Before going ashore, Bob and I carefully studied the cruising guide for suitable restaurants.  “Aha” we thought to ourselves after absolutely nothing being opened the night before  “we’d better have a back up plan in case any of those mentioned aren’t open”.  We duly went to the first, second, third, fourth restaurant none of which were open.  Scrutinising our guide to see if there were any more that we could track down we were interrupted by an absolutely delightful, self assured. little girl probably not much more than 10 years old, who asked us if we were lost.  Not wishing to be unfriendly faced with such charm, I attempted to explain our dilemma.  She very sweetly then waved her arms a lot, pointing in every direction, and gabbled away in the fastest French ever heard, only stopping to tell her younger sibling to go away in no uncertain terms because she was the star of this show.  We nodded wisely, looking completely blank, and eventually were able to take our leave with dignity and sincere thanks and made for the fifth on the list.  It was closed and etcetera etcetera.  In desperation, all dressed up and nowhere to go, we decided that it better be a Big Mac to the rescue.  Fortunately, or unfortunately if you are Bob, right next to the great McD was a restaurant that was actually open, the only one in the whole of the capital of Martinique.  It was okay, nothing to write home about but open is open.

This morning we decided to go on a tour of the southern part of the island.  We dropped by the Tourist Info booth for advice, it was closed.  We planned to get the ferry across to Trois Islets, grab a taxi from there and go and see lots of lovely things including taking a tour through the mangrove swaps. which sounded most interesting.   The ride across was fun, lots of people watching opportunities (a girl with the longest dreadlocks in the world and a boy unsuccessfully trying to chat up a very pretty but coy girl).  Trois Islets was deader than Fort de France on a Sunday night, no taxis, (only now found in F de F apparently), and the mangrove tour could only be taken if there was 6 personnes.  (We were convinced that the lady in the shop had said that to at least two other couples before us, so all a bit chicken and egg).  We booked for tomorrow morning assured that there would be enough people, had a very bad tempered beer, quite coincidentally in the very same bar where we had had an equally sullen beer on our last visit where I ran aground, (albeit briefly but it still stands as the “worst thing that has ever happened” in the Captain’s memory).  Even my beer was interrupted by a complete stranger that “women don’t drink beer”.   “I do” (said with the huffy tone of so there).  We took our return trip back on the ferry somewhat earlier than planned, decided to make the most of a bad job, decided to have a nice Caesar salad for lunch (mais non, it’s off) and decided to go to the Fort that had been closed yesterday and said that it would be open today.  It wasn’t, there was just a fresh notice, no explanation, saying it was closed.  We have had a quiet afternoon with our noses in our Kindles, quietly seething and most unsurprised that Martinique has so little joy in attracting tourists to counteract their recession.  Thank heaven for the glorious sunshine and the most superb sunsets.

We have made a booking for dinner.  Hopefully it will actually be open.  Fingers crossed.

(Bob has pointed out that this blog sounds most curmudgeonly.  This is probably because I am not feeling at my best as I am developing a most hearty, deep chested cough which sounds remarkably similar to the one that the enormous woman behind us on the plane had).