1980 (11) - Trying to Leave Martinique

Postcard

To go to the beginning of this book, Tropic Moon: Memories, click HERE.

When we were ready to leave Fort de France, Ed decided he wanted to sail out of the anchorage.  I wasn't keen on the idea because, although we were at the head of the pack and could sail forward, there were an awful lot of people around to see us if we made a goof.  My objection duly noted, Ed raised the mainsail and mizzen, and went forward to the anchor.  My job was to put Tropic Moon where Ed wanted her.  For example, I'd pull in on the main sheet, the sail would fill with wind, and the boat would move forward, allowing Ed to pull in on the anchor rope.  (Note:  Tropic Moon didn't have an anchor winch - not even a manual one.)  Once the bow was over the anchor, I worked the main sheet, pulling the boom from side to side, pointing the sail in line with the wind.  This kept the sail luffing - and not pulling us forward.

When Ed had the anchor up, he came back to adjust the sails.  I took the wheel, and we fell off to starboard, sailing past the anchored boats.  Once out of the anchorage, we turned to starboard again, raised the jib sail, and headed westward for five miles to the entrance of Fort de France bay.  Outside the mouth of the bay, we pointed south, towards St. Lucia, and into the teeth of a S-SE wind.  It was a beautiful day for a sail, the blues of the ocean and sky rivaling each other in intensity, puffy white clouds floating by above.  We spotted a pair of shiny black whales.  They were between us and the island, and were having what looked like a great time, shooting out from the water, and diving back in.

We just wondered where the ever-dependable (HA!) northeast trade winds were, and why the wind was coming from the south.  Despite Tropic Moon's best efforts, we gradually drifted westward, taking us away from the line to St. Lucia.  After a few hours of sailing, it became apparent that the head wind would keep us from reaching St. Lucia during daylight.  We decided to put in at Ste. Anne for the night.  Ed started the engine, and we motor-sailed eastward, along the southern coast of Martinique.  It was our day for wildlife.  About a dozen dolphins joined us, frolicking alongside the boat.

Nothing ever topped the joy of dolphins swimming near the boat!

On reaching Ste. Anne, we decided to anchor off the beach.  I was at the wheel, while Ed was on the cabin top, furling the mainsail.  He wasn't paying any attention to where I was going.  While I was well aware of shallow areas to be avoided, I had thought I was clear of them.  I wasn't, and we came to an abrupt halt - a really strange feeling on a sailboat.  Since I'd been going slowly, there wasn't even a jarring motion; we just stopped.  I pulled the gearshift into neutral.  Ed told me to put it in reverse, with full power.  Tropic Moon pulled off, but the stern bore to the right, and we backed onto another shoal.  I put the boat in forward, with the wheel over to port, and we drove away, leaving a murky underwater cloud.  It did occur to us that, had we taken a taxi from Ste. Anne to Fort de France in the first place to clear customs, we could have avoided all this extra time and effort!

1980 (10) - A Boat Named Lyra

The anchorage at Fort de France, Martinique.  Internet photo

To go to the beginning of this book, Tropic Moon: Memories, click HERE.

On April 21^st, we sailed from Ste. Anne to Fort de France, to clear customs to leave Martinique.  While we were in Fort de France, a boat named Lyra arrived.  We had been anchored near Lyra for about a month in St. Maarten, but had only met Sandra and Leo when we were leaving the island. The day after Lyra arrived in Martinique, I invited them over to Tropic Moon for drinks. 

Sandra’s first comment, when she climbed on board, was to mention that the boat people in Martinique must be really lonely.  While they were still putting down their anchor, a boat they didn’t know invited them over for drinks.  Then some people on a powerboat extended a dinner invitation, to follow after Sandra and Leo had drinks with us.  Rather than be cool about it, and say I’d just wanted to see them again, I started telling them they wouldn’t believe how lonely I’d been.  I missed having a conversation with someone who spoke English.

Sandra and Leo were from Montreal (where he was in electronics, and she was a psychologist).  In 3-1/2 years, they had sailed Lyra as far south as Martinique.  We had finally met someone who traveled as slow as us….  Whenever Leo and Sandra were running low on funds, they stopped and worked.  They’d spent eight months in Puerto Rico, where Leo had a carpentry job.  They had just been in St. Barths (a French island) for four months, while Sandra worked in a boutique.  They’re bilingual in French and English; Leo also speaks Dutch, as he was originally from Holland.  While in St. Barths, Leo rewired a house for a man who collected solar panels.  Leo took one in payment for that job, so Lyra, like us, charged with solar energy. 

