While I was jogging down Dead Cat Alley this morning on my way for an early morning dip, (The road’s actually called Chemin de Desmarinières but I think my name is more evocative.) I saw a sun-dried lizard AND a drowned rat. Not kidding! It must be the place where the little creatures come to die. The half cat has gone now by the way. Gone to kitty heaven.
There was another group of grannies in the sea today along with a fit-looking 60 something Metropolitain (someone from mainland France). And it looked like they were having swimming lessons. Intrigued, I decided to go and ask – I’ve realised it’s completely acceptable to wander up to people here, even if they look very busy, and ask them what they’re up to – He told me they were doing gymnase aquatique (aqua aerobics) but that you can get swimming lessons at the piscine in Sainte Marie. Then he suddenly switched from French and addressed me in English, of sorts...
“Where do you come tree?” He asked, looking very pleased with himself.
“Erm... pardon?” I replied.
“Where DO youwrr cohwmtree?”, he clarified.
Hazarding a guess I said; “England...?” which seemed to satisfy him.
“Yeyss. Eeeengland. Good.”
I wondered why we weren’t speaking French any more. Surely my French wasn’t so bad we needed to resort to his terrible English. I decided he must just be showing off his amazing linguistic skills to the grannies - to be fair they did look quite impressed - so I decided not to take it too personally. We bid each other good day and I sploshed off.
My shower was blocked when I got back which led to a lot of scraping around with a cotton bud and finding vile clumps of someone else’s scummy old hair which I then had to try and get to the bin without touching. Ugh. Although after seeing that rat earlier I was a bit scared of what I might find so the clumpy hair was quite a relief really.
Afterwards, while pottering around getting dressed and slapping on the factor 30 I heard someone call for me from outside – it was Lisette’s friend, Ziko, who I’ve seen around a few times and who’s very friendly – we’d already had a conversation about us both having small feet. She said she was off to Carrefour (the big supermarket near the mountains) and insisted that I go with her to do my shopping too. It was a welcome invitation since my nearest supermarket, Match, is about a 15 minute walk down an incredibly steep hill which means I have to put a strict weight limit on what I buy in order to be able to get back up the hill. The first time I went I made the foolish mistake of buying a six pack of water as well as loads of tinned tomatoes and green beans. I might as well have bought a hippo. I had to stop every three paces on the way back home in the blazing heat to put everything down and drink some of the water only to pick it all back up again for the next three painful steps. The worst thing was that a man walked past me and offered to help me but I had to refuse, fearing another attack of lecherousness. So it took me about an hour to get the stuff home, by which time I was about ready to drop dead.
I’ve noticed that people drive somewhat erratically in Martinique. It’s like a national sport – the aim is to see how many people you can piss off by cutting them up. Then you make rude hand gestures and shout ‘putain!’ out of the window at them when they look irritated. I can’t wait till I’ve got a car. I’m going to enter the National Road Rage Championships! I’m already practising my hand gestures.
We arrived alive at Carrefour – where I realised that Ziko’s trolley driving was a bit like her car driving; confrontational shall we say. I can’t say I understood every exchange she had but one in particular sounded rather heated, and she definitely accused someone of ‘not being very Catholic’, which, for some reason, in a supermarket context surrounded by spinach and mangoes, struck me as being quite funny. I had to pretend to look at the pâtés bananes at that point just so I didn’t laugh out loud.
I made it to taekwondo last night. Jessica found my house and we got there on time. It was ok – a bit tame, but to be honest I’m not sure I could manage a normal training session in this heat yet. At the end the instructor gave a talk about how the lessons would be arranged, and who would be teaching what. I was listening and understanding most of it but got a sudden shock when I heard my name mentioned – apparently I’m teaching the Wednesday class! Erm... ok... as long as I can do it in sign language.
I had a floup on the way home. Don’t ask... Ok, it’s an ice pop. It was pretty revolting – grenadine and mint flavour. I enjoyed the coldness of it but I think I’ll try a different flavour next time. I want to like them just because they have such a silly name!
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