 |
| Postcard |
To go to the beginning of this book, Tropic Moon: Memories, click HERE.
Martinique was our first “repeat” island. We’d been in Fort de France the year before,
with Tony and Joyce, as we made our way north from Grenada to the Virgin
Islands. During our three-day visit in
Martinique, we’d been more like tourists, eating out two nights, and wandering
through the city of Fort de France on a Sunday, when all the shops were closed,
and the streets were deserted. That turned out to be an unrealistic indication of what it would it would be like
to live at the island for several weeks.
Fort de France was a big, hectic, bustling city with a
population of around 100,000. When I
walked through the streets on a weekday, I’d almost think the whole 100,000
were out there hurrying along with me.
It was a city with a life of its own, quite apart from the influences of
tourism. Martinique was noted for its
beautiful women. Empress Josephine, Napoleon's wife, was from Martinique. There's a larger-than-life, Carrara marble
statue of her in the Savanne, a beautiful 12-acre park near the harbor.
 |
| Harbor at Fort de France |
To me, there didn't appear to be racial stratification in
Martinique. I saw people of every shade
and hue. Part of what made the people
so attractive was their attention to appearance and fashion. The feminine daytime apparel was far
dressier than anything I’d ever worn in my life. Treacherous high heels, with no support other than a strap across
the toes, left me in awe. I enjoyed
sitting on the steps of the post office, watching the passing parade, and
feeling a bit like Cinderella, B.F.G. (Before Fairy Godmother).
There were many beautiful buildings, new and old. When my shopping took me across town, I made
a point of varying the streets I walked.
The traffic was almost frightening to a simple pedestrian, long out of
practice with city walking. Cars,
motorcycles, and mopeds frantically flew by, coming to jarring stops at the
corners, and then speeding off for another block. Salvation came from the fact that almost all the streets were
one-way, with one-directional danger.
We’d been cruising in French islands - Guadeloupe and Les
Saintes - but the fact that I really can't speak French didn't become
totally apparent until we reached Martinique.
The truth surfaced because, when we stop at an island for a while, we
start working on the boat, run low on supplies, and a certain amount of
shopping has to be done.
The grocery stores were easy because items had the prices
marked on them. By watching other
customers, I learned where to get my fruits and vegetables weighed and
priced. If I couldn't catch what the
checker said, I looked at the cash register to read the total. The clerks had methods for dealing with
ignorant foreigners. While I was
mentally trying to work out what I needed in French francs, they would be
taking the correct amount of money from their drawer, to spread on the counter
for me to match.
 |
| Fort de France. Photo from the Internet |
When we needed some new screws or some rope, I would take a
sample around with me to the marine stores.
The drain hose from the sink in the head had started to leak, and we
needed new piping. Unfortunately, we
didn't think to take a sample with us.
We were sent from store to store, armed with the French words for
plastic pipe. At the third store, we
found a man who was determined to help us.
He didn't know any English, but would work out what I was trying to say,
and then repeat it to the man in the office.
Yes, they had plastic pipe.
Vingt centimeters? (20 centimeters in diameter?). Oui.
Trois metres longueur? (3 meters in length?). After a bit of not understanding, I gathered there was a 6-meter
minimum (about 20 feet). Ed wanted to
know the price, and what I deciphered sounded reasonable. I went into the office, where the manager
wrote out my bill. I came back out to
find Ed shaking his head over a 6-meter section of rigid plastic
pipe. Our friend looked concerned. I made lots of bending, flexing motions with
my hands. The light dawned. With a "follow me" signal, he led
us across the street to another store, and pointed in the window at just what
we wanted.
I was less than happy with Ed when he decided he needed more
bedding compound. (That’s a thick, viscous, waterproof
mixture that is laid down where fittings are to be fastened, to keep moisture
out, and prevent rot.) There was
no way I was going to try to translate bedding compound into French! We went through the several marine stores in
Fort de France, and even spoke to clerks who knew some English, and who tried
to sell us everything from glue to paint to screws. Unfortunately, none of them had ever heard of bedding compound.
No comments:
Post a Comment