We have moved again, back down South to Petite Anse, a lovely village just one bay away from our beloved Anse D’Arlet, where we spent week 2 and 3 of our trip to Martinique. Despite being so close to Anse D’Arlet, Petite Anse has a very different feel. Both are fishing villages, but whereas church life dominates Anse D’Arlet, Petite Anse has a real party feel, in part because of Freddy’s, a lively restaurant by the beach which plays host to live music several times a week, and in part because that is just the way Petite Anse rolls. Or perhaps it is because we are now on the run up to Christmas? Any excuse for a party, and in Martinique, the Christmas season is the biggest excuse of all! At the weekend, a neighbour threw a party which started with a kid’s party in the afternoon and became louder and wilder as the day went on. At 3 am in the morning, I lay awake listening to a local band playing Christmas songs. These are not English style Christmas carols – these are Martiniquan Christmas songs, complete with ti-bwa (a kind of bamboo xylophone), cha-cha (maracas made from gourds) and a Calypso style, uptempo beat. Everyone knows the lyrics, and everyone joins in!

Room with a view

Our new Air b’n’b is a first floor apartment. It has its own balcony with stunning views over the bay. It’s nice to be back on this side of the island where we can watch the sun set over the sea. I’ve noticed that people tend to live on the first floor of their houses and let out the ground floor and I now understand why. On the first floor, you get more of a breeze blowing through the house, which keeps you cool and keeps the mosquitoes down.  However, we seem to have been dogged by bad luck at this apartment. First, we couldn’t get internet. Next, David started up the top loading washing machine without realising that you had to shut the inner doors yourself – a couple of minutes later there was a loud bang, after which it refused to work. Finally, the kitchen floor was always mysteriously wet – only yesterday did we realise that the sink was leaking from underneath.  So we have spent quite a lot of time waiting in for a friend of the owner’s to turn up and do some repairs.

Over the Hill

There’s a big hill behind our house called Morne Larcher. We got up early yesterday to climb to the summit. A good move as the sun was below the crest of the hill and we didn’t see the sun until we reached the top. I thought it would be a tough walk as it is a very steep hill, but it was even tougher than I thought because much of the route involved scrambling over massive boulders. It had rained in the night, and in places it was muddy, which made things even more challenging. I have to admit I struggled! David by contrast seemed to romp up.  It was such a relief when we reached the top of the hill and the path flattened out. After a couple of minutes, the trees opened out to reveal a lovely view over Diamond Bay and beyond to the neighbouring island of St Lucia.The way back was a cinch and we were back home before 9 am.

Under the sea

At lunchtime, we headed over to Ti Payot, a restaurant at Grand Anse, the beach resort on the other side of Anse D’Arlet where we started our diving course.  After lunch and some shameless surfing of the internet, we went for a quick swim/snorkel and were lucky enough to spot a turtle grazing on the shallow seagrass. Shame we never got to finish our dive course – it has taken weeks for David’s ear problems to clear up – the sea life here is amazing.

Out on the town

At about 7.30 pm, we headed down to Freddy’s for a meal, and were looking forward to hearing the band, which was supposed to start around 9 pm. In fact it didn’t start until after 11 pm, by which time the only thought on my mind was “when can I sleep?”  Today, we passed Freddy’s on our way to the beach and had a chat with the waitress. Apparently, things only really got going in the small hours of the morning. Ah, well, perhaps next time. Or perhaps not.

We’ll be back

Our adventures in Martinique are drawing to a close  – we fly home tomorrow. We’ve loved our time on this beautiful island and feel very lucky to have been basking in the sun at this time of year. And perhaps it is just as well we make our exit now before the Christmas parties get too crazy…!?

Thanks so much for reading so far, we are going to take a break next month, but hopefully see you back here in January 2018 when we’ll be making our way towards New Zealand and the South Pacific for some more exciting adventures.

Big news! It’s our 50^th blog! Thank you so much for reading so far and I hope you’ll follow our travels throughout our Senior Gap Year.

