Martinique 2

Driving the twisting and sometimes hair-raising narrow roads with spectacular views and lush vegetation is hugely enjoyable, however it also involves the negatives of traffic jams, congestion and parking woes wherever it is you want to go. Down on the southern tip are the Etangs … salt marshes and beaches … but cars were parked for miles – both sides of the road – half in ditches, canted at ludicrous angles. Another highly-rated beach area was Anse Dufour, with black, volcanic sand. Same thing here … the access road reduced to single lane by parked cars … predatory, circulating cars, drivers hunched over steering wheels, eyes darting, ready to pounce. And woe betide anyone nipping in to steal a spot! Fists were raised and a tirade of fine French abuse was hurled … at volume! We went back to our beach at Le Diamant … only a short drive away … uncrowded …. shady spots to sit under. Best beach on the island.

One morning Glen went for another snorkel while I relaxed on the patio sipping coffee and being kept company by my birdie chums. Later, slabs of baguette were stuffed with homemade egg salad filling – eaten while sitting on the beachfront promenade, while industrious ants and birds cleared up the fallen bits (it’s hard to eat an egg sandwich tidily!). Along the pier a dive boat was loading up tanks … crabs scuttled over the rocks, and clumps of bright red and black Boxelder bugs swarmed over bits of decaying coconut. Another afternoon we stopped by Chez Fiou … a small local establishment just along the road, to pick up food for the evening – they were not open for diners but serving take-out. The outside menu board looked tantalising, and although we translated many of the ingredients, some remained a mystery. The lovely owner called her husband, and he described in detail each dish – with recommendations. Portions were generous so we opted for a fricassee of humungous prawns (almost young lobsters) and rice – the sauce made from onions, garlic, tomatoes, allspice leaves, lemon and chilis and served with rice and salad … enough for two, and more. Really good! Washed down with a couple of chilled Piton lagers … delicious!

Throughout our stay, leaving the parking spot had been a painful experience. With three cars it was just doable – with lots of maneuvering … with a fourth parked at right angles behind, it was nigh on impossible. Why not reverse back down, you ask? The driveway is narrow and steep … did I emphasize the “steep”? There was a wall just inches from the driver’s side and an angled drop off from the flat area which, on a couple of occasions, had come within millimeters of ripping off the passenger side front bumper while the driver’s side dangled in mid air. To compound things, the rental car (a standard) had one of those mechanisms which prevented back sliding on a hill while engaging gear forwards … reversing was considerably more tricky … involving kangaroo hops, stalls and much cursing. So, it was with great relief that late Thursday afternoon only ONE other car was present, enabling a far easier reverse into our spot – ready for an early start the following morning.

Bags packed … drawers checked … everything tidy …. good that the owners were there or I’d have had to chuck the gate remote through the front door and gallop down the driveway before the gates closed! Uneventful drive into Trois Islets … although we stopped to take a photo of the 5-masted Royal Clipper that we’d spotted while aboard Eye of the Wind. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Royal_Clipper Car returned without incident … located the shuttle boat dock for transport across the harbour to the high-speed Inter Island terminus. It was hot standing in line … not much shade … and everyone was applying an extra layer of sunscreen and fanning themselves. The ticket machine was broken, so figured someone would collect once on board. A deliciously breezy skim across to the other side … but as no-one appeared interested in taking our money, and a handy McDonald’s presented itself, we ducked inside to use the facilities (after buying a couple of Filet-o-fishes – courtesy of the shuttle ferry!) … surprisingly, they turned out to be quite enjoyable. We hadn’t had one in years.

Still plenty of time … so we had a quick peek inside the cathedral … one at a time as we had all our stuff with us … through town … along the waterfront and past the old fort – Fort St. Louis. Although the ferry terminus was virtually next door … one had to perambulate in a rather circuitous route to actually reach it. Through security and sat watching, with interest, the wide assortment of purchases that passengers were loaded down with … new, plastic-wrapped clothes dryers … vast canvas Carrefour bags stuffed with groceries … backpacks overflowing with household goods … 6 or 7 childrens’ bikes and trikes (one of which was being ridden furiously around the waiting area by an intent 3-year-old girl with no concern for toes). I guess things were cheaper or more available than on St. Lucia.

