Martinique – A Story by Vanessa

My sister did not enjoy working at the Pizzeria like I did, insisting that she would rather work on Nik’s tug than the restaurant any day. It just so happened that Nik was taking the tug and barge to dry-dock in Martinique between Christmas and Old Year’s, and my sister begged to go; a certain boy she fancied would be on board and that, I am sure, is why she wanted to travel as crew! Our mother agreed she could go, but only if I also went. I was apprehensive at first; we already spent 2 hours a day, 5 days a week on a boat, why would we want to spend even more time on one? What was in it for ME?

The trip there was uneventful, we went to sleep and awoke as the tug and barge approached Martinique. The crew was busy and there was wasn’t much for us to do, so Rachie and I settled down in the hot T.V. room and tuned into a French soap opera, which I jokingly called “Opera de Soap”. Rachie was angsty and I was bored, so we played Celine Dion’s new CD “Falling into You” over and over and OVER.

Once the tug and barge were in dry-dock Nik gave us coveralls and a job. I was much too small for the coverall, the arms and legs had to be rolled several times but it was pretty comfy! Our task was to clean and organize a space at the stern called a lazarette, which is where all the rope was stored. I don’t know how good a job we did – the grease was so thick it seemed like we were merely smearing it around. However, Nik was pleased with our efforts and sent us to help paint the deck.

Workmen came on board to install a new generator in the now semi-clean lazarette as well as air-con in the T.V. room. One was a young apprentice named Alexis, and he took a shine to me in my grease and paint-spattered overalls. He approached Nik, the only one on board who could speak French;

“I want to talk to that girl’.

“So then talk to her!”

“But I speak French and she does not”.

“So, teach her French!”

This is how I ended up having French lessons from a boy who was not, in fact, interested in talking to me (he had other ideas for our mouths), and the only French I came away with was ‘qu-est ce que tu veux faire’!    Now, you may think that having a fling with a young French guy sounds romantic, but after the second day it got annoying, and the language barrier proved too hard. Being cooped up on a boat kissing a guy was what my SISTER had signed up for, and her constant playing of the Celine Dion CD while I did the kissing instead was, I am sure, getting on everyone’s nerves!

Nik arranged for one of his friends to take us on a tour of the island. He was a nice man, and happily drove two exceedingly grumpy girls around Martinique. We weren’t typical Caribbean tourists; we already lived on a tropical island, and weren’t interested in the usual touristy things. Every time we passed a beach our guide would point it out and say, “beautiful beach”, but his thick French accent made it sound like “beautiful bitch”. We roared with laughter and, when we got back to the boat, we didn’t talk about the cool ruins we had seen, just said “beautiful bitch” and laughed our heads off.

Friends of Nik’s invited us for dinner that night. This was my first introduction to European dining, and in true fashion dinner was late. VERY late. If you know me, you know that I like to dine early and then retire early. Both would be denied me that night, and I became quite “hangry”. Everyone spoke French, and I started longing for the tug and the Celine Dion CD!  Finally, we sat down to eat, and Nik announced in English that I had been having lessons from a young fellow and could now speak some French. Everyone looked at me and my face turned red. Thanks Nik! When someone asked me a question en Francais I responded in PERFECT French.

“Qua!?”

I guess those lessons weren’t so useless after all!

On our last day we were allowed into the town of Fort de France. This was the REAL reason I had agreed to come: shopping! One crew member was assigned as our “minder”, and with our wage of 50 Francs each we perused the shops. I chose a beautiful white dress, while Rachie opted for something a bit flashier. We happily packed our purchases and got ready for the trip home. By the time we arrived in Bequia it was getting dark, and we immediately disembarked with a “nothing to declare” wave and went home to our beds.

The next day was Old Year’s, and I proudly showed Mummy my new French dress. After admiring my purchase, she turned to Rachie and asked what SHE had bought.

“Fireworks” she answered.

Mummy and Nik laughed and laughed. Rachie, unbeknownst to everyone on board, had managed to smuggle in fireworks illegally. Nothing to declare indeed! We were the most popular kids on the island that night, at least for about half an hour!