Our last day in Tartane, and we ventured down to the only beach we haven’t been to yet. Anse Bonneville is reached by a steep, narrow lane with a makeshift car park at the bottom. Finding no space, we parked half way up the hill and walked down. Already, there were clues to what kind of beach we were going to find – a couple of surf schools and a notice board advertising guitar lessons, yoga classes and surf boards. Martinique is not yet well known for its surf but Anse Bonneville is its most popular surf beach.

A pretty path lead us through palm trees to the beach, which looked beautiful with impressive rollers breaking on the sand. There were a great many kids of all shapes and sizes, all busy enjoying the beach while their parents lounged about and chatted under the palms. The under fives were bobbing about in a natural shallow pool formed by the reef. The five to ten year olds were taking advantage of a relatively safe strip of surf to body board at tremendous speech in to a natural cove. The ten year olds were out on the waves on half size surf boards, shepherded by super cool surf dudes.

Meanwhile, David and I floundered about in the shallows trying not to lose our swimming costumes.  It was fun to watch the learners trying to catch the waves and the Pros showing them how it’s done. If the water in the UK were this warm, perhaps I would have learned to surf.

After Anse Bonneville, we popped round the corner to Anse L’Etang, which I’ve mentioned before and had lunch at Cocoa beach café , a hip café serving interesting Asian/Caribbean fusion food. We had to eat at the bar as all the other tables were booked.

In the evening, we walked down the hill to our nearest beach for a valedictory swim, making it a round three beaches in one day.  I was just thinking what a lovely peaceful swim it was when a pelican dropped out of the sky, hitting the sea a few feet away from my head. And then it did it again. And again. Other pelicans soon joined and then I saw something big moving in the water. Actually, not just moving but seeming to leap out. My , irrational thought was ‘SHARK’. By now, I was swimming fairly rapidly but with no sign of panic at all towards the shore. David followed, but seeming more excited than nervous – as I’ve mentioned before, he does love his fish.

Once on the beach, it was easier to look out to sea. There were lots of fish jumping out the water.  They were big, but definitely not ‘SHARK’ big – perhaps a foot long. David thought that a shoal of big fish – perhaps Bonito –  were chasing small fish and the herons were taking advantage of the situation to pick off a few of the tiddlers. It was quite a sight, watching the pelicans dive bombing and the fish jumping out of the water as the sun set. A fitting end to a wonderous week on the Presqu’il de la Caravelle.

After the walk to Chateau Dubuc and to the Mangrove Swamp on the Caravelle Peninsula, we decided to take a late afternoon stroll to the Phare (Lighthouse) de la Caravelle.

The walk was peaceful and shady and gently sloping until the final steep ascent to the lighthouse it’s self. The lighthouse, which was built in 1862, was surprisingly small. Despite that, it is the highest lighthouse in France because of the elevation of the land it is built on. Next to the lighthouse was a view point with three hundred and sixty degree views of the island. Unfortunately it was somewhat misty, but it was still spectacular.

On the way back, we decided to take a detour down to the meteorological station stationed on the very end of the Peninsula. This is one of half a dozen stations which monitor hurricanes tsunamis and seismic activity across the Caribbean. The station itself was gated off so we turned round to come back – but seeing a glimpse of coastline and sea, we headed down even further to have a look at the wild and rocky coastline. A path continued on round the coast and on impulse I suggested that instead of taking the direct route, we took this path instead. So much more interesting to do a circular walk! David hesitated a bit – would there be time? – as he pointed out, it was almost 5 and it gets dark by 6 – but seeing my enthusiasm, he decided to throw caution to the wind and go for it!

 

We set off, hugging the edge of the coast, the rough path taking us up over lumps of rock and boulders. The landscape was magnificent but forbidding with dark cliffs and the sea smashing the rocks below. Soon we met a very fit looking jogger coming the other way. He was in in all the gear; running shoes, water pack, lycra, etc. He informed us it was an hour and fifteen minutes back to the car park, then wished us ‘bon chance’ as he headed off, grinning to himself.  Ominous.