We bonded with Sandra and Leo.  We talked about the loneliness, the boredom, and the alienation from the life back home – as well as the many good parts of the cruising life.  We talked about politics, and religion, and not having children.  We both had some funny stories on that last one.  The people of the islands placed a high importance on having children.  We were frequently asked if we had kids.  I told one taxi driver that no, I didn’t have children, and didn’t want any.  He snapped back that I’d better not let my husband hear me talking like that!  He mellowed, and then waxed eloquent, after I asked him if he had kids.  He described his little daughter to me, obviously the prettiest and brightest child there ever was!  Large families were popular.  My “vegetable lady” in Grenada, and my “laundry lady” in Antigua each had ten children.

I asked Sandra how she answered the question.  She said she’d given up trying to explain about birth control pills.  She just shrugged her shoulders.  Sandra and Leo had spent four months in Haiti, probably the poorest island in the Caribbean.  While the Haitians were the poorest people they’d ever met, they were also the happiest and, in Sandra and Leo’s opinions, the most beautiful, physically, of all the islanders they’d seen.  Children and family were very important on Haiti.  Because Lyra stayed there several months, they became well known to the local people.  There was general concern that Sandra and Leo didn’t have children.  Leo said that after several months in the Bahamas, he had lost a lot of weight, and was skin and bones by the time they reached Haiti.  People looked at Sandra, and looked at Leo, and decided he was the one with the problem.  Several people approached him to offer potions to help him out!  Even the immigration officer was concerned, and told Sandra there were good doctors on the island who dealt with those types of problems.

Having company on a boat was a far cry from having company in a house.  We had to think about weather, and other environmental considerations.  The anchorage at Fort de France had the tendency to be very rolly, and this night was one of the worst.  All the boats in the harbor were rocking heavily from side to side.  We were sitting in our cockpit when the people on the powerboat, who had invited Sandra and Leo for dinner, came by in their dingy.  They said they had to cancel, because it was too rough to cook.  Our new friends were disappointed, so I invited them to stay and have dinner with us.  They accepted.  Ed, who was thinking a little more clearly than me (too much rum & coke), asked me what I planned on fixing.  I said, not to worry, and headed down below.  I quickly realized how difficult it was going to be to cook, despite the gimballed stove.  It was too late for my company quiche, which takes an hour to bake.  I decided on a tuna, macaroni, and cucumber salad.  The only part needing cooking was the macaroni.  With French bread, a cake I’d baked earlier, and the bottle of wine Lyra had planned on taking to the powerboat, we managed fine.

1980 (9) - Bourg Ste. Anne, Martinique

Diamond Rock (small bump on left) at sunset.  Taken from Bourg Ste. Anne

To go to the beginning of this book, Tropic Moon: Memories, click HERE.

All the churches in the French islands ring their church bells, tolling the hours.  In Fort de France there were two churches within hearing distance, plus a noon siren, as well as our own marine clock, which chimed ships bells.  No two ever sounded at the same time, making the changing of the hour rather noticeable.  On Easter Sunday, at 10:00 a.m., I thought I heard the church bell chime eleven times.  I listened more carefully at 11:00 a.m., and counted twelve bells.  I mentioned this to Ed, and he, (not being one to fool around), glanced across the water to the clock on the church steeple, to verify Fort de France was, indeed, one hour ahead us.  We realized the island had gone on daylight savings time, but decided not to change our clocks, and to live in our very own time zone. 

Ste. Anne's Chapel

We didn't hear any church bells in Anse d'Arlet.  When we reached Ste. Anne, we were surprised to find their church on Tropic Moon time.  We decided it was some sort of independent move on their part.  Some time later, a Martinique student solved our time zone mystery.  We learned that for the first time in ages (maybe forever?), Europe had decided to go on daylight savings time.  Martinique, being a Department of France, had followed suit.  When the clocks were set ahead and everyone had to get up an hour earlier, the students weren't too happy about it.  After a week of protests, and student demonstrations, the government had returned the island to Atlantic Standard Time.