We found window seats and prepared for take-off. Smooth sailing at first …. Hmm, wonder why the ferry employee is coming around with plastic bags and paper towels?! Everybody seems to be taking them! We’d barely left dock and people started to pale and look nervous … a few gentle swells and the paleness turned to green … by the time the ferry was up on pontoons and the bigger swells between islands hit, about half the passengers lay moaning on tables dabbing their brows and burying heads in bags. Glen and I thought it a pleasant journey.

Arrival in St. Lucia was decidedly not pleasant. There were several gigantic cruise ships in port. One had a long waterslide spiraling down from the top deck. “Where does it go?” wondered Glen. “Perhaps they do away with unwanted passengers along the way?” I suggested. It took ages to disembark … and then we hit customs. Only TWO customs officials in booths — one for Nationals, and one for the great unwashed. We shuffled forward an inch, then nothing for ten minutes. Three quarters of an hour later we’d crawled to the front of the line and congratulated ourselves. But what’s this? … ANOTHER vast cavern with MORE line ups — this time checking the pink forms for any forbidden items. No, we didn’t have fruit, meat, guns, knives, animals, drugs and money in excess of $10,000. Numbly, we stumbled outside and were thankful to be greeted by our St. Lucia host Mereias and Eldon, the driver he’d arranged. (it’s an hour and a quarter drive from Castries to Laborie in the south).

Eldon filled us in on all things St. Lucian. Although we’ll be staying on the west coast, the road from Castries is SO winding, it’s actually quicker to drive all around the east side. The landscape changed from towns to lowland jungle to the vastly different highland rainforest … with teak and enormous tree ferns. High cliffs next to the ocean with crashing waves and then rolling grassy hill country.

Elegant black and gold gates swept aside to reveal a lime green house with white verandahs, magenta bougainvillea and a glorious breadfruit tree. Van and family live upstairs and we have the whole lower floor with a stunning view down over the bananas, coconut trees, golden starfruits just ripening… past the church and ending in a perfect bay. And we thought the view on Martinique had been amazing! But inside was even better … spotless, comfortable, every window with tightly fitted screens plus air conditioned. Everything you could possibly want – including a whole cupboard full of towels and the largest roll of garbage bags I think I’ve ever seen. No rationing here!

With darkness falling and no food in the fridge (just water and juice), a trip into the village was a priority if we were to eat anything tonight and in the morning. Van pointed out a steep flight of darkened steps that led past a large church … and down into the bright hubbub of music, bars, and people. It’s quite another world at night in an unknown place. The bars were easy to spot – and doing a roaring trade with a pounding Reggae beat. Grocery stores, we were assured, stayed open until 8pm, but were harder to find. Something Enterprises appeared to be one, so we apologised to the crowd gathered by the door and squeezed inside. More like a 7-11 store, it did have some corn flakes, a carton of milk, some Brunswick sardines – from Canada, no less – and packages of McVities ginger snaps. No bread, so we grabbed crackers instead … and a couple of bottles of beer. With the coffee, sugar and jam we’d brought with us, it’d last us nicely.

Mamma Rose’s restaurant didn’t look promising, but one darkened street over, past a mix of wood and concrete constructed houses, was Mamma Tilly’s … a legend on Facebook and Trip Advisor, and hailed as the best place to eat in town. Mamma Tilly herself was every bit as wonderful as the descriptions … rotundly cheerful, constantly checking that the food and patrons were doing OK, and busily turning the chicken and pork roasting on the BBQ. A straw thatch draped in twinkling blue and white Christmas lights covered the five outside tables (a few more inside). Chicken for me, Pork for Glen … each came with rice and beans, potato salad, plantains, boiled squash and a sort of coleslaw. Temperature control of the rice, beans and potato salad was a little worrying … but sometimes you have to be daring (I compensated by consuming just a small quantity. At one and two percent respectively our phones didn’t have enough power to take photos … let alone guide us back. I’m fairly sure we remember the way though. <grin>