As we hastened on, the sun dipped behind the hill and the light began to fade. The path turned away from the coast and into the mangrove swamps. Bats flitted around our heads and crabs skittered across the path. Suddenly, I screamed as something big ran across the path. David motioned me to be quiet and reached for his phone to take a picture of the big, scary thing.

A cute little Manacou (the Caribbean version of the Opossum). Poor thing, I think I scared him more than he scared me!

The swamps gave way to Savanna, the canopy of trees making it even harder to see. It was hot and we were almost out of water. I edged my feet along the ground. Tree roots lay across the path just waiting to trip me up. I briefly wondered why I had set out on this path. Me and my great ideas. Yes, I think it’s good to be spontaneous but there’s spontaneousness and there’s thoughtlessness. The line had well and truly been crossed and we were now in horror film territory – hapless tourists wondering alone in a dark forest. If one of us tripped and twisted an ankle – or worse – what would we do? No one in the entire world knew where we were. David chose that moment to observe that the introduction of mongooses to Martinique to control poisonous snakes failed, because mongooses hunt in the day, the snakes are active only at night….

As my thoughts darkened, something magical happened. The trees lit up with dancing lights. It was like the Coldplay gig at last year’s Glastonbury, where everyone raised their LED wristbands at once.  No, it was better, because this was completely green and ethically sound. Thousands of fireflies.  Lights will guide you home. And suddenly I was smiling. We were going to be alright.

15 minutes later, we popped out of the trees, right by the entrance to Chateau Dubuc. A few minutes walk back up the hill and we were back at the car.

 

After the exhausting but exhilarating experience of Gorges de la Falaise, we were looking for a restful way to spend the afternoon. I suggested continuing on up to Mont Pelee to look at the view and take a few photos,  but David pointed out that since it was a misty day we probably wouldn’t see much of anything. So instead we opted to go back down to the coast and drive round to the JM Rum Distillery in Macouba district. JM is known as one of the best rum producers in Martinique and I knew they did free tastings so if nothing else, we would get to taste some decent rum!

The Rum Distillery was out in the countryside in the middle of nowhere, but as soon as we found it, I knew we’d made a good call. The Habitation Bellevue has been producing rum for two hundred years. It is a working Distillery, but it is set in beautiful landscaped gardens, centred round the river which runs off  Mount Pelee and flows into a large pool which is then fed into the rum production. It is the only rum producer in Martinique which uses natural water. This kind of quality is evident through the entire production process. They are the only distillery which still burns the barrels to get the distinctive caramelised smell into the rum.

A 4 x 4 tour of the fields was leaving in ten minutes – at a cost of 10 euros a person –  and we opted to join in. There was us, our guide (also called David) and coincidentally  the two girls who didn’t want to get their feet wet at les Gorges de la Falaise. David was a great guide and despite the fact that I struggled to keep up with his French,  I now have extensive knowledge of the growth and harvesting of sugarcane. There are three types of sugarcane, blue, red and yellow, each of which has a particular flavour.  I now understand the difference between the ‘Rhum Agricole’ that we’ve been drinking in Martinique and the bog standard rum that we’ve had in the UK. The UK stuff is industrially produced from molasses whereas the Rhum Agricole is produced directly from the sugar cane itself.  We also took a tour of their secondary crop, bananas, and learned quite a bit about banana production. The bananas are exported to Europe, the sugarcane goes into the rum. Apparently, they used to grow pineapples, too, but found they couldn’t make them pay.

On our return, we were given a map and took a free self guided tour round the Distillery. We were there at the wrong time as rum making season is from March to June so the vats were empty but it was interesting to smell the different barrels used for the different rums and see the enormous wooden barrels of rum quietly marinating away.

