It turned out to be a most relaxing evening, eating spag bol to the mellifluous tones of, no not Katie Mellua, but a new acquisition to the eclectic collection, Now That’s What I call a Million, hundreds, rather than millions, of sing along popular tunes for old hipsters.  We oiled our vocal chords with gin and tonics aplenty as a home remedy for Bob’s tum and just because I like them and, of course, did not want to mix my drinks.

As a result our morning took a bit longer than usual to get going and we both confessed to having popped up in the night to double check that we were still parked right next to the yellow buoy, a mere 30 metres away, that flashed reassuringly, and  that we knew we were well stuck in.

For today’s sightseeing we went and found a taxi to take us for a short tour.  It was the most impressive taxi, BMW, air conditioned and the driver was supremely polite opening the doors for us each and every time and a carefully ironed shirt that gave Bob shirt envy.  He even agreed up front the exact pricing structure and indeed kept to it.  A complete contrast to his compatriot who resides at the other end of the island (St Pierre) who I will admit I saw, resisted the urge to start another argument with, and dodged round behind him so that he wouldn’t see me. 

We stopped firstly at the Sacre Coueur de  which is a mini version of the Sacre Coeur at Montmartre.  It is a beautiful church and most unusually has stained glass in shades of yellow rather than the usual reds and blues that we expect and only one Virgin Mary, all the rest being Jesus or the male saints. It is perched high on a hill and gave us a stunning view towards St Lucia.  We then  up to the Balata Gardens a most pristine botanical garden with a fascinating collection of plants, many of which we recognised as popular house plants at home, all beautifully laid out with a concrete path leading us around with little huts just where you felt the need of a sit down and a swig of water to counteract the heat.  The real highlight was a rope walkway high in the trees which gave a very different perspective as well as the opportunity to pretend we were Ant and Dec.

Our next port of call was a hot water spring marked on the map as close by.  Our extra polite taxi driver duly took us there without complaint only to discover that it was a municipal building with a crowd of surprised youths, very friendly and also amazed to see tourists visiting them, and nothing else at all of any note.  Never mind.  The views as we drove back to Fort de France were amazing.

We had a delicious lunch of fish, of unknown breed but rather a sulky face washed down by a grande beer, which made the lovely waitress raise her eyebrows in horreur.  She obviously did not understand how sightseeing is such thirsty work.  We then went in search of a car hire place to make a reservation for tomorrow.  A sign on the door said Budget had just moved out, the only thing left of Europcar was a few letters on the floor and when we searched the back streets there were no hire cars to be had.  A nice man explained that this was because of the recession.  Our hunt for adventure  then turned to the Fort which unfortunately was closed so we returned to the boat to chillax, something we are guaranteed to be successful at.  Bob spoiled the mood somewhat by thinking it would be a good idea to start Gerry.   Gerry’s response was to harrumph and mutter but nothing else.  Bob then worked himself up into a good sweat trying to establish, again, what ailed our ancient companion.  He resorted to using the engine and has been rewarded by a nice refreshing hot shower having taken the opportunity to make loads of water.  I hope he has left some for me!