The Calvary is at the top of the hill

Ste. Anne was a small, pleasant village, and the people were friendly.  A beautiful Calvary, with stone monuments, climbs the steep hill behind Ste. Anne's church.  The Calvary formed the Stations of the Cross, marking the fourteen steps on Christ's journey to his death.  There were stone steps, and gradual inclines, zigzagging between the Stations, as they wound their way up the hill.  My Catholic upbringing came in handy, because I could explain to Ed the background behind the religious statues and monuments.  I told Ed that people are supposed to stop and pray at each Station, and what they pray for is the strength to make it up to the next one!  That wasn't such a joke in Ed's case.  Because of his pains, he stopped several times to stretch out on the walls, to relieve the cramps in his leg.  It was the week after Easter, and each marble monument was covered with partially burned candles. 

Station of the Cross, with burned candles

The view from the top of the Calvary was magnificent; you could see miles of island and seas in several directions.  The beauty was enhanced by the contrast between the white marbles and stone steps, and the bright reds, oranges and purples of the bougainvillea and flamboyant trees.  I had brought the camera along and took several pictures, including some of a miniature Tropic Moon floating far below us.

The view from the Calvary.  Tropic Moon is the second boat out.
Diamond Rock is the small bump on the horizon.

We moved the boat again, this time to the mile-long beach to the north of Ste. Anne.  The beach was lovely, and usually deserted.  It was part of a park and campground; cars paid a fee to come into the area.  I walked in and out several times with no one paying me any attention.  When Sunday came around, our beach really sprang to life.  Cars and buses arrived in the park, disgorging crowds of people onto the beaches.  Wind surfers and sunfish zipped across the water, making colorful patchwork against the blue green of the sea.  Tropic Moon became the tacking buoy in a sailboat race, giving us a grandstand view.  Snorkelers risked life and limb, finning their ways facedown through all the activity; some trailed bright balloons as warnings to the boaters.  Music and laughter wafted out to us across the water.

Three young women swam out to Tropic Moon, and were complimenting Ed on his "pretty boat."  I came on deck and invited them aboard.  They told us they were French language exchange students from Wellesley, Massachusetts.  They were highly flattered when we mistook them for Wellesley College students.  They explained they were mere "enfants" from the high school.  The young women were part of a coed group of fifteen exchange students.  They were at the beach with the fifteen Martinique students who had visited them in Wellesley a few weeks before.  Over the course of the day about twenty of the thirty young people visited Tropic Moon.  It was fun at first, but we did get a little tired of answering the same questions over and over.  One of the young women asked our ages, and I told her we were in our thirties.  It was a little disconcerting when she replied, "So are my parents"!  They enjoyed being on the boat, were very polite, and apologized for imposing on us (which they weren't, really).  Most asked to dive off the bow (the highest point of Tropic Moon's deck), when they headed back to the beach.

1980 (8) - Health Problems

Ed in his pareu - bought at Ste. Anne, Martinique

To go to the beginning of this book, Tropic Moon: Memories, click HERE.

During our fourteen years on Tropic Moon, receiving mail from home was an ongoing challenge – especially in the islands.  When we decided we’d be staying in Martinique for a while, we’d given our family a ‘Poste Restante’ (General Delivery) address for Fort de France.  We had our mail addressed to Mr. & Mrs. Edward Baardsen. 

The guardian of Poste Restante was ‘tres formidable.’  When I tried to collect our mail – though I had both of our passports with me – all I got was a slew of French in my direction.  I finally caught the word ‘Monsieur,’ and called Ed over.  He’d been waiting by the door.  That made her happy, and she gave us our mail.  You see, my name, ‘Jean,’ wasn’t written in the address….  The same lady was usually at the window.  After a while, she was getting to know us, and came really close to smiling.  We only checked the mail twice a week, so as not to antagonize her.

Post Office, Fort de France.  Photo from the Internet

Ed had started having some pain in his lower back while we were home over Christmas.  When we were back in Antigua, he decided to see if he was better by trying to touch his toes.  Somewhere along the way, he did some serious damage.  For about a week in Antigua, he could barely get out of his bed.  Ed rigged up a pulley system, with a rope noose, at the foot of his berth.  He would put his foot in the loop, and pull on the rope to lift his leg, putting some traction on it.  After a certain height, he wasn’t able to straighten out his leg.  He was also having problems if he sat up too long.  We weren’t able to imagine what was causing the problems. 