Back inside, it was a relief to sit down at the bar and escape the heat for a bit. We tasted several different rums, starting with the white rum Agricole and progressing to a brown oak barrel aged rum from 2000.  At the mature end, it tasted a bit like a brandy, with a price tag to match but since we lightweights prefer to mix our rum with juices or ginger beer, we opted to take home the white Rhum Agricole.

On our way back through Tartane we spotted the oursin sellers, with their foil wrapped wares laid out. David insisted on trying one. Twenty five euros for one was an unexpectedly high price for a roadside snack, but the locals were buying them by the basketful, so we handed over the cash. We took our prize home, still warm. David tucked in but I decided to try half a teaspoon. As I tentatively popped into my mouth David said “it tastes like a mixture of fish and liver”. I had to run to the bin and spit out the lot. Eukkkk!

 

I was in the mood for something a bit different today, something adventurous, so we headed up North along the coast until we hit Le Lorrain (home to Martinique’s beer production plant) and then headed up into the forest towards Ajoupa Bouillon. We pulled into the car park of Restaurant de la Cascade and changed into swim suits and wet shoes. Then we headed to an outdoor reception desk and paid 10 euros each for a guided trip along Les Gorge de la Falaise. Exactly what this would entail, I wasn’t quite sure, but we were warned that in places we would be submerged up to our chest in water. Cue shiver of apprehension – what was I letting myself in for!?

To get to the gorge, we entered a beautiful rain forest valley and climbed down several hundred steep steps. As we descended, the sound of the river Falaise became louder. Once at the bottom, we followed the path along the river bank. Then we waded through the river (no more than ankle deep at this point)  to reach a tumbledown wooden hut with a faded sign which read ‘Les Gorges de la Falaise – attendez le guide’.

Group activity

After about five minutes, a small middle-aged man suddenly appeared, moving with silent speed across the river. This must be our guide. His lycra shirt declared him to be a participant in a marathon. He asked us to wait five minutes as another couple were going to join us. Sure enough, we were soon joined by a young couple who looked like they might be on honeymoon. A couple of minutes later, two young women in bikinis made a painfully slow entry, deliberately fording the river on the stones thereby avoiding getting there feet wet, which made me giggle – surely they were told that “in places we would be submerged up to our chest in water”? What was the point of keeping your feet dry!?

Another wait, and at last the final couple appeared, a sporty looking man and his somewhat reluctant girlfriend.  Without a backwards look, the guide started running up the river like a mountain goat, and we did our best to follow. I was acutely aware that David and I were a good twenty years older than the next oldest person in the group – would we be able to keep up?

After a few seconds, the guide disappeared into a hole in the rock – at which point my stomach did a little flip. I wasn’t prepared for confined spaces.  However, on following him, I discovered that it wasn’t a hole in the rock but a narrow cleft in the rocks with a river running through it. The Gorge itself. It was narrow enough for me to place a hand on either side, but when I looked up it was completely open to the sky, hundreds of feet above us. The walls of the Gorge were covered in ferns and other shade loving plants. Dizzying but quite beautiful.

The adventure begins

However, no time to stare, as our guide wasn’t hanging about –  and anyway, I had to keep an eye on my feet. The water was only about knee high but it was running rapidly and it took a bit of effort to push against it. The Gorge was very smooth, all sharp surfaces worn away by the action of the water.  There were various rocks and boulders which had to be negotiated, but they were smooth and rounded, too. After a few metres, we came to a rocky lump which we had to climb up over before entering another stretch of river. At this point, the water became quite deep. Forget chest height, I’m talking over the head. Fortunately, there were ropes along the side of the water to hold on to.  At points I took my feet off the bottom and swam. It was the coolest water I have swam in since I got to Martinique. Very refreshing!

The Gorge was becoming steep and every section of rock between water was harder to negotiate. Metal ladders were now introduced. Climbing up a ladder with water pouring on my head was a new experience for me. By this stage, the force of the water was intense and the sound of water flowing was deafening.

