Benoit and I had planned to have breakfast together this morning. Since he’s returning from his night shift and I’m heading into town early we agree to meet somewhere halfway along the route. We didn’t however expect halfway to be halfway across the bay – in separate boats. He has taken the 10.15 from Fort-de-France and I’m on the 10.15 from Point du Bout. It’s a rare occasion that they’re that synchronised like that but there we are both are waving at one another like crazy semaphore lunatics. He’s the first to disembark and he calls me just as I’m getting off in town. We don’t do things by halves so we agree to pull out the stops and have a BBQ this weekend instead!
I’m in town to meet up with my marines mates. I get the mandatory email checking and Blog uploading out of the way before chilling outside the Mayflower. I wander into a few shops and get chatting to a grinning Italiano called Gil who tries to convince me to buy sunglasses and watches, and failing that gives me a calling card for a greasy-spoon restaurant. I spy Number 1, Kevin and Fabrice skulking by on their way to McDo. Jerome, Oz and G.G are not adverse to the odd burger and matchstick fries but enough is enough so we head to The Crew for some gourmet grub instead. It’s packed but we pack in an aperitif before being ushered to our seat. Conversation about blow-up dolls, wigs and the various uses for buoyancy aides has us struggling with our food. Jerome pops off to the toilet as we’re finishing up. He’s there for ages and I wonder if he has joined Brian in the kitchen – to do the dishes.
G.G is tired and I want to visit the Base Naval so we bundle into the car and are soon outside the Ventôse for the grand tour. My skirt and flip-flops may not be the best boat-touring attire but as it’s under construction its slow going anyway.
I recognise some of the lads from Saturday’s BBQ. I have to transform into a mini menhir once Astérix gets wind of my presence. He’s a huge imposing gorilla man who eats ladies for lunch. Fortunately he has eaten already. There are four motors on the engine and I’m introduced to all of them Astérix and Obelix, and Caesar and Brutas. Motors aren’t really my thing but the missile launchers and pivot guns absorb more of my time as does the helicopter pad and port.
The air-con is on the blink and I’m feeling the heat something bad. We join Stephan, Nicolas and Lionel in the messy mess for beverages before heading up to Fort St. Louis. The iguanas are humungous though they’re more frightened of us than we are of them so we don’t get too close to nature. But we do get close to the edge. It’s belly-crawling dizziness up there. Not quite the cliffs of Moher but it still affords a beautiful vista. There are some old fortifications to explore too so we scuttle in and out of the dusty passages, up winding stone staircases and finally reach the vantage points.
Back at passport control the lads point out a bullet-riddled lipstick red BMW which was acquisitioned during the recent drugs bust in the south of the island. We also pass three of the gendarmes who took part in the seizure – they seem hole free.
Oz is going to a soirée and wants to buy some flowers for the hosts. He’s banking on the marché couvert being open; in essence it’s always open but after getting lost in the maze of streets there are hardly any stalls left when we arrive – and who wants to buy battered mangoes and pre-mashed bananas?!
I’m meeting Benoît for dinner so I bid the lads farewell and hop on the navette. Benoît and I have taken to hanging socks on the terrace or out our windows to let the other know if we’re in or not. If I was here any longer I’d us each a big white board so we could write full phrases too; though you probably couldn’t get them on this island. Slates perhaps. Benoît’s windows are closed with the block-out curtain over so he must still be catching zzzs. After a shower and spritz Mr. Medicine seems to have made a move. I see his skinny form from afar and give a holler. A few minutes later we’re out the door and headed for Le Marina.
It’s La Fête de la Musique here and in France so the whole island is hopping to the beats and tunes of bands, singers and sounds. Strophe is strumming at La Cabane so after wining and dining we get sucked into the party atmosphere at Point du Bout. Bea and Bruno are out and about though they opt for Le Malibu where the club tunes have started to compete with the solo guitarist beside us. My head is addled. The wine’s the main culprit and the clashing music is its accomplice. Benoît has to get up early anyway so an early night isn’t going to spoil a pretty good evening so we leave Strophe with his thankful tourists and are lead home by the thumping tunes at La Playa.
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