The Dead to me List (Dominica - Martinique)

We’re sitting on the balcony of the LSM (local marine services?) office in Terre de Haut using their wifi. The wifi on this small group of islands has turned out to be the best wifi (fastest & strongest) so far encountered in the Caribbean, and officially free (as opposed to cafe/bar ‘free’ wifi, which, although thirst quenching, is not). Also on the balcony are some other English speakers, a rare oddity in this little French enclave. We overhear them chatting about the recent local wind and sailing conditions. With a sigh of relief we realise that our experiences (getting blown sideways and thrown around like a washing machine) are far from unique and not a reflection of any inexperience on our behalf. That said, every day on the water you learn more and we’ve a way to go yet.

Having checked out of the country at LSM, we’re leaving Les Iles de Saintes at dawn tomorrow - today as I write this. Before then, we relocate to an anchorage, rather than paying for a rolly buoy for another night - it’s the right decision as we sleep like babies in flat calm waters.

We’re up and away before the sun shows itself on the horizon, and off Southwards once more on the way to Dominica.

The crossing is what we’re now realising is the norm between Caribbean islands: big seas, reefed sails and lots of up and down slamming of the deck.

Not the worst by far, but sufficient to again feel the need to slip on our life jackets.

Arrived at around 9am into a wide lush bay in the North Dominican town of Portsmouth. I’m greeted by Lawrence in his tender as I drop the anchor - Lawrence is our first experience of ‘boat boys’ - local entrepreneurs who assist yachts for a fee. He’s pleasant enough, and realising we don’t immediately need his assistance, heads off. First stop for us is a health check - we drop the tender and make our way over. At the open air health centre we see our recently met Polish friends and the French people whose catamaran we’d tied to back in Pigeon Island on Guadeloupe. At the front desk, Winston gives us some forms to complete, which we do, he then advises we’re good to go!

Great.

“I’ll take those, and I’ll also need your boat papers” says Edison, someone who appears to work there, but wears a tour guide badge.

Chez, smelling a rat, and knowing that Edison is unlikely to be helping us just from the goodness of his heart, asked him for our papers back. She’d read that assistance from a ‘Customs agent’ is usually charged at around $100 per person.

Grudgingly he complies, but turns off his happy face once he realises he’s going to be $200 down on the day.

We say we’re capable of going to customs on our own..

Getting decidedly nasty, in a raised voice he tells us: “You can’t... they’ll arrest you!”

With that we leave - not wanting to be further threatened with what we believe to be lies.

I’ll stop there for a moment.

I have this thing that when I encounter rude or bad service be that in a restaurant or a shop, instead of ranting and raving, I simply leave and add them to a growing mental list of places to never frequent again - the ‘Dead to me’ list. Yes, I know it’s childish and petty and not the way to behave, but it’s what I do.

Well after some umming and arring,

with neither of us having a good feeling about being lied to.. or for that matter fleeced for $200 to check in (which we’d been able to do in a gift shop for €4 at the last island) - we decide that we would be happier, and our money better spent, further South in the hopefully welcoming bosom of French Martinique.

... with that decision made, Dominica is added to my list.

We do however need to make a ‘Vessel in transit’ stop before jumping over to Martinique, otherwise we’ll be turning up after dark - not an ideal way to arrive at any new location.

So we raise the sails once more and head down the coast.

A few hours later, close to the Southern tip of Dominica, we spot an old friend.. Back in Sydney many years ago (maybe 15?), two massive cruise liners were crossing in the harbour - Cunard’s QE2, on her final voyage, and their QMary2 on what we think may have been her first.. We’d popped down to the harbour with Charlie and our friends and neighbours at the time; Mark, Cat and their son Toby to watch the show. Well many miles later for all of us, we meet QM2 again. She’s tied alongside the town quay in the tin roofed town of Roseau.

There we take an overnight mooring buoy, to which we’re assisted by a smiling (but teeth lacking) local boat boy in his overpowered tender called SeaCat. Nice helpful guy, and we’re soon tied up with the yellow Q flag flying and very ready for a siesta.

Queen Mary 2 sounds two long deep bass honks as she slips her lines just short of sunset.

We watch her head off as the sun departs for the day in quite spectacular fashion over clear to the horizon sea.

We wake the next morning to a cacophony of early rising cockerels on shore. After an easy start we head off South sailing down to Martinique. You can probably guess the next few hours.. started motoring, then reefed the sails, then lots and lots of wind and swell - panic stations - by which stage (mid morning) with the accumulated poor sailing experiences of the last few weeks, we were both well and truely over it. However, despite a large and rolly sea, it’s not an all together terrible trip. Thankfully by afternoon, having got used to the conditions, we are pretty close to actually enjoying the ride. As we near a truly wonderful looking Martinique, a vivid low rainbow arches across the town of Saint Pierre to welcome us in. It’s a pretty, ramshackle town below lush hills with a fascinating history.

Chez’s researching has dug out this nice description of the town from: ‘Lonely Planet Caribbean Islands’ :

“St-Pierre was once Martinique's capital and at one point perhaps the most cosmopolitan city in the entire Caribbean. That all ended abruptly on May 8, 1902, when Mont Pelée erupted and wiped out the town (and some 30,000 of its inhabitants) in just 10 minutes, leaving just three survivors.”

(Back to me.)

One of those three was a convict; Louis-Auguste Cyparis who’d been placed in a solitary confinement cell where the thick walls had saved him. His story became famous at the time, and he went on to tour with Barnham and Bailey’s Greatest Show on Earth.

As I said - a fascinating history. It’s rather lovely here too: There's a central wooden quay with clear clean beaches either side, immediately behind which, rising up from the sand, is a row of mismatched, but uniformly tin roofed one and two storey buildings. They’re rundown, patched up with pallet-wood and possibly close to ugly were it not for the interspersed palms, shady balconies and the jungle backdrop. With the water, oh so gently, lapping the beach in the foreground, it really is a picture postcard place for us to sit, relax and reset for a few days.

Which, three lazy days later we have done just that - not totally lazy, I also fully scraped the hull clean (it needed it!) and washed the bilges.