samedi 17.03.07 St. Patrick’s Day
Happy St. Patrick’s Day! Fêtez la Sainte Patrick. There’s an announcement in France-Antilles about tonight’s St. Patrick’s Day celebrations in The Terminal Café. I wonder just how many people will pick up on that and join us.
Before we launch into the celebratory mode we have to get through the day. Murphy’s Law is leading the way. Firstly there’s no water in our apartment. There would be none of that at home; rain is always on tap in Ireland. Secondly the buses seem to be drying-up. I’m going into town as I’ve to get rid of excess foliage for tonight – shamrock is the only undergrowth allowed to be on display tonight.
A car with an elderly man and two elderly ladies stops and the male driver offers me a lift into town. I tell them all about St. Patrick’s Day and the celebrations in Ireland. They listen silently. They’re all dressed in their Sunday best but they’re probably dressed immaculately every day of the week as they’re Seventh Day Adventists. The ladies are left at the hall and the man drives me to Bellevue which is really generous of him. If he hadn’t dropped me there I’d probably still be in the beauty saloon. The queue was almost out the door only ten minutes after I arrived. Only two beauticians are in today and it’s almost two hours until I’m out fuzz free (read into that what you may!).
Nic also got a lift with our Seventh Day Adventist taxi troupe. The lucky so-and-so got a lift and a pamphlet! She had to put up with more anti-smoking grumbles. She tried to throw them off the scent by telling them she had a twin sister who smoked. She sort of indicated that it was me – not identical twins so! It wouldn’t be the first time we told someone we were sisters. Many people have asked and we’ve often gone with the joke. Maybe when you live with someone for a length of time you do start to resemble one another...
I text Nic to see if the water’s back on and she replies to say it is and that I’ll know all about it when I return home and wade into my room; I left the tap open. Luckily she was there to turn it off. I’m always the tap culprit. Ah well, the fluids will be flowing again later; we’ll all be well watered tonight...
It’s 13,00 by the time I’m home. I stopped off in Cyber Délisse to fire off Happy Paddy’s Day texts to friends and family across the miles. I got a card from my parents with a teddy in an Aran sweater and my Aunt Daphne sent me one with a rainbow and a crock o’ gold.
I’m soon dressed in my green finery. I’ve a pretty green dress with large white circles, a green hair band and rejuvenated sandals with even shinier shamrocks than the ones I wore to school; later that evening I wear my Irishness on my back, not my sleeve, as I get a giant shamrock outline pencilled, in eye-liner, unto my spine.
I don’t expect many people to be at The Terminal Café at 4 o’clock on the dot - as stated on the invitation but I’m doubly mistaken. Nobody is there. Nobody. Not even Jean-Pierre, the patron because when I arrive just after four I arrive to find the shutters down; the bloody place isn’t open. So here I am melting and standing in the street in the sweltering heat like Lucky the Leprechaun, outside the venue where our Paddy’s Day celebrations are being held. Let’s make it a street party. It not long before it seems like that. I spy Nicola’s Nicolas. He’s wearing a green t-shirt and looks very well – even though us Irish bet his Italian brothers in the rugby today. I give him a shiny green tie to complement his outfit before throwing a fit at Jean-Pierre as I harangue him on the phone. No sooner have I hung up than Strophe saunters along. He asks where Jean-Pierre is and when I tell him he’s on his way he cocks his head and tells us he’ll be back later. Nicolas and I are soon joined by Rosalie and Melanie. Melanie is one of my pupils and Rosalie is her mother. They read about the festivities in France-Antilles. I feel a bit embarrassed that we’re here standing in the street but the funny side shines through much brighter.
Odile and Blandine from school soon join us on the terrace for Guinness and shamrock sweets. Some friends of Nicolas’ are also there: Julian, Fix and another guy who is wearing a traditional Scottish hat and flying an inter-Celtic flag. These guys are off to the inter-Celtic meal deal at Au Bouclier Celte later on tonight.
Today may be St. Patrick’s Day but it’s also the halfway mark of Lent – mi-carême. For once Fort-de-France is hopping on a Saturday night. By the jetty there’s a stage with some bands and singers as well as food stalls and mini-markets. The noise from the street celebrations competes with our own revelry.
The night is a success. We must have over a hundred guests pass through the doors during the night. These include assistants, work colleagues, military mates (some of whom offer tactical, textual advice… and advances!), private students, random locals and other foreign friends we invited over the past few weeks. Other people wander in from the street and we’re not slow to inform them as to why green is the dress code and Guinness is the tipple of the night. Shamrock stickers are given out as long as we have them and Jean-Pierre is run off his feet all night as he mans the bar single-handedly.
It’s not long until people are starting to request a few jigs. We may be glammed-up but we take to the floor; we’re careful not to throw off more than our shoes, we may be at home with our friends but we’re not at home in Tivoli practising for The Full Monty!