A powerful experience

Finally, we climbed the last ladder and entered a curved pool. And there it was – a tremendous waterfall. We all stood with our backs pressed against the rock, in awe. The water was coming down with unbelievable force – so much so that the idea of standing beneath it was too much to contemplate. However, it looked as if you might be able to go through the side of the waterfall and stand behind it. David was the first one to step up and try it out and made it look easy. When it came to my turn, the force of the water knocked me sideways and my contact lenses were dislodged, at which stage I crashed headlong into one of the girls. The contacts settled back down but I decided not to chance another waterfall experience! Everyone else tried going round the back from both sides and a lot of photos were taken. Sadly David was having trouble with his phone so we couldn’t get that waterfall shot.

The return

Then it was time to go back down the Gorge. And our guide still had some surprises in store for us. Instead of climbing down the ladders, we all had to jump into the pools below, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. The depth of the water was very variable. On the first jump, I felt my bottom touch the floor of the pool. When I popped up, I earned a disapproving look from my guide – I had jumped too far out. On the next jump, he dropped in a stone to show me the best spot to jump and this time when I popped up, he gave me a small nod. The reluctant girlfriend was the last to jump and I bet she regretted that decision. It only makes it harder when you’re the only one that hasn’t done it and everyone else is watching.

In no time at all, we had popped out the end of the Gorge and were back at the hut.  The guide bid us farewell and ran off, leaving us to drag our sodden carcasses back up all those steps to the car park. However, despite the aches and pains, both of us were grinning from ear to ear and elated.

 

 

After our visit to Chateau Dubuc, we decided to return to the Reserve Naturelle de la Caravelle and take one of the marked trails. We opted for an hour and half long route through the Savanna and mangrove swamps.

Apparently the weather is drier on the Pointe Caravelle than anywhere else in Martinique. Fortunately, the trail was predominantly shady, but we still felt the heat as we headed down hundreds of steep steps through the Savanna and gulped our way through a litre of water.  We passed a few teens who greeted us with the usual, ‘Bonjour Madame, bonjour monsieur.’ Have to say, the youth of Martinque have beautiful manners.

Pirates of the Caribbean

As we came to the bottom of the hill, the woods gave way to a flat, muddy mangrove swamp. A boarded walk lead us across the swamp, where countless crabs crawled through thick tree roots, and finally to the sea. Looking out over the Baie de Tresor, the wildness was breathtaking. Not a person, house or pirate ship in sight.

We followed the coast  for a time until the path began to climb again and we ascended into the Savannah again, puffing and panting.

Did I mention how hot it was?

Lizards scattered in our path and butterflies and birds flitted overhead. There were various information signs advising us to look out for rare birds such as carouges or white-throated mockingbirds. We did spot a few white-bellied tourists but not sure how rare they are.

 

Today, we drove a few minutes down the Caravelle Peninsula to take a tour of Chateau Dubuc. Chateau Dubuc is a plantation built in 1721 which is now in ruins. There is always something romantic about a ruin and this one is situated on a wild headland overlooking over the woods and the sea, so it’s doubly romantic.

For 5 euros, the staff provide you with a map and an audioguide in French or English. We took the lazy way and opted for English, which was informative and inadvertently entertaining due to the mispronounciations of English words.  Bet my French provokes a few laughs, too!

The other half

Chateau Dubuc was a sugar cane and coffee plantation.  The sugar cane was used to make rum.  The house itself doesn’t really merit the word ‘Chateau’ as by French standards it is not particularly grand. There are also various remains of industrial works such as the circular, donkey driven press which was used to extract the juice from the cane.  At the bottom of the hill we could just about glimpse the sea through a dense mangrove swamp.  We saw the remains of a pier where the finished rum was put into boats and shipped off to Trinity to be sold. The entire process was carried out using slave labour and we saw the place where the slaves slept in hammocks under the trees, and the munitions shed which is believed to have doubled up as a punishment cell. I was surprised how close the industrial remains were to the main house – despite very different lives, masters and slaves were sharing the same space.

