We set off for dinner with great anticipation and found the place packed, always a good sign.  From our table it was possible to watch the chefs at work, two of them, both larger than life, in fact large in all respects, and the female sporting a top knot above a closely shaved head.  They worked calmly and deliberately and turned out enormous numbers of plates of delicious food.  Bob went for the beef carpaccio to start while I plumped for the tuna which came sliced as thin as a peel of sunburnt skin, beautifully dressed and scattered with yummy things.  Matt, lost in an overload of conflicting delicious menu items, and not really understanding the french menu, plumped for a liver stewed in mushroom broth which he found overwhelmingly delicious.  By the time he had eaten his beef carpaccio main course he was ready to marry the chef, which one I’m not sure.  Bob and I went for a curious combination of scallops, boudin (the black pudding like sausage that looks like merde de chien), sweet potato mash and a red wine jus.  It was good but we could have done with more scallops and less boudin.  Puddings were tasty, Bob opting for deep fried bananas as a substitute for his favourite banana flambe, I went for the exotic fruits sorbet to clear the heaviness from the main course and Matt became very overexcited by his chocolate concoction.  It was a good thing we had a reasonably long stroll back to the dinghy dock with so much tasty food on board.  We slept like overstuffed logs.

Our breakfast and lunch arrived at 0710 hours, delivered by the harbour assistants, croissants and a baguette.  When in Rome ...

Our day’s sail has been wonderful.  It is so much more confortable on a reach and we were able to slip and slide along at a magnificent pace rolling sideways over the waves at 7.5 knots, munching on croissants.  We had diligently checked the grib file, as we always do, to check the weather, wave height and winds.  Yet again it said that the average winds would be 18.5 knots, it is what it says every day.  Yet again they were steadily blowing at between 24 and 26 knots, gusting up to 30.  We have decided that the gribs are just a fantasy of someone based in Southampton and bear no relation to the actual weather.  We thought that the wind would drop in the lee of Dominica but it kept up, dying in the really sheltered bits then throwing in a few bursts of 32 just to keep us on our toes We kept storming along, well over the 8 knots on many occasions and became really excited when we hit 9.3 knots, a record (when we weren’t surfing down a following sea).  Meanwhile, Bob was back on the main sheet, releasing and pulling it in like playing a marlin.  Luncheon, or more appropriately dejeuner, was served one hour off Roseau, a selection of terrines, cheese and cornichons with ripe tomato served with the baguette.  Tres, tres bon.

Parking at Roseau is on mooring buoys of which there were only two left. Bob declared the first one dodgy and opted for the second.  We moored up, without running anyone down, and set off for town where we espied Jessie the surfer on the jetty.  Before we could tie up we were recalled by Marcus the harbour security man and informed we were parking on a reserved buoy and could we kindly move to the dodgy one, which we did.  We had a second go at going onshore, this time without interruption, dropped into the bar at the end of a very crooked but surprisingly solid jetty, ordered a taxi for a sightseeing trip tomorrow through Stephanie, as directed by Marcus.  Stephanie turned out to be Tiffany.  Apparently the Dominicans just can’t cope with her name so Stephanie she is to them.    We then continued into town to hunt down Customs.  We asked as many people as we had asked about waves on Guadeloupe before we tracked them down to behind an anonymous, unmarked black gate.  Once again we had the good cop, bad cop routine.  Bob had the bad cop who scrutinised the paperwork with intensity while I chatted to the good cop and he helped us, with great enthusiasm, plan our sightseeing tour for the morrow.  It could just have been that bad cop was suspicious that Bob said that we were leaving “tomorrow evening” to avoid having to come back again to check out.  The good cop nearly caught us out amongst his friendly enquiries, I nearly blew it but managed to stand by my man.  After his interrogation, Bob was in need of refreshment so we popped into a bar for a beer, Kubuli this time, no Carib because they are on strike apparently, where we were entertained by a drunk, old beggar woman who the staff found very difficult to get rid of.  They kept escalating the problem up the hierarchy without it making the slightest bit of difference.

An unfulfilled hunt for a replacement Kindle, a stroll through town and we are back on board.  We watched the sun going down, a Carib in hand and while I have been writing this blog I have been accompanied by the gentle snores of a tired Bob.  Matt has disappeared into the darkness of his cabin.  It is very peaceful.