Friday and Saturday I ran around Merin in Martinique trying to find parts for converting our propane system that was running fast out of gas to the French propane tanks. We have tried to fill our Australian tanks in Trinidad, Grenada, St. Lucia, St. Vincent and now Martinique and was not winning due to the left handed Australian gas tank fitting. Not speaking French was challenging as I was unable to communicate what the challenge was, and if some one had a solution, I was not able to comprehend that either. Finally I resigned myself that this would not be accomplished, that Christmas dinner might be raw and cold. Instead I fixed the anchor windlass that would not bring up the anchor chain without a rubber mallet beating on the temperamental solenoid which sometimes would suddenly click in, but the button had just be released, and the opportunity missed.
Darlene was in gastronomic heaven. The French breads, pastries, cheeses, sausages, chocolate and overall the fine gourmet foods in the grocery store was the best she had seen in the islands. I was watching the baskets getting heavier and heavier, the wallet becoming lighter, the water line sinking and my waist line growing larger in circumference. With fine French food and inexpensive French wines, performance of the boat was potentially going to suffer, but not our appetites.
On Monday morning after a trip to two grocery stores, we cleared out with customs and immigration, checked e-mail and headed out to see north bound. Our next port was the former capitol city of Martinique, St. Pierre. St. Pierre was destroyed by a volcano on May 8, 1902. Eighteen ships and hundreds of smaller crafts were sunk in the bay that fateful Sunday morning, along with nearly thirty thousand human beings perished within minutes. There were no real warnings, just the exploding mountain spewing lava and rocks, volcanic ash raining down, steam where the lava boiled the ocean. In minutes the capitol city was not just ablaze, but was eradicated with very few survivors and huge catastrophic results. The capitol was moved and built to the south and St. Pierre came back as a town of deep wounds and memories.
We dropped anchor in the bay two hours before sunset in front of the small cathedral. Half a dozen boats shared the anchorage.
We went ashore at the pier which was at the market and town square and walked for several hours around, Darlene popping into small stores excited like a little girl in a new dress on Sunday morning. A wine here, a small two cup glass teapot there, another cheese and an ice cream and many smiles exchanged as the local dog followed us for a while hoping for attention, a home on our fine craft and morsels from our tables. The sunset was spectacular and the atmosphere and mood romantic. This port by far has been our most special.
