Last day in paradise

One final day of discoveries before we hop on a plane to our next destination. One more day of experiencing all that we can, all the sights, smells, and tastes of these beautiful islands, memories to file away, so that when the snow gets too high, or the nights too dark, we can take them out and savour all the goodness in them, at least until the next time we find ourselves in Guadeloupe.

One good thing about Guadeloupe: everything is within a short drive of where you are. From Le Moule, where we are staying, it's barely a 20-minute ride to the other side of Grande-Terre and the town of Petit-Canal, for one more hike in the rainforest. We pass some of our old haunts as we go, recognizing shops and gas stations, a brightly-coloured hindu temple and a wall of graffiti...We arrive at the Boucle de Deville hiking trail, on a ecological  reserve set in place to protect the last real forest in this area. All the other have long ago been transformed into agricultural lands. Right from the start, you can tell this area is different from the other hikes we have been on - the trees are younger, the vines are less present, the giant leaves of the tropical plants are less gigantic - there is less rainforest growth, period. Mario finds it resembles the deciduous forests in North America, which begs the questions: if Guadeloupe never experiences fall or winter, when do the leaves fall and renew themselves on these trees? Another thing we notice is the continued presence of the mud we have become accustomed to on our hikes - caking up our shoes, trailing up the backs of our legs, glooping all over the trail. Here, the mud holds tight to the form of our boots, building up and adding more weight to every step, requiring frequent stops to scrape it off. And just when we think the trail is drying out, we round a bend and are presented with ANOTHER mucky puddle.

The trail itself is a good one - flat and easy, weaving its way between fields of sugar cane, under the shade of the raisinier trees, the bois d'inde perfuming the air with its spicy incense-like scent. We pass many murky ponds, watering holes for the cattle chained here and there in the pastures we see, always in the company of their garde-boeuf bodyguard birds. We try to guess the varieties of flowers and plants that we pass, relying on the what we remember from our tour of the Deshaies botanical gardens, and failing miserably. Ultimately, it is a nice hike, and great way to commune with nature one last time.

Next, a few brief stops along the Route des Exclaves: First we pause for a few moments of reflection at the stairway of the slaves, also in Petit-Canal. It is meant to be a memorial to the abolition of slavery in 1848, the stairs themselves having been used to move people in from the nearby port. There is some beautiful contemporary artwork in the nearby park down below, and a large church crowns the top of the staircase.

Next, we cross Grande-Terre completely, to visit the slaves' cemetery in Sainte-Marguerite. The area was only recently discovered, and deemed to be a cemetery for the slaves, given the placement of the bones and the lack of ritual on a good part of the buried. A great deal was done to protect the site from erosion, as it is located next to the ocean on the windward side of the island, as it is such an important part of the history of the Guadeloupe people. There is even an indian burial ground discovered UNDER the larger slave cemetery!

On our way back to the bungalow, we stop at a little local beach, the Plage de la Baie. It is in a sheltered little inlet, so the water is still and nice for swimming, but murky and warm, much like swimming in a lake. We walk along the shore and look for little fish and crabs hiding in the seaweed, and laugh at a quartet of Swiss bagpipers attempting to play in unison(and in tune). Sounding more like a chorus of squawking ducks, their every note elicits laughter from the two of us, though muffled by our beach towels, trying to be polite.

Tonight, there is a night market in Saint-Francois, so we return to browse around the town. The stalls, set up in a circle around the Marché de la Rotonde, are much like those of the daytime market: bottles of flavoured rums, bags of spices, sticks of cinnamon and vanilla pilled into baskets, all manner of clothing made of the popular and brightly-checked "Madras" fabric. There are also some local artisans making more authentic and original crafts, and just outside, farmers selling their wares from the back of pick-up trucks, bananas and coconuts, manioc and breadfruit aplenty. We stop at a few food stalls, choosing plump little "boudins creole", spicy blood sausages, and stuffed chayote for dinner, and snack on a bag of accras dumplings as we shop. Again, we take in the hustle and bustle, the sights and smells of the food stalls, the sounds of far-away drums on a basketball court where a local carnaval group is practicing their rhythm. The sounds follow us back to our little bungalow in our well-manicured garden on the outskirts of town. Well into the night, we can hear the banging of drums and melody of the horns on the breeze, as the chirping frogs lull us into our last sleep in paradise.