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!