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!

The day after we dived, David woke up with a sore ear. He was in a bit of pain, so he took himself off to the local doctor  – a wonderful service, he was seen within fifteen minutes of turning up – and was diagnosed with otitus media – an infection of the middle ear. The entire consultation was in French and David understood the whole thing, very impressive! Having spent a year in a French school, he’s always wanted to pick up his French, and now it really seems to be coming back to him. She prescribed three different types of medicine and advised him not to get it wet until it’s completely healed.  So sadly the diving course has had to been postponed. You might ask why I can’t go ahead without him – but now I’ve gone down with a cold. So no diving until we’re both completely fit.

No place like home

So, what to do with our time?  We’ve been slowly falling in love with the town of Anses d’Arlet. So much so, we contacted the owner of our rental and arranged to stay for an extra week.  The studio at Ville Blanche is modest – just a small kitchen, a bedroom and a bathroom but the outside terrace is amazing. The breeze off the sea keeps the mosquitos at bay, and I never get tired of looking at the view.  We have a variety of birds visiting, including hummingbirds feeding on nectar from the flowers in the garden. Some have green wings, some have red. At breakfast, I put out a few crumbs and watched to see which bird was bold enough to take them from the table. Yesterday we came home to find some ripe pink guavas on the terrace table. A present from Carol, the housekeeper, who was cleaning the house just below ours. She seems to be cleaning most of the holiday lets round here. We ate them for breakfast today – delicious, although I wasn’t sure what to do with the pips which are too small to spit out but very crunchy.

Since the workmen are still digging up the road, we prefer not to take the car out, as it takes so long to get anywhere – and actually, we have everything we need right here. It’s time to kick back and embrace a slower pace of life. The beach is superb and whilst neither of us are able to snorkel at the moment, the swimming is still sublime. We’ve been venturing out further and further. No sign of ‘jaws’ but I did have quite a shock when a fish jumped out the water right in front of me!

The local grocery shop is tiny with a limited range, but they have potatoes and limes and there’s a bakery for fresh baguettes. The fishermen deliver their fresh catch to a purpose built steel fish counter everyday. As some of you know, David is obsessed with fish – watching fish in the water, keeping fish in a tank, sea fishing, fly fishing, and cooking them on the barbecue. His little eyes light up when we come off the beach and see what the fishermen have brought in.  We’ve eaten fish every single day. Tuna, sword fish, bonito, mackerel, marlin, and something I don’t even know the name of.  I’m in danger of turning into a fish (which thinking about it might make David really happy!)

A lovely bunch

Today, a man rolled up selling coconuts off the back of a lorry. He was very handy with a machete! 2 euros for lovely fresh coconut juice and then he splits the coconut open and creates a coconut husk scoop so you can scoop out the delicious layer of  coconut ‘jelly’. He says he’ll be there again tomorrow, “pani problem” (the Creole version of “pas de problem”).

If you can’t be bothered to cook, there are plenty of cafes on the beach where you can eat lunch under the shade of the palm trees with your feet in the sand. Yesterday, we did just that, then curled up in the shade and snoozed until we were ready to swim.

In the evening, the sunset is a highlight, and we’ve enjoyed creating cocktails with the local rum – rum with fresh limes, ginger cordial and fizzy water is the latest concoction – slips down easy!

Ring my bell

As the sky darkens, the sound of the frogs kicks in ( I thought it was cicadas at first but turns out it’s frogs). I prefer to leave the electric lights off and burn a citronella candle to keep the mosquitos at bay so we can watch the stars come out. Birds begin to fly home and the odd bat circles. There’s no sound of cars, just sounds of people, calling out to each other, singing to a baby, laughing at a joke.  Every hour, the church bells sound out, one dong for each hour and every half hour, there’s a musical chime. Home seems a long way away as I sit in my shorts and T-shirt, reading posts about Bonfire Night and shitty Brexit.

David is feeling the loss of his camera, and so we decided to see if we could find a replacement – a good excuse for a trip to the capital of Martinique, Fort de France! It is hot and humid at the moment, the temperature around 30 degrees, so the idea of driving into the city didn’t really appeal. So instead we headed down to Les Trois Islets to catch the ferry.

Les Trois Islets is probably the biggest town on the peninsula and one with an important history. It is the birthplace of Josephine, the wife of Napoleon and Empress of France.  As we walked down to the ferry, we noticed an unusual amount of activity around the church and particularly the cemetery with a number of people arriving in their Sunday best with flowers to place on the graves. We later discovered that it was All Saint’s Day known as ‘Toussaint’ a two day long holiday for honouring dead relatives. Traditionally, it is a time for sprucing up the cemeteries and also for getting together with the extended family to share reminiscences about family members who have passed away.

The ferry terminal is a charmingly low key set up – a couple of brick shelters to keep you out of the sun and a small jetty. The cost of a return is a mere 7 euros and the boats run about every hour. It is a very pretty ride, passing the three small islands (Tebloux, Charles and Sixtain) which give Les Trois Islets its name.  Again, we noticed a number of shipwrecks dotted about which hinted at hurricane damage. As we approached Fort de France, we noticed the impressive 17^th century Fort St Louis to our right which is still in use as a naval base today.

Once we landed, we headed from the harbour into the busy shopping streets. Fort de France stuck me as a real hotch potch of old and new. One minute, we were walking past a row of designer shops selling handbags and shoes, the next, a row of small traders crouched on the pavement – a shoe repairer with his mouth full of nails or a person selling chillis and garlic, laid out in small bundles on the floor.

