Bonjour Martinique

I took German at school.  To 7th form, some of you will find hard to believe.  All I can remember is a really useless phrase that was the beginning of a speech I had to memorise for an exam.  So French...I know nothing.  Bonjour and Merci are the extent of my vocabulary.  Gary told me that he took French at school so I was lured into a false sense of security.

We have seen one boat we really like, but decided to head to Martinique to see the beneteau 473 that is on the top of our list to make sure we have seen everything before we offer.  To get to Martinique we had to fly to San Juan in Porto Rico first, then fly on.  An exceptionally expensive journey!  We quickly learn that Porto Rico is actually America, and we again brave customs and beg to be let into the states so we can fly on.  

We fly into Martinique at 10.30pm.  I attempt to tell the taxi driver the name of our hotel, but resort to writing it down.  We searched for our hotel on expedia with two criteria. 1: price and 2: vicinity to the airport.  The map told us that the hotel was only 7km from the airport.  What a lie!  After 30 minutes of driving into the middle of nowhere, I begin to question whether the taxi driver is instead taking us to his lair to disembowel us! However, just around the corner and 60 Euro later (!!!) we arrive at our hotel.  It is dark and we can't appreciate our surrounding entirely.  The hostess is absolutely lovely though.  "Bonjour" she says.  "Bonjour" I reply with great enthusiasm.  She then continues to speak to us quickly in fluent French.  At first I wonder whether my "Bonjour" was just a little too convincing and she thinks I'm French, but quickly realise that she doesn't speak a word of English.  After some impromptu sign language, we manage to understand enough for her to feel satisfied that she has done her duty at explaining the room's utilities.

We woke to an orchestra of birds and bugs.  We looked out our window to find an absolutely fantastic view of the ocean.  We are on top of a hill, with 180-degree views.  The hotel is charming and so French.  We took heaps of photos for you, but unfortunately our camera card got corrupted so we lost them all! So here is a link to the hotel:  http://www.tripadvisor.com/Hotel_Review-g147329-d574095-Reviews-Domaine_de_l_Anse_Ramier-Trois_Ilets_Martinique.html

We ventured to the local corner store and bought a bag of baguettes for breakfast.  We had a meeting with the broker at 9, so quickly make the uphill slog back to the hotel.  As we stumbled into the hotel gates we saw the broker pull up.  Sweating and exhausted, we fell into his car and headed for the boat.  Thankfully, the broker spoke a little English so we were able to converse to some extent.  

After viewing the boat, we decided to head back into the small town and eat lunch.  It is about 3pm, a little late, but there are a number of cafes on the beach so we were confident we could find something.  The menus are all in French.  I ask Gary what things mean, but he is unable to translate.  We spent so long attempting to unravel the menu, deciding to go with the "sandwich" as this is the only word we understand, that the kitchen had closed by the time we headed to the counter!  None of the other cafes were open either so we headed back to the corner store.

While looking at cheeses and saying "Fromage" very loudly to Gary (is that even French??), a nice French man comes up to me and starts talking...in French.  I look bewildered and shake my head.  I don't even know how to say, "I can't speak French". The words "no comprendo" are all that are coming to mind.  Gary is two feet away but does not come to my rescue.  The more uncomfortable I look, the more this man talks to me.  I end up very rudely running to hide behind Gary.  We join the line at the counter and my heart sinks as I see the man is now in front of us in the line.  He again turns around and tries to converse.  Gary finally says something about "compompa" and the man seems to understand that I have no idea what he is saying.  He STILL continues to talk to me in French.  I have a feeling that he is lecturing me on how I shouldn't come to France without knowing French, that I should go back to where I came from.  He then points at the French sticks that I am holding and says "deux baguette" and looks at me.  "Deux baguette" I reply.  His face lights up and he says again "deux baguette".  When I get to the front of the line, I say to the lady "duex baguette" and she laughs then says something non comprehensible.  I leave the shop feeling mortified and wishing I had taken French at school.  I berate Gary about not saving me, but apparently his French lessons were also a waste of time!

Our next obstacle was attempting to order a taxi for 6am the following morning.  I confidently told Gary that of course the taxi people will speak English, and I ring the number and say "Parlez-vous anglais?”  Apparently no one in Martinique speaks English.  I hand the phone to Gary and again run away.  He has little success either.  I resort to knocking on the flat next to us and again attempt my one French sentence (thanks Dad!).  Thankfully she understands me! but she too has little luck with the taxi company who can't understand the French woman on our bad skype line.  We decide to attempt to converse with the French Hostess and ask her to get us a taxi.  This again consists of sign language and misunderstandings.  But she finally understands and calls us a taxi.  She then points at a piece of paper that we surmise is the bill.  Gary runs off to get his wallet and I am stuck with the lovely French Lady.  She begins telling me something and pointing at the top of the door.  I am stumped at what the top of the door has to do with anything.  I shake my head, but all she can do is to continue to point at the top of the door.  By some miracle I realise she is telling me to put the keys through the slats in the top of the door when we leave in the morning.  "Oui! Oui!" I say and point at the set of keys on her desk.  She is overjoyed that I have understood her and throws her arms in the air.  Gary finally returns after what has felt like an eternity.  We pay our bill and go to leave.  She again points at the top of the door and I say "Oui!, Oui".  But my newfound confidence in French is shattered as I hear what is then coming out of my mouth as we walk out......"Auf wiedersehen"....What an idiot!

