After a morning relaxing on the beach, we decided to venture out and explore the area. We drove down to the Southern tip of the island, arriving at the beach of Grande Anse des Salines. The beach was spectacular, a bit more wild than our own Plage de Pointe Marin, with a few waves. A number of stallholders in traditional dress were selling local bags, hammocks, tablemats and so on. All along the beach were picnic tables in the trees, and most of them were occupied by large family parties enjoying a picnic for the weekend. The men were lighting barbecues and hacking coconuts down from the trees with machetes. The women were unloading saucepans of food and jugs of rum punch. We saw a sign for the Etang des Salines, and followed it to a huge brackish lake which was conserved as a nature reserve. A long pontoon took us out to an observation post, a strong wind blowing across the lake There were crabs everywhere, quite small but wielding one massive claw as they disappeared into holes in the sand. Frigate birds soared overhead, looking somewhat menacing with their distinctive wings silhouetted against the sky.

We walked away from the beach, following the road until it became a trail cutting through a mangrove swamp. There were a scattering of locals camping in the woods, and in true French style, public showers and toilets were provided. We had rounded the Southernmost tip of the island and were now walking alongside the Atlantic with a view of Ilet Cabrits, a small uninhabited island with a telecommunications tower. We tried to walk along the beach and narrowly avoided a soaking. The sea was rougher here and the waves bigger.

The tide was coming in. We came to a bridge which could only be reached by climbing across rocks which were under water. I couldn’t resist making the climb. David was more sensible and stood taking photos, chuckling gently.  I made it, and managed to keep my dress dry, but my pants didn’t fair so well. Fortunately there was no one around to see  – and rest assured, the photo evidence has been destroyed! By now we were hot and dying for a swim, so we returned to Grand Anse des Salines, vowing to come back another day and find out what’s on the other side of the bridge.

Buoyed by the success of our trip, we decided to venture out again that evening. After all, it was Saturday night! We walked round the beach in the dark (and it was very dark! There is less artificial lighting here than we’re used to.) until we reached a set of steps which took us to the edge of the small town of St Anne’s, where we went shopping the day before. In town, we noticed a commotion at a door. A man was selling tickets for a band called ‘Kaf Kons’. We decided to chance it and brought two. Ten euros a piece for a drink and a band. At the bar, we were given a very strong drink called  ‘Ti Punch’, made of rum, sugar and lemon. Inside, the band were setting up. The dance floor was surrounded by tables of people eating. Clearly a meal, a drink and a band was a popular option. We opted to take our drinks out onto a pontoon strung with lights. We sat at the end of the pontoon, watching tenders ferrying people to and from yachts which were moored in the bay.

Time went on and still no sign of the band. However, the place was filling up so we moved to some seats on the edge of the pontoon with a great view of the dance floor. It was varied crowd. To one side of us, a party of women in their sixties, white, dressed up to the nines in sparkly shorts and high heels. On the other, a mixed race couple who couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Behind us, a small, shaggy haired white man couldn’t sit still – he kept rolling spliff after spliff. There were several kids running about, excited to be allowed up.

The band started up, and immediately, three or four couples got up to dance. Despite the up tempo nature of the music, they were all dancing ‘cheek to cheek’, snaking their hips Samba style. Perhaps they’ve been watching ‘Strictly’? As the evening wore on, the numbers on the dance floor swelled until it felt like everyone was dancing. I even managed to drag David up. Fortunately for us, ‘Samba style’ dancing was not required, but it was definitely in favour. A grey haired black man was mesmerising to watch as he swung woman after woman around the dance floor, his hips snaking left and right.  A thin-as-a-rake Rasta seemed happy to partner any woman of any size, shape or age, as long as she was white. At exactly the same point in every dance, his hands would slip down to her bottom.

The band played a wide variety of styles. Some of them were super cheesy covers like ‘D.I.S.C.O’ but they covered everything from Nina Simone to Pharell Williams. And they never took a break! We left at midnight, by which time they had been playing for two and a half hours. People were still arriving.