Wednesday 10th March (Lini’s Journal)
Brindabella's Web Diary
Simon Williams
Thu 18 Mar 2010 11:45
Martinique and up to Fort de France the capital of the island. As we
rounded the headland the huge city was a bit of a shock after the tiny
towns we’ve become used to. I felt quite excited as we approached at
the thought of sophisticated shops and stylish French cafes: Goodness!
What has seven months at sea done to a girl who hated shopping? The
anchorage sat under the fort and an enormous dinghy dock welcomed us
to step ashore. Brindabella rolled around in the swell together with
the other anchored boats however and our trip ashore was not what I
had expected.
The day was swelteringly hot and humid as we motored towards the
town with the waves smashing the dinghies into and under the edge of
the dock. I had to leap quickly to avoid crushing my legs between the
two and it was a worry leaving the Admiral Sir Cloudesley Shovell as
Si likes to call our dinghy. I had anticipated chilling for a while at
a street café, people watching over cool drinks and a tasty lunch
before some serious shopping: We were horribly disappointed. Far from
‘a Paris equivalent’ the tatty streets were lined with shop after shop
selling tat with only the occasional window worth a second glance. It
felt like we had wandered into the wrong area of a major city. There
was only one street café but the shrivelled food looked a health
hazard. Few others took our fancy and perched on stools in a bakery
looking at a wall we ate a baguette and a salad that cost twice what
it should have done: Paris prices then! I expected people clad in
classy costumes; they weren’t. We wondered how some of the girls had
peeled their skin tight brightly coloured clothes over their bulges
and how some of the lads hadn’t lost their trousers which fell to
their hips while back to front caps and bling completed their outfits.
Occasionally though stunning girls would pass us by with the figures
to wear Lycra and with beautiful faces of stunning features and
wonderful complexions. Even the chandlery was a disappointment with
few items available from Si’s list. The city I thought I’d be begging
to spend more time in, I couldn’t wait to escape.
I expect Si would have liked a fat juicy steak on the barbie for
his dinner after such a disappointing afternoon, but unfortunately it
was day two of the pumpkin. From a cook’s point of view I too would
have preferred Si to have barbecued steak rather than me melt in the
galley over a hot pan. It was not my wisest decision to make risotto
on such a baking airless day and knowing also I would have to forego
the parmesan and olive oil, such an essential addition to all the best
risottos. Lively sounds came from the shore this evening with some
event or other going on. Enthusiastic accordion players and
loudspeakers blared out into the night but did little to interrupt the
sleep of the innocent.