I had been to the French Island of Martinique a few times, enough to know my way around the Port of Fort de France. I knew where the best restaurants were located, and how to get to the large supermarket outside of town. It was easy to get to the Island back then, Air Martinique flew from St. Vincent via St. Lucia regularly and no visa was necessary. I loved going to Martinique, it gave me a break from the Pizzeria and an opportunity to buy some great French food and clothing!
Mac and I had friends visiting from Canada, and as Francie had never been to Martinique we decided to treat ourselves to a “ladies trip”. Mac and Kari would look after the three children in our absence as long as we returned with French cheeses, baguette and pate, something we would have done anyway! I booked flights and made reservations at Le Bakoua, a hotel across the bay from Fort De France, and with high spirits we left our husbands and children to have a fun ladies’ week-end in Martinique.
The flight to Martinique was short, and after checking into the hotel Francie and I took a ferry across the bay to Fort de France for lunch. I wanted to find a particular restaurant I had heard about, one that the tourists didn’t know existed, and after a few wrong turns we were climbing the steps to L’Escalier. The restaurant was very busy, with not a tourist in sight, and I knew at a glance that we were in for a treat.
Oh my, the food at that little French restaurant was exquisite. After trying some of the delicious appetizers Francie and I moved on to the main course, drinking excellent wine as we savored our meals. All the patrons were French, and the chatter from the other tables was loud and cheerful. No-one seemed to be in a hurry to get back to work, the food was being discussed and enjoyed at a leisurely pace. Francie and I took our time, lingering over profiteroles and excellent coffee until the restaurant had emptied. It was definitely time for a nap!
We took the ferry back to the hotel and went to our rooms for a mid-afternoon snooze. We had meant to shop after lunch but that would have to wait, the food and wine had made us too lazy. We agreed to meet up in the lobby in a few hours, hopefully refreshed from our naps.
That evening we went to the Hotel’s bar for a sunset cocktail. I asked Francie what time she wanted to go out for supper and she said, “how can you even THINK about eating again after that big lunch??” Well, I had not come to Martinique to miss a meal, the food was too good, and told Francie we could stroll around Les Trois-Iles until we had worked up an appetite.
I should have listened to Francie. The restaurant we finally stopped at that night served us some bad crab, and we were as sick as DOGS the next day. We knew we had to go to the supermarket, we had promised our husbands French cheeses, baguette and pate, and late in the afternoon we took the ferry (which was not fun with queasy stomachs!) and then a taxi to go grocery shopping. We were leaving the next morning, it was that afternoon or never.
As I pushed my cart down the aisles of the supermarket the food odors made me even more nauseous. My hearing was amplified so that even the smallest noise made me jump, and my eyes weren’t working properly, colored spots kept appearing in front of them. With sweat rolling down my face I loaded my cart with smelly cheeses and pates, and after selecting some bread I headed for the checkout counter. I met up with Francie pushing her loaded cart, and noticed that she had sweat running down her face as well. Without a word we left our carts in the aisle and ran outside, where to the disgust of the waiting taxis we puked our guts out by the curb.
It wasn’t easy to get a ride back to the hotel. We DID manage to retrieve and pay for our groceries, but none of the drivers wanted us in their taxis, they had seen us in action and wanted nothing to do with us. We had to beg and offer a lot of money until finally, with our heads hanging out the back windows and a French driver screaming at us not to puke in his car, we made it to the hotel. Taking a taxi to town and then the ferry would have been faster and much cheaper, but the ferry ride at that point was out of the question!
When Francie and I got back to Bequia the next day we were still pretty green around the gills. The French pilots had smoked pungent-smelling Gauloises cigarettes non-stop during the flight which hadn’t helped. When our husbands helped us off the ferry in Port Elizabeth they asked if we had had enjoyed our trip. Looking at Francie I said, “Well, lunch the first day was pretty good”. For some reason that struck us as funny, and Francie and I laughed until we cried.
What time. Oh dear 😳