Windward

Pylades, left foreground, Fort-de-France in the back

We are anchored off the town of Fort-de-France, the capital of Martinique.  This is the largest of the Windward Islands, volcanic in origin, and the birthplace of the Empress Josephine, Napoleon’s wife.  Six weeks ago, we were in St. Helena, where Napoleon died, so we’ve come full circle in manner of speaking.  There are about a dozen or so other boats in the anchorage, making this one of the less crowded spots we’ve been since arriving a few weeks ago from St. Helena.  It’s taken a bit of getting used to, these crowded anchorages, filled as they are with charterers, winter cruisers, and dayboats taking tourists out for a sail and a swim.  We’ve lost the sense of tight community we felt everywhere since Indonesia, where the only sailors we would encounter were blue-water sailors, usually circumnavigators.  We're slowing re-acclimating ourselves to the diversity of the sailing community.

On St. Lucia, we spent a few days at the lovely new marina, drawn by the opiate luxury of 110v electricity to power our air conditioner, the convenience of stepping off the boat onto a dock, and the aromas and sounds of the ten or so bars and restaurants on the marina grounds.  But, after giving the boat a thorough cleaning and the hulls a well-needed wax, and after attending to some medical and logistical items ashore, we knew it was time to leave.  We motored across Rodney Bay, and dropped the hook just off Pigeon Island, which, owing the creation of a causeway from the spoils of the marina dredging, is no longer an island.  No matter; it’s a lovely place, and while the anchorage is crowded, we spent some lovely time with some cruisers who spend every winter on the boat in the clear blue waters and skies of St. Lucia.

Frigate bird, gliding above

In the anchorage, surrounded by American and French boats, and the blaring beat of reggae-rap-disco music coming from the resorts and bars that line the sandy beaches of Rodney Bay, we were reminded of the enduring charm of these islands.  Overhead, a massive frigate bird circled, its forked tail guiding its flight as it scanned the water below for bits of fish to scavenge. We had last seen these somewhat ominous birds in the Galapagos, by the thousands, the red throats of the males bulging outward in their mating displays. Their continued equatorial presence is reassuring somehow, letting us know that nature retains a sense of dominion over these islands and waters.

Gregory, driving his flagship of provisions

Meanwhile, making the rounds of the anchorage in a rickety wooden boat, its engine belching black smoke, Gregory the Flag Man offered up fruits, breads, and vegetables to the cruising community.  Even though he promised that the mangoes were picked in his grandmother’s backyard, our new cruising friends burst the romantic bubble by assuring us they’d seen Gregory in the local supermarket every morning.  No matter; he recalled for us the small boats in the Marquesas that offered us pamplemousse and bananas, rowing to our recently-arrived boat from their little island, an island with neither grocery store nor marina.  Here, in the Caribbean, amid frigate birds, tourist development and crowded anchorages, we see what might someday become of the more remote islands of the Pacific and Indonesia …

Small beachside resort at Grande Anse D'Arlet

After our long passages, our new sailing distances have also taken a bit of getting used to; we pulled up our anchor in Rodney Bay at around 8 am, and by noon or so, we were settling into a small bay midway up the adjoining island of Martinique, in a small village called Grande Anse D’Arlet.  Clearing in was a snap. Unlike Barbados, which required us to tie our boat alongside a rickety pier, pay US$50, and fill out innumerable forms, the French laissez-faire attitude seems right for these languorous islands.  We dinghied ashore, went up to a dedicated computer terminal in the little restaurant, filled in a form electronically, hit “send,” and then printed off our clearance.  No fees, no muss, no fuss.

Finding an ATM to get some Euros was another thing, however, and the nearest source of cash was a very long walk away … so we went for a swim, ate on board, spent the night, and then moseyed around the point to here, where we are nestled against the looming walls of the actual “Fort”-de France.  Unlike St. Lucia, which has been independent of England since 1979, Martinique revels in its colonial status, or, perhaps more accurately, in the accompanying Paris-borne subsidies.  The city – for we’re talking a few highways, a few high-rises, and a distinct urban feel – sounds, smells, looks, tastes, and feels like a bit of transplanted France.  Less influenced by any local or indigenous culture than, say Tahiti, the island of Martinique seem like a perpetually sunny France, populated by people whose family trees include healthy mixes of transplanted Gauls, slave-shipped Africans, and, over the last 100 years or so, the melting pot of Caribbean cultures.  Despite their cosmopolitan genetics, however, locals remain true to their Frenchness. No one in Martinique speaks – or at least admits to speaking – English.  Qu'avez-vous dit?

Pigeon "Island," St. Lucia

Just after we pulled into Fort-de-France, we were delighted to see our good friends Fergus and Kay, on Pylades, anchor just alongside; we met them first in Bora Bora, and then our paths have crossed repeatedly as we each made our way around the world – Indonesia, Cocos, Mauritius, South Africa, where we spent New Year’s Eve together at the Royal Cape Yacht Club, and now here.  They head back home to Galway, Ireland in a month or so, having completed their circumnavigation on a steel boat they built by hand, learning how to cut and weld steel, to work the wood for the interior, and to assemble the mechanical and electrical systems needed to steer a boat safely around our globe.  What an accomplishment, to sail a boat you built yourself around the world!  We’ve become very good friends with them, and will miss them as they sail east toward home. 

Congratulations, Fergus and Kay, and we hope to see you again!

Next stop:  Dominica.