and caramel sundae. I love caramel sundaes.
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