Christmas in the Caribbean

We have been so obsessed with boat hunting that today, Christmas day, we realise we haven't even been swimming yet!  We grab our togs and towels and head for the beach.  The beach is empty when we arrive, somewhat unusual for a holiday we think.  We pick a spot under one of the thatched gazebos and bake in the sun.

After some time in the sun, we decide we should brave the water.  We remembered the ease at which we had slid into the lukewarm water last time we were here in 2008.   Maybe we have acclimatised to the heat here already, because it took us a good 10 minutes to get fully immersed!  Once in, we realise just how warm it is - about 28 degrees.  Not half bad.

Gary is invited by a boatie to go snorkelling around the reef just off the beach.  I sit and read my book and watch the comings and goings on the beach.  For the first time in a very long time, I realise that I am not worrying or thinking about much, I am just being.

 

Gary returns from his snorkel and heads off with his new friend to grab a beer of his boat.  They return with another boatie, this time a captain off a massive 65 ft Swan.  We talk boats for a while and then get invited for the grand tour.  The Swan is amazing, gleaming red with teak decks.  Down below she is fully kitted out.  Under bed night lights that glow onto the floor, a washer/dryer, and a crew cabin forward that looked just about as good as the master cabin in the boats we are looking at!

On our strict budget, we eat bread and cereal for lunch but head to Pegg Legs for dinner.  After dinner we ask for the bill, only to be told the credit card has declined.  I hand over all our money, down to the last dollar, which thankfully just covers the bill.  We call the bank and are told that the fraud team has put a hold on my credit card for suspected fraud.  Who knew you were meant to call your bank and inform them you were heading overseas before you go?  not me aparently!  We can't remove the hold on the card until Wednesday NZ time when the fraud team is back in the office after Christmas.  Looks like more bread and cereal for the next few days!

Off to bed now, got to get to some sleep before the damn rooster wakes us up at 5am.  Gary wants to buy a shot gun for that rooster.

Tortola - St Martin and back again!

We have spent the last week frantically looking at boats in Tortola and St Martin.

I have fallen in love with the Beneteau 50,5, but Gary is firmly on the 473.  One of the boats I was trying to convince Gary on was unfortunately full of cockroaches!

We are now in St Martin, which we have decided is our favourite Island so far.  The dutch side is very developed with a casino at every corner (as well as “adult entertainment”...).  The French side is much more laid back, and full of patisseries instead.  In St Martin, a 30 minute taxi ride costs $30 (and they don’t expect a tip), whereas in Tortola a 10 minute trip is $20. What we have saved in taxis we’ve spent on crossaints!

We took a walk from our hotel, Captain Oliver’s, over the hill to a little patisserie overlooking the Atlantic ocean.  The patisserie was once part of a fancy resort, which is now abandoned.  We bought some fancy French goodies and sat by the now empty pool and took in the view. 

We are now on our way back to Tortola, where we will spend 10 days and make some decisions about boats.

The long long trip to the caribbean part 2

The trip to New York was not bad, and made it just in time to join the flight to St Thomas. The St Thomas plane made it to the runway, but the engine would not start. Two hours of sitting in the plane on the tarmac later, we begin the 5 hour flight to St Thomas.

We step off the plane to perfect weather and a fantastic 27 degrees. We manage to share a taxi with a bunch of Americans heading to the ritz. One of the ladies in the taxi was a producer from Gossip Girl...if that means anything to anyone. Despite sharing the taxi, the driver ripped us off nicely charging $30 for the 10 minute trip to the ferry building.

We took the fast ferry to Tortola. In usual caribbean style it is clapped out and we sit next to the open cracked window. Unfortunately the ferry attendants also forget to give us the entry and customs forms as we enter the ferry. The very angry customs lady leaves her post to find more forms, resulting in even more angry fellow passengers waiting in line.

We take a taxi to Nanny Cay (pronounced Nunny Key apparently) where we will be spending the
next few days. Confused after the long 45 hour journey, I hand the driver $25 which in my head was the $15 fare plus 20% tip. Gary now laughs at me and says I should have just given him a clean 100% tip. Whoops.

We eat a quick dinner and head back to the room to sleep.

The long long trip to the Carribean - Part 1

Our adventure began at 4.30pm on a rainy Saturday afternoon in New Zealand.  After a tearful goodbye to friends and family we are on our way (complete with a laminated picture of Ollie the dog and "the Friends Family" Christmas shot).
  
Perhaps Customs knows more about Gary than I do - he was "randomly selected" for both the pat down search at customs, and was taken away for a random drugs check at the gate prior to boarding.  He assures me it wasn't as thorough a search as my imagination pictured.  Then when we reached US customs he managed to get stopped for a luggage search.  He came out clean for the record...

Despite Air New Zealand's seating revamp, the economy seats remain desperately uncomfortable.  Thanks to the yoga classes, my new found flexibility enabled me to contort myself into a somewhat bearable sleeping position for about an hour.  Gary (sans yoga experience) attempted an upside down manoeuvre unsuccessfully.  The airline hostess (and surrounding passengers) were less than impressed at his next attempt to sleep on the floor.  Suffice to say, we are not our usual chipper selves upon arriving at the San Francisco airport.

While it feels like we have been in transit forever already, we have only completed leg one of our four leg journey to BVI.

We will keep you posted...