A year afloat: to the Caribbean and back - Slack jawed with yokelish wonder

Slack jawed with yokelish wonder

A year afloat: to the Caribbean and back

Sam and Alex Fortescue

Thu 20 Jan 2011 16:51

Shame, dear reader, the shame is crushing.

We've been away from home for six months, and the strain must be telling. On the doorstep of the Caribbean's self-proclaimed most beautiful island and what do you think is exciting us the most - perfect palm-fringed beaches? The prospect of rainforest hikes? Abundant snorkelling? Not a bit of it. A supermarket.

As I say, we're ashamed. Not that we're talking about a St Lucian style 'mart' selling expensive American gunk. Nor a St vincentian corner shop selling only tins of sweetcorn and dogfood. Nope, this is a fully fledged, spectacularly plumed European supermarket.

First stop was the dairy aisle, where we spent a good five minutes gaping at the range of cheese, creme fraiche and yoghurt on offer. The Caribbean to date has not furnished us with a single chunk of gouda, pineapple-flavoured yog or similar. Suddenly, the output of France's entire (well subsidised) dairy industry was on display, from brie and Pont l'Eveque to little ingots of gooey goater.

Next door in the fridge were mountains of pork lardons. I believe I echo the words of no less a chef than Jamie Oliver when I say that almost every dish in the world is improved with the addition of bacon. My brother-in-law Will would argue that parmesan and pesto do the same job, but I say give me bacon every time. Eyes still wide with wonder at the choice on the shelves, we almost ran to the tinned food section where we found, and here I must pause to contain my excitement. We found... lentils. Lentils, mark my words!!! And white beans, and kidney beans and tinned spinach, and, and, and...

We felt like Laurence of Arabia coming in from the desert; explorers back from the Dark Continent. Our culinary senses so dulled by jerk chicken and breadfruit with lashings of hot sauce that we could barely take in what we saw - like slack jawed yokels on market day. You get the idea.

The experience of being back in Europe continued today with a trip to the island's new capital, Fort de France. The old one was devasted by pyroclastic flows from an eruption of Mont Pelee just over a century ago, so there's little architectural charm on display in the town. But, like most French cities, the hinterland was awash with giant out of town shopping centres - endless crinkly tin sheds devoted to every aspect of consumerism - from matresses to car accessories and pets. Yet the city itself felt mildewed and Caribbean, with no sign of the French boutiques mentioned in the guide. There were plenty of clothes shops, but they all specialised in bargain basement swimming attire, or the kind of get-ups that you only see when a hen-do hits a nightclub.

We were also reacquainted with traffic jams and roundabouts. And for Andrei, there is a special 'Quick' photo below - perhaps he could be tempted to the Caribbean after all...

It's relatively expensive to get around and even local canteens cost more than they did in Grenada. So we're expecting to do more cooking on board and use the boat to visit the different areas of the coast. Before you send in your condolences, you should know that we're poised to devour a goat cheese salad with a drop of Cotes de Provence rose.

In non-culture shock related news, we took a giant step forward today in getting the outboard fixed. It had got wet in Grenada two weeks ago when the dinghy flipped over in a dawn gust. Although it remained attached, the beast was probably in the drink for 2 minutes, which proved enough to silence it. My best efforts at mechanical therapy were to no avail. Today, a Martiniquais called Tony Boat (Toe-nee Bout) took the engine apart, tipped an unfeasible quantity of salt water from the carburetor and get the whole thing back together in the right order after a clean. This spells an end to the long rows in to the shore, and the potential fun of dropping oars and having to leap in fully clothed to recover them (see last post). Alex will be pleased, although I suspect she quite enjoyed leaping to the rescue.

Le Marin... or anywhere in France?