Skip to content

Posts tagged ‘French Caribbean’

Number 104: Being a Fake Tourist

I am the first to admit that living in a foreign country (even France—or maybe especially France) can be exhausting.

It’s very true in Paris that the Parisians can wear you down, from the careless cigarettes in your face on a crowded street, to the glaring games of chicken on the narrow sidewalks, to their indifference and superiority when you try to converse in French, it all gets kind of old after awhile…

…especially after you have spent 2 weeks in a much friendlier and relaxed part of France being bowled over by overtly pleasant French people.

Martinique

But being a fulltime temporary residence of a strange land does have its benefits.  In addition to the obvious ones: getting to really know your new home, making personal connections, experiencing life the way the natives do, etc., there is one less obvious benefit that I like to take advantage of every now and then: being a fake tourist.

I don’t do this very often, but there are days in my beloved France when I just want the mental break from trying to be too French, or from stressing out about getting my grammar and pronunciation right. I give my feet a break from wearing uncomfortable, but beautiful, shoes. I give up on eating small acceptable portions, and instead, I allow my casual, optimistic American upbringing to take the lead.

source: the sauvybackpacker.com

source: the sauvybackpacker.com

On these rare days I consciously let myself go into tourist-mode and breathe a sigh of relief.

Okay, so I don’t go as far as slipping on my running shoes, white socks, workout clothes and baseball cap. I don’t strap on a fanny pack and wander cluelessly in the bike lanes. I don’t use my really loud outside voice to press on as if no one else in this entire country can follow my conversation or understand English. And I certainly don’t make grand exclamations about how things would be better if the French just did it the American way.

What I do do is generously allow myself to see this city and country as if I had never set one teeny tiny toe on the other side of the Atlantic. I open my eyes wide and pretend I am a complete newbie, and…ssshhhh….I don’t speak French, at all. (Don’t tell anyone.)

Oh, and sometimes I scandalize those moody, dark Parisians by wearing a pink coat!

IMG_0402 2

On fake-tourist-days, I allow myself to peruse the tourist trinkets and bargain with the North Africans selling black market handbags. I stand in other people’s way and take pictures of important monuments. If the weather is nice, I’ll take a cheap cruise on the Seine. When the spirit moves me, I might buy a slice of pizza or possibly a hotdog, or even an American candy bar in lieu of a salad Périgourdine or a 3€ maître-made piece of chocolate. I will smile at strangers and I’ve been known to inquire as to how they are feeling. It’s all so freeing.

source: parisbysite2011.tumblr.com

source: parisbysite2011.tumblr.com

Hmmm….when I see all this freedom in writing, it occurs to me that maybe I ought to play at being a fake tourist more often, except of course for the speaking French part…I’ll save that luxury for the days when I really need a break.

Vocabulaire

maître: master

salad Périgourdine: Perigord salad; a salad originating in the Perigord region of France and consisting of crisp lettuce, cooked or preserved duck giblets, bread cubes, chopped walnuts, walnut oil, and wine vinegar

 

 

No. 100-101: The Colors and Creatures of Martinique

Our time in Martinique is drawing to a close and as the gas strike is still in full swing, I spent the afternoon wandering, watching and snapping photos, soaking up the vibrant colors, creatures and flavors of our temporary piece of the French Caribbean. Profitez!

IMG_4522

IMG_9773

IMG_9663

 

IMG_9779

Vocabulaire

Profitez! Enjoy!

No. 99: Island Christmas

I know Christmas has come and gone, but I really loved it this year. This is my last year with a child living at home. Next year we will be empty nesting it, although I hope not for Christmas. Here are a few memories from our island Christmas with Kitcat and Button en Martinique.

IMG_9818

No. 96: une grève: a strike

Yesterday we had big plans. We were going to drive the length of the island and see what we could see. Trunk packed with hiking shoes and guidebooks, maps and mosquito spray, rain gear and beachwear, we were ready for anything.

Anything, that is, except une grève.

The French are famous for their strikes, and it appears that Martinique is no exception. Unfortunately the strike involves gasoline and all the gas stations were/are closed. Of course, our tank was nearly empty.

Because we are on holiday, we have not been listening to the news, so we had no idea this was coming, but as it turns out, neither did the Martiniquais. Usually in France, the strikes are announced ahead of time (and often you even know exactly how long they will last), but this one was not. Sprung upon the island, on the day most mainland French vacanciers were arriving and expecting rental cars with full tanks of gas, this one was/is a proper and effective strike.

So, you may ask, how do I turn une grève into something I love about France? The girls had the same question. The answer: forced relaxation.

With no gas in the tank and no place to go, we were forced to head to the small local beach and spend the day resting, talking and laughing, playing cards, reading and eating ice cream, watching the locals’ picnic and play with their beautiful families and remember how lucky we are to have each other.

IMG_9362

Fun family time. The silver lining to une grève.

Vocabulaire

une grève: a strike

vacanciers: vacationers

No. 95: Quirky French History

Yesterday I came across a bit of inspired French history on our way to Anse d’Arlet on the south western shore of Martinique.