In 1794 the place was ransacked by the British and the French masters fled. For a few years it was used as a hunting lodge but soon fell into disrepair.   After which it is said to have been inhabited by pirates – and who am I to get in the way of a good story!?

Lazing on a sunny afternoon

After an hour or two looking round the Chateau, I was more than ready for a swim, so we headed back to the car and dropped down to Anse L’Etang, conveniently placed between the ruins and Tartane. I expect by now you are now sick of reading about beautiful beaches,  but this was yet another corker. There was a reef out to sea which was creating some decent surf.  A couple of surfers were riding the waves. A paddleboarder was joining in, using his paddle to keep abreast of the wave, which looked a lot of fun.

The beach itself was well shaded by palm trees. There were some picnic tables amongst the trees and  since it was Saturday, some locals were taking some time out for barbecues and picnics.

As we headed back to the car park, a Rasta shot us a grin as he hurried down to the beach with a hammock and a pair of headphones. Take two palm trees, sling up one hammock, mix in some sounds and relax – the perfect recipe for a chilled Saturday afternoon!

We have moved again – to an Airbnb in Tartane. Tartane is a fishing village on the Presqu’ile de la Caravelle. It took us just under an hour to drive here from Vauclin, following the coast road up North through Le Francois and Le Robert until we reached Trinite and then right to the jutting peninsula of  Presqu’ille de la Caravelle.

It’s a beautiful house perched on top of a hill facing the sea. The shady terrace of our ground floor studio looks out over a swimming pool –  and beyond that, the Baie de Tartane. There are white rollers out to sea where the sea breaks on the reef, just off the Pointe de Tartane.

Meet the family

The house itself belongs to Fanny and Francois, a French couple with two young boys. They occupy the first floor and rent out the two studio apartments below. I haven’t yet met the mysterious Francois, a paramedic – apparently he’s nervous about meeting us because his English is poor! Fanny, a physiotherapist, is a lovely woman with excellent English. She spent three months of her training in Ireland. She tells us they’ve been living in Martinique for seven years. The boys are very energetic and dash around on their bikes whenever they’re home from school.

Tartane is the smallest place we’ve stayed so far, smaller than Anses d’Arlet, but there’s quite a bit of life in the village. The main road is lined with cafes. There’s a couple of upmarket hotels in the district, with restaurants which are well reviewed – we haven’t been out yet, apart from a sandwich in a bakery on our first day. We did a big shop on the outskirts of Trinite, which has the biggest collection of supermarkets we’ve seen so far, including LIDL!

What’s the catch?

Yesterday morning, we walked down to the town beach. This took us past a small general store, the cafes and past all the fishing huts which line the beach. There was an air of excitement in the town as the boats came in bearing heaps of oursins blancs –  white sea urchins. The whole family were then sitting round, cracking them open and pulling out the roe. I was a bit alarmed as I thought sea urchins were protected. This is true but apparently they can be collected by hand by professional fishermen in limited numbers for a short season. The season began on 13^th November and runs until the 24^th.

The town beach is very pretty, fringed with trees and with showers provided. The reef forms a protective shelf so the sea feels very safe –  as long as you didn’t swim out too far: the fishermen zoom in without much thought. Oh, and it’s best not to put your feet down in case you step on a sea urchin.  I’ve stepped on one before –  not something you forget in a hurry.

Home cooking

On the way back, we stopped at the fishing huts and brought a Trigger fish. We’ve eaten one of these before, one warm summer when Trigger fish suddenly strayed into Swanage Bay and we bought one off a local fisherman, so we knew they were good. Then we dropped into the local store and picked up a bottle of Bordeaux. One advantage of Martinique being part of French – even in a tiny local shop, you can get a reasonable bottle of wine.

That evening, David oven cooked the fish in white wine on a bed of potatoes. Delicious! As darkness fell, we were treated to a display of bats swooping down over the pool to take a drink. Then the trees started to light up with dozens of little pinpricks of light – fireflies. Magical.

