Chasing Windmills

The day started with a map and a car and a good amount of rum, and went on from there. Because in the islands, what better way to start your day that with a glass or two of arguably the best rum in the world? Away we went, map in hand, rum distillery our goal, and nothing but time to drive around this beautiful little island.

Marie-Galante reminds me of driving in the Montérégie area of Québec - short distances, rolling hills, great views, lots of agriculture. Here it is the same, except the plants are tropical, and the views dotted with defunct windmills, leftover from the time of slavery, when they were used to press the sugar cane. And the rolling hills are covered in sugar cane, just about ready for the harvest come February, when rum production begins for the year.

Of 3 distilleries on the island, Bielle is the most popular, but for good reason - their rums have been winning honors since the mid-nineties. Theirs is also one of the most potent, clocking in a whopping 59 proof, but you wouldn't know it -this stuff is smooth. We briefly toured around the grounds, checking out the machinery using in the processing and distilling of the cane syrup, but really, we're here for the rum, so we wandered over to the tasting counter just in time for a big rain shower to hit. Under the wide canopy, we were perfectly dry and perfectly happy to be sampling our rums. We went through the whole range, white and dark, aged and oaked, flavoured and fruity. We knew we liked the basic white, since we had tried it in our ti-punch last night, but we also really enjoyed a 40th anniversary aged dark rum, which was smooth and rich, and I had a soft spot for the Shrubb, an orange peel-flavoured rum liqueur, specialty of Guadeloupe and great for around the holidays. We filled up the trunk with bottles, ready for the drive to continue, but not before picking up some snacks from the vendors in the parking lot, some fish-filled pastries and more of the molasses-spice cacaboeuf cookies(because they look like cacaboeuf).

Continuing along, we detoured inland to visit one of the only restored windmills on the island, le Moulin de Bézard. Unfortunately, it seems that the upkeep of the facilities has been lacking since my guidebook was printed(in 2014), and thought the moulin is still in good shape, the rest of the area is in complete shambles! The shops, ticket book and washrooms are now all skeletons of their former selves, the walkway crumbling and broken. A fence had been erected to protect the site, but it, too, is now in pieces and falling over, basically allowing anyone free access to the grounds. But the windmill is still cool!

At this point, the drive because somewhat of a hunting trip, searching the countryside for errant windmills. Sadly, most are in such a state of disrepair and neglect that they are virtually invisible from the road, resembling more a cluster of trees if you don't know any better. We spotted a second large windmill, le Moulin d'Agapy, lacking its roof and blades but with stone structure still intact. Inside, trees and vines were taking over where gears and turn shafts once stood. Across the street, the ruins of the old farmhouse, shape still discernible, but trapped in the roots of an old tree. The wooden window frame had even remained intact under the force of nature taking hold, and as we explored, large hermit crabs crawled for cover.

We stopped our hunt briefly for a visit to Gueule Grande Gouffre, a large eroded hole in the coastline where the turquoise blue ocean could crash through. The wind was fierce, and so we didn't stay for very long. Onwards we continued, still searching for the elusive windmills. We caught sight of another large one on the map, and the end of a short hiking trail. We should've know when it took 3 tries just to find the hiking trail that this would not be an easy catch. Moulin Merlet offered fantastic views of the coastline and turquoise waters below, so up the trail we climbed, first through a vine-filled tropical forest, then onto flat stone roads through fields, cresting finally on a paved road in front of a rather large - and new - house with a magnificent view of the valley below. Though we continued along this road for a while, avoid poison trees and barking dogs, we found no windmill, nor sign that a windmill had ever even been there. We believe that the nice big house, seemingly new construction, may have possibly taken its place. Disheartened, we returned to the car.

To refresh our spirits and relax our minds, we stopped for lunch at a gorgeous beach, Anse du Vieux Fort, where our picnic table overlooked a small deserted island floating in the middle of the sea, and where a sand-coloured dog shared our sandwiches with us, feasting on chunks of baguette. We took a little walk in a wild and crazy mangrove forest, again avoiding poison trees - I even changed my shoes! Then we followed the road until we turned at the sign for Siblet, continued until the house with the red roof, and turned left into the driveway that led to our little yellow and green bungalow. Time for a ti-punch.

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 This evening, we headed back into Grand-Bourg, where we first landed, to stroll about town and find somewhere to eat. Turns out, everything closes after lunch, and doesn't actually reopen again until the next morning. Sure, some place are open tonight, since the last ferries are coming in, but you can really only get something to drink there, and no food is being served. We ask on gentleman where we can grab a bite, and he points out a pizza place, the only restaurant in town serving food, He also gestures to the marina parking lot, filled with a line of food trucks - or lolos, as he calls them - and says we can always try there. Between the smell of pizza baking and a scooter rental shack being moved, we found ourselves a table and snacked on agoulou sandwiches and crepes, and watched the world go by. We mused at how the scooter shack was going to fit on the back of the crane truck at all, and when it did, sideways, we wondered how it would get through the narrow city streets! We returned home to find our bungalow covered in a blanket of stars, and basked in the cool breezes of Marie-Galante.