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 13th November and runs until the 24th.
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.
Senior gap year 