IMG_4714

To access Anse d’Arlet, a sleepy fishing village, we had to pass by Rocher du Diamont. Diamond Rock is a volcanic island across from Diamond Beach. Lush and green and 600 feet high, it sticks out like a sore thumb.

Nowadays it is a famous diving spot renowned for its colorful sea life and assortment of marine birds, but it has a bit of quirky history attached to it from the colonial days.

IMG_4719

Although Martinique was mostly held by the French colonialists, the British governed (or attempted to govern) the island for a few years here and there. In 1804, about a 100 English sailors landed on the rock and constructed a fort and armory. Once established, they proceeded to pester the French navy with surprise attacks and cannon fire as they attempted to cross the passage to deliver necessary supplies for the colonialists. These constant disruptions forced the French to abandon this passage. After 18 months (and no luck in retaking the fortified rock), the French decided to get creative.

Having heard that the British soldiers were becoming distraught from their long confinement on the rock and that the limited access to fresh water was contributing to their restlessness, they hatched a plan. They sent a small sailboat loaded with rum to the island. (Some accounts have them simply floating barrels of rum across the channel.) However the rum reached the soldiers, between the combination of thirst and stir craziness, the Brits were soon completely sloshed.

The French retook the outpost in a matter of days.

800px-Capture_of_Diamond_Rock

Now that’s some pretty clever military strategy, n’est-ce pas?

Vocabulaire

n’est-ce pas? isn’t it?

Rocher du Diamont: Diamond Rock

 

No. 93: Wild Beaches

I am a huge fan of wild beaches. When Superman and I lived in Washington, D.C. our favorite weekend getaway was backpacking and camping at Chincoteague Island in Virginia with the wild horses. We were both happily reminded of that wonderful beach when we took a wrong turn the other day in Martinique and ended up at Macabou.

IMG_4580

The translation for wild beaches in French is plages sauvages—savage beaches—which in my mind captures this beach exactly.

IMG_4567

IMG_4566

As I am currently addicted to the American television series LOST (yes, a decade after everyone else was), stepping onto the beach at Macabou was like stepping into the world of Jack Shepard and the evil Benjamin Linus. There was even the cliff where Hurley attempted suicide.

IMG_4584

The waves were vicious, the wind was roaring, and there wasn’t a soul in sight. The shore covered mostly with dry plants washed in with the tide, we had to hike in about 15 minutes to find a tiny bit of sand among the fierce vegetation.

Completely alone, it was as if no one else existed. Beautiful. Undisturbed. A small slice of heaven on Earth.

No. 91: Overseas Departments: Martinique

139_w

One of my goals this year is to see as much of France as possible, so I feel incredibly lucky to have the opportunity to visit one of the five overseas departments belonging to France.

Having secured a sweet deal on flights (it would have almost cost as much to take the four of us to Strasbourg’s Marché de Noël by TGV), I am thrilled that we chose Martinique.

It’s a funny thing to think of a Caribbean island as part of France. I’d love to have a conversation with our new friends here about whether or not they consider themselves French, and what they think about mainland France.

Martinique, like many countries taken over by European and American colonialist, has quite a sad history. The more time I spend on this island, the more I wonder what life would be like here today, if the French had ignored it the way Columbus did when he first sighted it in 1502.

Thanks to Columbus’ indifference, the indigenous population was granted an 85-year reprieve before the French claimed them and began colonization in 1635. This is when the true atrocities of colonial history (now conveniently whitewashed in history books) began. In every article or book I read about Martinique before leaving Paris, the initial colonization of Martinique was reduced to barely two sentences, and it was presented something like this:

“…colonization began in 1635, when the French promised the native Caribs the western half of the island, in return for establishing a settlement on the eastern half. Then the French proceeded to eliminate the Caribs…”

After annihilating 6,500 years of civilization in a few short decades, the French realized they were short on manpower and began to “import” African slaves as sugar plantation workers. With no indigenous population to stand in their way, a tropical climate, an abundance of sugarcane, and free slave labor to boot, Martinique quickly became one of France’s most valuable colonies.

As rum production (from sugarcane), distilleries, and sugar refineries became more lucrative, the African slave trade became even more important to the colonialist and life for the slaves became even more unbearable. In addition to providing the labor for the sugar and rum production, the slaves were also recruited into the island militia to fend off the British attempts to take control of the island. (In return they were promised their freedom.)

The Brits did manage to occupy the island for a short while in 1762, but returned it the following year in exchange for a small country called Canada. They invaded and held the island once again in the early 1800s, but in the end, it was returned to the French.

By the mid-1800s, Martinique had more slaves and “freedmen” than free colonists. Slavery was abolished in 1848. Obviously life was still not peachy for the former slaves and things got worse when in 1902 Mount Pelée erupted and destroyed the capital, Saint Pierre, wiping out 30,000 inhabitants in less than an hour.

So in many respects, Martinique’s society is a very young one, made up mostly of decendents of African slaves , decendents of their former colonial masters, and often a mix of both. Their language is a fusion of Créole and French, with French the official language. The food is a mingling of French and Créole, heavy on the Créole side and influenced by the locally grown products. There is definitely a French vibe to Martinique, but not too much to stifle the vibrant and colorful culture.

IMG_4463