Though Ed would improve for a while, the pains returned, affecting different areas in his back and legs.  While in the Saints, he was getting cramps in his right leg.  Not one to let a little pain stop him, he and I hiked over hill and dale, into town and back.  Ed even climbed the local mountain, Le Chameau (by himself, it was too steep for me).  By Martinique Ed was in worse shape, and could only walk a short distance before getting shooting pains down his leg.  He finally quit going into town, except for the mail, as the post office was just down the street from the dinghy pier. 

Map, Martinique

We left Fort de France after three weeks, and sailed to Anse d'Arlet, a bay on the southwest corner of Martinique, where we stayed for almost a week.  From there, we decided to go the Bourg Ste. Anne, a small village on the south coast of the island.  It took us seven hours to sail from Anse d'Arlet to Ste. Anne.  I was getting rather tired toward the end of the day.  We’d been traveling to windward, tacking several times to avoid the shallows near the coast.  Ed was in one of his "sailing purist" moods, and didn't want to start the engine to motor in.  It appeared to me we’d need at least a couple more tacks to reach the village.  So I suggested we anchor off a beach.  Long, curving beaches graced either side of the town.  Ed asked, “Which one?" I pointed straight ahead, and said, "That one!"  I didn't want to face even one more tack.  We anchored off the beach, and then sat through two days of heavy rains.  When the weather cleared, we motored over to anchor off the village of Ste. Anne.

1980 (7) - Fort de France, Martinique

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.

1980 (6) - Passage to Martinique

Martinique is labeled in orange, half-way down the island chain.

To go to the beginning of this book, Tropic Moon: Memories, click HERE.

Facing a 100-mile passage to Martinique, we decided to do an overnight sail.  We left the Saints on March 13^th, at 4:00 p.m., and anchored at Fort de France, Martinique, at noon the following day.  Ed had said it would probably take us twenty hours and it did, exactly.  Our last overnight sail had been three months before, when we headed from St. Maarten to Antigua.  It had really been a trial for me.  But since even my own mother, who wouldn't go anywhere on a sailboat, for love or money, thought that I got unduly upset, I decided this overnight passage would be different.  I pictured myself relaxed, and enjoying the sail, watching Orion march his way across the sky.  Well, it wasn't quite like that. 

While we averaged 5 knots for the trip, that was a combination of flying along at 8-9 knots, with reefed mainsail and no mizzen, when we were between the coasts of the islands, feeling the full force of the Atlantic, contrasted with one dead calm we had to motor through, and 3-4 knot sailing while in the lee of Dominica.  We encountered rough waters between the islands.  A few times we were buried under walls of water, one of which knocked me to the full length of my safety harness.  The wave tried to wash the man-overboard pole, and a cockpit cushion, overboard.  Ed grabbed me, I grabbed the cushion, and the pole got tangled in the mizzen boom topping lift, so we were able to pull it back on board.

Fort de France, Martinique, taken from Tropic Moon

I suppose I got more sleep than Ed.  I didn't go below all night.  Instead I curled up on the cockpit cushions behind where Ed stood at the wheel, and napped there.  That way I didn't have to worry about his disappearing over the side, because I could open my eyes and see him.  I only got sick once on the trip, which was a vast improvement over the previous night passage.  I had made a supper before we left the Saints, so Ed could eat when he got hungry.  I just gave him a withering look when he asked me if I was going to eat too. 

I had been asleep, and woke up to find us in the lee of Dominica.  Ed pointed out the lights of the town of Roseau to me.  I had expected to be able to see the outlines of the island's mountains, even at night, but I couldn't make out anything.  That caused me to worry that we were heading straight into the island by mistake.  I kept imagining I saw mountains ahead of us.  (Note:  this was a decade before personal GPS.  Many sailboats had satellite navigation, and most boats had radar.  We had neither.)  I was relieved when we felt the tug of the Atlantic again, and knew we had passed the southern tip of Dominica. 

Another unnerving thing that night was a large ship that looked like a huge, lit-up parking lot.  It was sailing in our direction at something like a 90-degree angle to our path.  Ed could tell we wouldn't be out of its way before it reached us, so we fell off to starboard, and ran downwind to avoid it.  A couple mornings later, a similar-looking vessel sailed into the harbor at Fort de France.  The ship belonged to the U.S. Navy, and carried helicopters and beach landing craft on its decks.  It entered the harbor at 8:00 a.m., using its peashooters to give a 21-gun salute.  The local officialdom responded with their own 21-gun salute, from the cannons at the fort, which boomed and reverberated through the entire anchorage, and got everyone on deck in a hurry!