West Indies Island News

It's amazing how we Europeans can stamp our national traits on far away people. The customs officer (a native of the island) asked for the very first time in the skipper's long experience to see the original ship's registration document, a reminder that it was the French who invented bureaucracy. Also familiar is the enormous amount that has been spent here on what is a department of France itself - and guess whose money (at least partially) is it? - yes, ours. The roads are good and the shore-side facilities are excellent.

It was soon evident that there was good news and bad news for my Yankee friend. The good: it's euros here which equate almost exactly to the US Dollar so he can work out all the prices all by himself. The bad: he can't speak a word of French which has stopped his incessant stream of bullshit in its tracks.

So what have we done here? We finished off the curry on Saturday night; on Sunday morning sailed round west and northwards to a little place called Case Pilote, arriving at 2.00 pm and leaving at 3.00 pm - the place was shut (apart from a really scruffy locals' bar) with no restaurant opening on the evening; and sailed on north a further 7 miles to St Pierre and anchored off the front by 5 .00 pm. This turned out to be a delightful place, very clean and tidy with good restaurants, supplies of food, ice etc. The town is overlooked by Mount Pelee, a dormant volcano, now a very picturesque backdrop to the town but on the 8th May 1902 it was responsible for the deaths of 30,000 people when it erupted - the worse disaster to hit the Caribbean ever.

We decided to stay two nights here and on Monday went by bus in to the capital Fort de France. The day was dominated by the bloody French customs officials pissing us about - but that's what we've come to expect of these people. The capital itself is a bustling metropolis compared to most other places in the Caribbean, is very pleasant (they do have style after all) and for one hour at least Dave felt in some sort of control - he found a MacDonald's for lunch. (The skipper went with him: I refused and instead had a very pleasant few glasses of wine and a warm goat's cheese salad under a parasol all on my own.)

As I write we are motor sailing in light winds and a calm sea the 30 miles to Dominica, whose enormous profile looms up as we approach it. We should arrive just after lunch.

All of us are not sad to see the end of our visit to Martinique: c'est au revoir, et pas a bientot.