C'est Magnifique! (Martinique)

The anchorage at Sainte Pierre would have to be one of the best we’ve stayed in. That holds true for a couple of reasons: firstly, the pure calm flat water, which translated into peaceful all night sleeps... uninterrupted all night sleeps on board are a rarity. Secondly the sheer beauty of the place; dominated by the volcano and the dense jungle behind, the ramshackle buildings present an unconventionally beautiful little town that nestles right on the shoreline. Possibly the only downside to staying there is the extremely slim, but most certainly real, possibility of being melted alive by molten lava at any moment. Well thankfully we were able to avoid that fate, and departed prior to Mont Pelee blowing its active top once again.

We continued South, passing, along the way the town of Carbet, once home to the artist Gauguin, and where Christopher Columbus had first set foot on the island.

Passing down alongside the green hills and mountains of the West coast of Martinique, by afternoon we make it to Fort de France - a sprawling metropolis (well.. a fairly large town anyway). We anchor under the tricolour flag of France flying above the high castle walls in a busy, but not quite packed, anchorage.

Taking time for a Sunday stroll ashore before sunset, it’s lovely to see so many families out along the quayside and small beach - picnics, playgrounds, basketball, kids laughing, stalls and shopping carts filled with soft drinks and snacks, and everybody taking it easy in the cooling afternoon air - I should note, it’s been remaining close to 30 degrees from 9am until after dark - a bit too hot for comfort.

We venture into town again the following morning for a look around and a supermarket stop. There’s a definite underlying Frenchness to the streets we wander - wrought iron balconies and sloping loft roofs. The town also has signs of a less than prosperous side: numerous pawn brokers and one or two well populated open-fronted betting shops (..bearing in mind it was Monday morning at that point), that said, the quirky architecture, and overall charm of the place, if perhaps a little jaded, does show through here and there.

It’s not somewhere we want to stay however, so we sail across the wide bay to a less populated anchorage.

As we hunt for a suitable spot to drop, our keel scuffs the sandy bottom and halts us for a moment - despite our Navionics app saying we’re in more than 5m (our actual depth under the waterline is ~2.1m). Chez reverses us off the sand and we drop in an exposed, but surprisingly swell free spot for the night. We stay there for a day - it’s a sleepy little hamlet with a bakery, a church and some failing touristy shops. Not sure why it isn’t thriving - it’s pretty enough, good location, but for whatever reason, the tourists have stayed away. Left there the following morning in a stiff breeze that once again had us grounded on the clay/sand bottom for a few frantic moments as we left - this is not the best way to start the day. Thankfully the wind and some high revs on the propeller soon had us free again with no harm done.

From there, despite the poor start, we had a pleasant sail with reefed main down the coast. Dropped anchor in the wide well populated bay of Grande Anse de Arlet, it seems like a great spot: lots of room, lots to see, and of course the by now usual; palm trees, lush hills and beautiful sandy beach. Come bedtime we agree we should probably stay here for a day or two...

Now, imagine for a moment, two very fat boys on a seesaw, each trying to bounce the other one off by kicking off from the ground as hard as they can so their tubby counterpart is thrown in the air as they go up. Now imagine trying to sleep laying on the middle of that seesaw.. well that’s what the overnight swell was like - the worst we’ve had for a long time. Woke with bleary eyes and aches all over. These were soon forgotten after a stroll along the beach which skirts the bay. Its all rather lovely, with almost exclusively French holidaymakers sunbathing and making sandcastles along the waters edge. We relocate to a hopefully less swelly part of the bay (it turns out to be significantly better) and spend the afternoon watching the comings and going’s around the bay: clear see-through canoes, snorkelers, SUPs, a glass bottom boat, local fishermen checking their traps, and thankfully no jet skis whatsoever.

We spend the run up to Easter there. Couple of things of note happened during that time - one bad, one delightful.

Let’s get the bad out of the way first. There’s a number of dive boats who take holidaying scuba divers out around the local reefs. They usually return to the quay mid-afternoon, with their load of smiling rubber clad customers. Sadly for one passenger, this return was also heralded by the whirring blades of a helicopter bringing a doctor to the quay. Showing some amazing flying skills the pilot landed his skids on the 3m wide jetty, from where the deposited doctor hurried along to kneel by his new patient’s side. We’re watching from the boat, and too far away to be sure of exactly what happened, but the patient - we’re assuming a diver - was stabilised and whisked away in an ambulance, as the helicopter departed. Fingers crossed for a good outcome.

The second notable event was our neighbour sleeping on the back step of his boat, and occasionally getting in for a swim, then climbing back out on the ladder once he’d cooled down. Not all that delightful or notable you may think, but if I go on to tell you our neighbour was a rather lovely long coated golden retriever it probably gives the tale a little more colour!

We leave there on Easter Saturday heading East around the Southern tip of the island heading for Sainte Anne. Passing on our way a large imposing rock/islet, Diamond Rock. During the Napoleonic Wars the rock earned a slightly different name: A group of audacious British sailors, briefly occupied it, climbed to the summit (no mean feat), planted a Union Jack on top and declared it to be ‘HMS Fort Diamond’ - Bang On! That’s the stuff lads!!

The sailing once again gave us little to be glad about - big wind and swell all from the wrong direction.

After a series of tacks, we arrived mid afternoon, hangry (not a typo) aching and tired into probably the busiest anchorage we’ve ever come across. Found a suitable Serenity Now sized spot and dropped anchor.

After a baguette and some rather good revitalizing soup, we headed ashore to the compact and charming little town to pick up some provisions.

Before I finish up this entry, I’ll just mention that tomorrow is Easter Sunday.

Now, however delightfully dreamy the image of spending Easter sailing around Martinique may sound, there are two places in the world I’d rather be tomorrow: firstly, with my son in Sydney, roughly 9000 miles away. Or a close second, with the rest of my family (other than my lovely wife) roughly 4000 miles in the opposite direction ...Soon to be enjoying a family get together and slap up Sunday lunch at my sister Louise’s house.

Love and miss you all x