After exchanging the botchy pair of flip-flops for jewellery last week I’m now in need of serious sandals. I head off to Sport 2000. It’s cool. I mean it’s air-conditioned but the stock there is amazing and the staff isn’t bad either! There are so many pairs of sandals, flip-flops and tongs that I want to buy but apart from the price another thing which prevents me from maxing out are the odd sizes. Reef almost reels me in as there’s a sleek pair of brown leather tongs which are ace but I’d look like a clown traipsing around in size sevens. They also have a nifty pair of muted pink sandals with a hidden compartment for keys but at €60 it’s not just the nafness which makes me march on. I spy gorgeous brown and orange flower print tongs but my feet have suddenly expanded and will not fit into the size sixes. I eventually spot a pair of black and white Adidas sports tongs which will do the job, and without breaking the bank I also pick up a pair of beige Havana’s and I’m soon flip-flopping my way down to Leader Price.
After all my waxing, walking and waiting I slip into Cyber Délisse to fire out some emails. With only three weeks left in Martinique I tell people about what I want to do when I get back home. After all my talk about salt and vinegar Tayto crisps, curry chips and gravy and potatoes I’m craving spuds. So that’s what I rustle up at home.
Someone was supposed to view our apartment today but they’re a no-show. Perhaps the people at L’Auberge Anse Mitan sucked them into the ying-yang session which I catch a glimpse off as I walk by. The old man with his little shaggy dog also makes an appearance once again. I wonder where he lives.
Tonight J.P, Nic and I head to Ti Sable for dinner. It’s another farewell do of sorts. Majid decided he wouldn’t join us but he does in spirit as we christen a big black moth after him. Magic. The name sticks, the moth flits and he even follows us along the moonlit beach as we make our way to a beach bar. I sip Leffe from a flagon as I lie on a weather worn deckchair with my long skirt up to my knees and my feet plastered in sand and soothed by saltwater. Nic and J.P opt for the carbet as we gaze out onto the ocean.
There’s live music, people are dancing, drinking, chatting, laughing and half the road is taken up with chairs and couples. I sit back and take it in. This is the life; the shiny blackness of the night-time sea, the gurgling, lapping waves, the thirst-quenching process, the banter, the freedom, the carefree nature, the timelessness, the locals. Oh yes, the locals…
Out of the corner of my eye I notice a guy approaching our palm-tree sheltered table. He’s soon sitting, chatting with us. His name is Jean-Luc. He’s from Martinique but he lived in Normandy and Limoge for the past fifteen years as he was in the army there. He’s now a retired sergeant and has returned to his birthplace to trick around with cars. J.P seems tired so once again we pass on more army activity. It’s sad because although you get some pervy locals many people genuinely just want to chat and be in company; I wish we had more time – for him and for Martinique. We follow Jean-Luc to his car and we eventually find our own motor and our way home.
No comments:
Post a Comment