Throughout the night Nicola and I are treated to all sorts of concoctions and compliments. We meet and mingle with so many weird and wonderful people. The person I’m most looking forward to seeking out is the Irish speaking Martiniquan. By the time he arrives its well after midnight and the place has quietened down so he’s not treated to the real carousing. His name is Thierry and he does indeed speak Irish. He went to Galway for eight months to teach French. He’s a master at languages as he speaks French, English, German, Spanish, Italian and Irish. He bought himself a CD and two dictionaries and taught himself Gaeilge. Amazing! I’m in awe. He may not understand everything I say but it’s no small feat. Maith thú! One person who puts a dampener on his achievements is Marjorie – the Irish hustler. She threw a bit of a party in the Mayflower but it sunk like a battered battle ship. She then came round to the Terminal and poached most of our revellers. And she later returned to try and persuade us to join her. On her second return I introduce her to Thierry. She’s in teacher mode and coarsely corrects his Irish even if only to add superfluous words. Madras-wearing-flag-waving-vibrating-Leprechaun-I’ll-buy-you-all-a-drink Marjorie aside there are two other Irish people in our midst. Unfortunately James is stuck in Sainte-Marie with the flu but Alex, our Northern Irish comrade, is here to join in with the celebrations. The other Irish person is Therese. She’s an English teacher in Collège Nicolas – wear Marjorie teaches. Therese and her friends have stumbled across our festivities after failing to find Marjorie in the Mayflower.
Another English teacher is out and about for the night. It’s Mr. Joseph Emmanuel – one of Nicola’s colleagues from Lycée Technique. He has consoled her a great deal regarding the whole Edith incident. He’s a kind, intelligent man who speaks perfect English. He lived in Liverpool, New York and New Orleans. He invites us to a soirée with some Martiniquan friends in the near future.
Both Nicola and I are surprised to see Cloé and her man Philly. They don’t stay long but they do mingle a bit with David, J.P and Lionel. While I’m talking to Sandrine and Slyie, two of Nicola’s private pupils, I see my phone flashing. Lionel’s number appears; though when I look up to see him he’s deep in conversation with Cloé and Co. I turns out that Sebastian has borrowed Lionel’s phone and has been ringing to find out what plans are for later on. Some people decide to hit Coconuts, others sneak off to the Mayflower and some hop over to the jetty. But as they leave others appear. Steven, whom Nicola met in Cyber Délisse, arrives with a few friends. A group of Spaniards including Pablo and Smile appear and mingle with the Yugoslavian yachtsmen; the three Peters, Yanko, John, Breno and John, who are catching a plane to St. Lucia later tonight.
I find Pierre-Loïc, from Vauclin, and Jerome, from the Metropole, out on the terrace with the majority of the assistants. Pierre-Loïc helped create the Chien Fer, the huge iron dog statue which rambled through the city during Carnaval. He invites us to a Mont Pelée memorial in Saint-Pierre in May and offers to take us on a tour if we decide to join in on the celebrations.
Practically all the assistants make an appearance tonight. I find out that Raketa, the American-African assistante, has gone back to the States. Fran, Bex and Alex have come with their Guadeloupéen neighbour Dorian. Bex is disappointed not to meet this infamous Edith or the cat-eating Will though there absence is welcomed tonight. Tom, Rodolfo, Phil, Jeremy, Alejandro, Marko come to up the guy:guy ratio. Marko has two friends, Derek, and someone else, over for a while and they readily wear the shamrock stickers and drown the shamrock with us. I finally get to meet Carson the surfer dude who is here with his girlfriend Elizabeth. I haven’t seen Elizabeth since the stage and we go through a few Pina Coladas and Heinekens as we catch up on stories and sagas. Rachel, Sara, Bea, Teresa, Jasmine, Adi, Ceri and Kyla compliment the rest of the assistante crew. Anne, from the IUFM, who has been here not long after the doors opened, is locked in conversation with Alex and Joel, the two Dutch guys. They’re in high spirits as per usual and they work their diamond Dutch grins around Anne and Dorian. There’s another Dorian in the house. She’s a pupil of David’s. Both herself and Janina were present for our Wednesday night dancing sensation and they are itching to get learn more fancy footwork in. People take to the floor for Ballaí Lumnigh. J.P Sartre is in his element. His girlfriend Amelie may have left leaving a hole in his heart but the Baileys and Jameson soon blends together and patches his soul.
One person who is sorely missed is Oli. Chef Masaille is probably being spit-roasted by his girlfriend tonight. Lionel, Alex and Cedric tell us that she’s very jealous of other women and has confined him to her clutches for the duration of her stay. She can stay away so!
I’ve caught sight of Jean-Pierre’s savoury pâtés throughout the night but I haven’t had an opportunity to savour them as playing hostess has taken preference. Nicola and I are both feeling peckish and she offers to go down to McDo for some sustenance. A while later we’re out on the terrace munching on skinny fries and sipping Baileys when David appears to express his mock disgust that he has not been invited to indulge in this McDo feast.
Maud, the randy Breton dressmaker, is doing the rounds again tonight. Herself and Mark the Marine should hook up. Mark’s a bit of a leach and Maud’s just as sticky so they should stick together. Maud’s son pops in during the night to get money off mother.
Mark the Marine and Nicolas are the last two people to leave with us. As the drink supplies have dried-up so too has the company. Most people got sucked into the Mayflower and filtered on to Lil Buddha but it’s nice to get to finally sit down and have a chat. The last hour is spent chatting to Thierry, the Gaeilgéor, and Michel, another Martiniquan. I flit between wanting to boogie and wanting to crash. Nic and Mark are caught in conversation so Nicolas and I stick on some slows while Jean-Pierre tidies up and tries to find a dancing partner on MSN! Nicolas was the first person to arrive and he’s the last too leave. He drops Nic and I back to the wilds of Tivoli just as Dawn is making an appearance. I’ve a full 24 hours to rest as the next time I’ll be at the gate I’ll be making my way to work. There’s usually no rest for the wicked but I had a wicked night and so I think I deserve a little repose…
No comments:
Post a Comment