Out on the town

After dinner, we strolled down into town to see what it was like at night. Most of the cafes had shut up shop and there were no other tourists about, but the beaches were lit up with wood fires and the fishermen were roasting the sea urchins. Street sellers were selling the spiny sea urchin shells stuffed with a mixture of sea urchin and other unknown ingredients wrapped in a piece of tin foil. David was tempted but I was a bit squeamish –  about the spines, the unknown ingredients, and the wisdom of buying off streetsellers  – but perhaps we’ll go back and give it a try. Apparently, they’re a real delicacy and command sky high prices in Paris.

I went to bed early and drifted off to sleep, lulled by the sound of the waves breaking of the Pointe de Tartane.

We’ve been a bit unadventurous recently, so today we decided to make up for it and spend a whole day out and about. I was craving a decent swim so I we checked out our map and headed for the nearest beach, Petite Anse Macabou. We headed South for a few kilometres until we saw a sign post for Macabou, and headed off down a narrow, pot holed track. Eventually we came to a car park set amongst palm trees. There was a school bus parked up. A party of school children were taking turns to ride around the car park – on horse back. Looked a lot more fun than any school trip I went on!

Two for one

We took a dirt track, following the sound of waves breaking until the trees parted to reveal a long, curved, white sand beach.  A small party of cyclists were taking a dip at one end of the beach, and at the other, a couple of men were fishing. That was it! No icecream sellers, no cafes – just a fringe of trees and heaps of seaweed.

We walked to the Northern tip of the beach, and to the headland beyond. There were a few posh holiday homes up here, but they all looked empty. On the horizon, we could see the kitesurfers at Vauclin dipping and diving. Then we turned round, took off our shoes and walked the entire length of the beach. At the far end, we came to a footpath which rose up onto a wooded headland and then dipped down again. We found ourselves on a second beach, even more deserted than the first one. In fact, I couldn’t see anyone at all. This was Grande Anse Macabou. I considered swimming, but the breakers looked bigger than on Petite Macabou, and the lack of people made me nervous.,so we doubled back and swam on Petite Mac. Gorgeous!

Beside the sea

The original plan had been to get some lunch on the beach, but since there were no cafes or restaurants, that plan was scratched. Instead we decided to go and visit a rum producer we had spotted on the road just past Marin. Finding ourselves stuck in a traffic jam on the edge of Marin, we gave up and headed down to the harbour, in search of lunch. I’d spotted a nice looking restaurant called Zanzibar on a previous trip. We had a quick look at the menu – the prices were a bit steep but the food sounded really good –  time to treat ourselves.

Fortunately, the my ‘just off the beach’ style (sandy feet, hair like a birdsnest) didn’t seem to raise eyebrows in Zanzibar – there was a super casual ‘vibe’, with the waitress in shorts and T-shirt. The situation was fantastic. Once up on the first floor terrace, you couldn’t see the road at all, just the harbour. The wind was blowing in off the sea, keeping us deliciously cool. The food was excellent, and imaginatively done with lots of veggies which was a relief as the range of vegetables we’ve been eating has been quite limited. Vegetables don’t feature much on most restaurant menus and I haven’t dared to tackle the various starchy vegs like yams and plantain at home, although I did make a mean veg curry the other night with something called a Boniato (a kind of white fleshed sweet potato).

A right rum do

After eating our fill, we staggered up to look at the local church, and then hit the road again. Next stop the Trois Rivieres Rum plantation.

We’d seen the plantation from the road, and were intrigued by the windmill and rusty remains of an old steam engine. Clearly, the place had been there for quite a few years. However, on arrival, there was no obvious sign of rum being produced on site – a couple of huge production plants were clearly no longer in use. So we wandered up to the shop to taste a few rums. The six year old oak aged rum agricole was something else, and reminded me of Thatcher’s oak aged cider brandy. Definitely too good to mix with coke!

