Martinique, "La Belle Creole"

We departed Portsmouth before dawn, because we had a pretty long way to go, and the harbor was very straightforward. It was another nice motorsail close alongside the calm, lee shore of Dominica, providing glimpses of beaches, towns and Roseau, the capital. Once past the southern tip of Dominica the wind came up brisk but fair for our crossing to Martinique, and the seas weren’t too bad, so we shut the engine down and enjoyed a fast passage, hitting 7.5 knots a few times, with just a double reefed main up and not much jib unrolled!

We arrived off St. Pierre in the early afternoon, but the anchorage (really just an open roadstead) looked iffy at best, especially with northerly groundswells forecast, so we proceeded on to Fort du France, another dozen miles or so. As we entered the harbor we were impressed by the “big city look,” of the place, with tallish buildings in the city and suburbs covering the surrounding hills.

After 12 hours underway we anchored for the night on the far side of the huge bay at Trois Islet, a lovely quiet and calm anchorage just off a small village, and enjoyed a very peaceful night. The next morning we moved across to Fort des France, and anchored right next to the high stone walls of the old fort guarding the city, in 15’ of surprisingly clear and calm water, with the whole city spread out in front of us.

We went ashore and walked around awhile - we had heard that “the strike” was also affecting Martinique, so we weren’t too surprised that traffic was very light, and almost everything was closed. We spoke to a couple vendors in a crafts market, and they filled us in on some of the history of strikes in Martinique, which at least on a couple of occasions have resulted in riots and shootings. Mmmmm….gee, that’s nice.

The city itself has a blend of French colonial, Caribbean and modern architecture, with some hints of New Orleans maybe? As we walked along we could hear some drums beating and someone giving a speech in French over a PA system. We turned a corner and there were hundreds of folks in red t-shirts, carrying banners and generally looking like they were enjoying themselves - no “bad vibes” that we could see, so we walked around the demonstration site, the local headquarters of the French government, soaking up the unusual atmosphere.

We stumbled upon an open music shop, and Emmy immediately started looking for some “Zouk” and other Caribbean music CD’s, while I continued the people watching. It was obvious we weren’t going to be able to rent a car for touring the rest of the island, and probably 95% of the businesses were closed for the strike. It sounded like the strike was going to go on for at least another week, so we resigned ourselves to a short visit. We found an open restaurant (yay!) and had some pretty good Creole food, and headed back to the boat.

A couple days later we were prowling around town midday (I had found an open marine supply store) and we tracked down an internet café perched on the bank of a river that runs through town, so we settled in for some email, web-browsing and French coffee. The French equivalent of CNN was playing on a TV, and I was trying to see if I could tell what was going on by struggling through the crawl at the bottom of the screen (no way was I having any luck deciphering what the newslady was saying), when we heard the drums and PA system cranking up again.

A couple guys wearing black t-shirts that said “Security” pulled up in front of the café on motorcycles, and blocked the bridge across the river. The café proprietor hit a switch and metal shutters began rolling down over the windows, and Emmy and I looked at each other cautiously. The shutters had slits in them, so for the next twenty minutes we had ringside seats for the day’s protest march, complete with chants, songs, drums, and unintelligible urgings in French over the PA system. The other café patrons paid attention to what was going on, but no one seemed terribly concerned, so we just soaked it in. After the last marcher disappeared from view the shutters were opened, and were soon on our way back to the boat. Hmmmm…interesting.

Back on St. Croix, Valentina was preparing to return to Italy, and Ara had agreed to house-sit for awhile, so Emmy thought it best to fly to St. Croix for a week to help with the transition. We had found flights available on Liat from St. Lucia to St. Croix, and purchased a ticket online, for the next week. The weather wasn’t so hot out in the open ocean (windy and big seas), but the forecast said it would get worse in a couple of days and stay nasty for awhile. Most everything is closed in Martinique anyway…okay, let’s go!

We walked back to the police station to clear out, but were told we had to go to another place…and no one was there? This was a Friday, and as we walked back through town we saw a lot of the red-shirted demonstrators sitting around drinking potent rum punches. Somehow the “vibe” was deteriorating, and things just felt tenser. We bought some ice, and filled a few jerry jugs with water, and started getting the boat ready to go the next morning. That night we in fact heard a few gunshots, and were happy to get on the road at first light.

Would we go back to Martinique? You bet, it’s one of the most beautiful and varied islands in the Caribbean, but I don’t think I’d plan on spending any time there until after the strike is settled. Until then, Au Revoir!