We tracked down a camera shop. The shop keeper and his wife were delightful and did everything they could to find David a new camera but the prices were more than he’d pay in the UK and the range of models on offer was very limited.  So we left empty handed.

Feeling the heat, we dived into an air conditioned shopping centre and into a strangely familiar café. It reminded me of an English department store restaurant, complete with sandwiches and cake.

After lunch, we set off in search of the Schoelcher Library. This unique building was built for the Exhibition of 1889 in Paris to represent Martinique and was then taken down stone by stone to be rebuilt in Fort de France. It houses the original library of books , which were donated by Victor Schoelcher in 1883 on condition that they were made accessible to everyone, including former slaves. Since then, the collection has been greatly expanded. The building itself is very impressive. Unfortunately we couldn’t go inside as it was closed. As we were standing wondering what to do next the heavens opened and we dashed into a café and drank coffee while we waited for it to clear.

It was clear that the rest of the afternoon was going to be showery, so we decided to call it a day and catch the next ferry back to Les Trois Islets.

Returning to Anses d’Arlets, we noticed a film crew set up outside the church. A woman with a microphone stood in the street, doing a piece to camera – we guessed it was the local news channel’s annual ‘Toussaint’ article. We peeked into the church. It was crammed full of people dressed in white and singing their hearts out.

Exciting day today – the first day of our dive course with Alpha Plongee, a dive school based at Grand Anse Plage. Our first dive was booked for 10 am. Grande Anse is just around the corner from Anses d’Arlet, so we set off about 9.30, which gave us plenty of time to get there and find a parking space before we paid up and got our gear on. However, on leaving the house, we found that our road was completely blocked off and a new, more extensive diversion was in place – only trouble was, they hadn’t bothered signposting the route of the new diversion. After an anxious few minutes of wrong turns and dead ends, we finally found our route – which took us in the OPPOSITE DIRECTION from where we wanted to go, UP the impossibly steep hill, twisting and turning sharply beyond the houses, right into the forest – before finally descending back down to the main road. We hurried into the dive centre just before 10.

Fortunately the dive school dudes were cool and laid back (as dive school dudes are) and gave us plenty of time to get our act together. I’ve been diving a few times before, but only on try dives, where everything is laid on for you.  So it was a new experience for me to have to connect up my oxygen tank, attach it to the life jacket and make sure everything worked. I felt my first pang of apprehension. The idea of being underwater and seeing all the sealife was hugely attractive, but I was intimidated by the ‘technical’ side of diving – would I be up to this? Would I be safe?

It was time to go, so we headed for the water, burdened by the weight of our equipment. As soon as we entered the water, the weight of our tanks was eased. Then it was on with the flippers and swim out to our boat –  not too far to go. Once on board, we powered round the corner to the cliffs on the West side of the bay. David and I were paired up with a couple of kids and an instructor. The aim of the dive was to get us used to being underwater, to learn how to use our breath to make us go up and down, and and to remind us not to flap our hands about! The instructor explained that the kids were more experienced than us and would show us how it was done. David has dived a bit more than I have so I was acutely aware that I was the least experienced one there.

What lies beneath

Soon we were descending, going down about 11 metres. It took a bit of time to get used to the fact that I could only breath through my mouth, and the sound of my breathing reminded me of the soundtrack of a bad horror movie. Which inevitably made my imagination run away with me. It doesn’t help when your diving instructor has warned you that you mustn’t forget to breath “or your lungs will explode and you will die”.  The kids, meanwhile, were darting about like maniacs with no fear at all. The instructor was very kind and stayed glued to my side until I started to relax a bit and look around.

It was beautiful.  The variety of corals was incredible, the best I’ve ever seen. My ignorance of coral names is complete, but I saw delicate fan-shaped corals, massive ‘brain’ corals, tube corals, stag antler corals, and corals that looked like giant pots, often with fish hiding within.  Then there were the fish – trumpet, puffer, angel, spotted scorpion – in shoals or on their own. Everything was waving about, and in a fantastic array of colours. Sometimes something would turn out not to be a coral but a sea cucumber or worm/snake type thing. To those who know better, I apologise for the poverty of my ‘underwater’ vocabulary, I’m working on it!

The weirdest moment of the dive was when we came up. I genuinely thought we were going down, not up, until my head popped out of the water. We’d been down there for 45 minutes, but it felt much shorter.

Into the abyss

Once we got back to the dive centre, we just had time for a quick lunch and then we went out again. This time we went down to 14 metres – the deepest either of us had been.  To get to the dive, the instructor told us we had to go down to the bottom of the sea and stick low to avoid the currents.

Towards the end of the dive, we came to a rope which we held onto while performing a couple of exercises. First we had to take out our regulators (breathing tubes) and breath out slowly for a time before putting them back in again. Then we had to take off our masks completely and then put them back on again. We had rehearsed these on the boat before we came down, but it was much more daunting at 14 metres. The mask moment was particularly scary for me as a contact lens wearer. Fortunately, the instructor agreed to let me keep my eyes shut when the mask came off  – my eyes still stung from the salt when I got the mask back in place – but at least the lenses stayed in place. I hope my optician isn’t reading this, she would be horrified! Anyway, we both ‘passed’ that bit of the course and on the way back up to the surface, we got our reward – a turtle, diving a few feet over our heads.

We headed back to the dive centre feeling knackered but exhilarated –  and immediately booked ourselves in for the rest of the course. We’ve opted for one dive a day from this point on, as two in one day is surprisingly hard work.