Dancing on the sand

The sun was beating down and we were both a bit hot and bothered, so we left without purchasing rum and headed for the nearby beach of Anse Figuier. We’ve been there before, when we visited the Ecomusee, but we didn’t have our swimming stuff with us, so we lost no time in jumping in. The water was beautiful, warm and clear, with soft sand underfoot.

It was 4.30 pm and the beach was buzzing with families enjoying a bit of after school recreation. A man in day-glo lycra placed a large speaker at one end of the beach, faced out to sea and began to dance on the sand. I swam over to take a look (did I mention the man in lycra was quite fit?) and found myself drawn into a huge ‘in the water’ dance class. David swam off as fast as he could, a look of horror on his face, but I thought it was brilliant! Dancing in the sea with the sun on your back and sand beneath your feet.  A truly joyous Caribbean moment!

Apologies for the delay with this post. David’s had some work to do and since we only have one keyboard between us, the blog got shunted. Back now and we’ve bid farewell to our beloved Anses d’Arlet and hello to Vauclin, a fishing town on the East of the island, the Atlantic coast. Arriving at our Air B’n’B, a  bijoux studio in a villa with sea views, we were greeted by our host, Monica,  with the news that the apartment is out of action due to a dodgy boiler. Moment of panic, as we wonder where we’re going to stay, but then Monica ushered us through to a spacious apartment – we’ve been upgraded!  No sea views, but the terrace is huge, with a large dining table, barbecue, wicker sofa, hammock (got to have a hammock!) – and it’s looking out over a tropical garden which is crawling with lizards and birds. Beyond the garden, there are steps leading up to a deck with a couple of loungers and a plunge pool which we are free to use. It seems we’ve landed on our feet again.

Vauclin itself is very different than Anses d’Arlet – a working town which doesn’t depend on tourism. It’s a bit less charming, a bit more gritty.  The fishing is huge – I think they must export fish from here to other parts of Martinique, maybe even to France. If we walk down to the sea, we pass a busy secondary school at the bottom of our road, with kids coming in on buses. Then it’s through a big parking lot. This is empty during the day but in the evening it transforms, with a variety of stalls selling fast food. Driving around the car park with your windows down and the car stereo thumping out is the number one occupation.

Beyond the car park, there’s a busy community centre offering various after school classes for kids – samba, disco, karate – and behind it a basketball court. And beyond the car park is a row of shops facing the sea.

As in Anses d’Arlet, the church is a massive part of life – from our terrace we can hear the bells and snatches of singing. 11^th November – Remembrance day –  was a public holiday, as it is in France and whilst the shops were all shut, the town was hopping, with fireworks going off, bursts of song, and the sound of a marching band.  In the evening, we walked down to the seafront and saw old men playing dominoes, a community centre full of people dancing, families with children promenading along the seafront.

Just beyond the fishing quarter is Pointe Faula,  a popular destination for tourists, with a laid back, ‘surfer’ vibe. You may remember me mentioning it in a previous post – I bought a bikini  here. There’s a constant warm breeze blowing and plenty of shade under the palm trees. n the middle of the beach, there’s a sand bar which runs out to sea. The water is only knee deep, and it’s fun to wade out as far as you can. I saw a woman put her chair in the water and read a book.

On one side of the sand bar, kite surfers zip manically about, and on the other, windsurfers and the occasional Hobie Cat. Pre-kids, David and I were keen sailors, so we decided to dredge up our rusty sailing skills and hire a Hobie Cat 15. David was on helm, I was crewing. We tacked out at a rate of knots, tangling up our sheets and getting the tiller tied up in the foot straps, but after a few minutes it started to come back.  Sailing here is a very different experience than in dear old Swanage. The wind is steadier, and of course the sea is a whole lot warmer. No wet suit needed – getting wet was a positive pleasure! By the end of the afternoon, I was out on the the side of the boat, the back of my head touching the waves as we sped along.

The next day, I was hobbling about –  my knees were killing me – but it was totally worth it!