The quest for NYE dinner.

 

Everything we did today, all our excursions and adventures, inadvertently led to this one wonderful, 3-course dinner lead-up to ringing in the New Year. Let me tell you the story: 

When arriving at a new location, one of the first tasks to undertake is finding the nearest grocery store and stocking up. Our hosts at this guesthouse were nice enough to leave us the makings of a simple pasta dinner for our first meal, se we didn't have to worry too much, but this morning, food purchasing is the first thing on our minds. Luckily, we know this island well, so finding the store was easy - grocery-shopping, on the other hand was not. It is New Year's Eve, after all, and tomorrow, everything is closed, so the entire island's population is out buying fancy ingredients and drinks for their humble family parties tonight. Yes, you read right - no fancy outings here, either, as all bars and clubs are closed, and restaurants are limited in seating. Plus, the vaccine passport is more a effective deterrent here as not a lot of the population has one. 

Regardless, the shelves of our local store were emptying fast, so we tried to cobble together a nice dinner from what was left, and tasty-looking: some dry saucisson, a terrine of smoked salmon, melba crackers...Yeah, not very inspiring, I know, but with another helping of Henry's chicken, it would be special enough. Plus, we may have splurged and bought a bottle of Moet et Chandon Champagne from the grocery store, too, because why not? 

So empty shelves meant less selection, but also meant less fruits and vegetables, so we drove back into Grand-Bourg to a fresh fruit grocer I remembered from 3 years ago. Thankfully, they had a lot more selection, and we filled a bag with watermelon, cantaloupe, pineapple, bananas...I was happy. Then we exit the store, and right across the street is a large menu board advertising a 3-course NYE menu, put together by the Brin d'Iles caterer. Mario and I were both interested, but neither acted, and so off we went to bring our trunkful of groceries back to the guesthouse.

Insert here a food decontamination session (yes, we still wash all our groceries before use), during which I may have bathed the bottle of Moet et Chandon extra gently before storing it in the fridge for later tonight.

Well, apparently Mario and I both had the same idea, because as we packed our stuff in the car to head out to the beach for the day, we both suggested heading back into town to further investigate the New Year's Eve dinner option at Brin d'Iles! We went in to inquire, and were greeted by a kooky French lady who immediately knew we were from Quebec, and was unsure whether it was too late to still order the meal(it was 1 pm), so she referred us to chef Michel in the back. Chef Michel was more than accommodating, wanting to make our night with his tasty meal, and of course agreed that there would be more than enough food for us. Hourray! We agreed to come back later to pick up our meal.

Insert here a rather annoying interlude with the rental car, where all the electrical sensors went dead, then all flashed on at once, causing unnecessary panic and forcing us to return to the port to trade it in for another one. Sadly, it was not an upgrade - I'll leave it at that.

Back in town to pick up our meal, and put it in the fridge right away(!), and we FINALLY headed out to the beach that we had been trying to get to all day. We had just enough time to enjoy a quick relaxing dip in the calm, cool waters before the sun began its decent to the horizon, and we sat on the sand and watched as the last rays of light disappeared beneath the waves.

Back to that wonderful, 3-course New Year's Eve dinner. We decided, rather than save the fancy bottle of Champagne for midnight, and be too tired to enjoy more than a glass worth of it, we would open it with dinner and enjoy it with the entire meal, because it's already midnight somewhere, right? Out came each course, dishes prepared in cardboard take-out boxes, which I carefully transferred onto plates for a more elegant presentation. That is probably a little overkill, as we are in a guesthouse, where the plates and cutlery are colourful and mismatched as it is. We even managed to find the bread sticks made by Foggéa bakery back in Sainte-Rose to accompany our first course!

New Year's Eve menu:

Rillettes de poisson chemisées au saumon fumé, accompagnées de salade et flûtes de pain Foggéa

Magret de canard caramelisé à l'ananas, avec haricots verts, patates rissolées et timbale aux légumes mystères(because it was delicious, but we seriously have NO idea what was in it!)

Brochette de fruits flambée

And we rang in the New Year quietly, sipping Champagne while watching a few haphazard fireworks go off down by the water in Grandbourg, but it was just as special. And 1 hour early, because Daylight Savings, y'all. Happy 2022, we're going to bed.

The trip to Marie-Galante

 Mario once said, "Home is where the wifi connects automatically". We've been to a few places in the world now, and some repeats, so this statement is especially true for some of our more preferred stops. This evening, once we unpacked and settled in at the Ti-Punch guesthouse on Marie-Galante for the 2nd time, I opened up my computer and, sure enough, I was already online. And it felt like coming home, though it was quite the trip to get here - let me rewind a bit.

This morning, back in Sainte-Rose, we were joined by a whole chorus of birds for breakfast, flitting around the hibiscus, coming in the kitchen window. I tried feeding them some of my granola, but they were having none of it.  I tossed all of my clothing down from the loft bedroom down to the living area to making packing easier. It was quite the mess. Needless to say, around 11, Mario and I were all packed and ready to head out. We said a final goodbye to Yves and Martine, our hosts, who had been lovely and welcoming the entire time, even inviting us back before we fly home, to taste the cacoa pods ripening on the tree! Then we booted along the rain-soaked roads into Sainte-Rose, to waste a few hours before the ferry to Marie-Galante.

First, we chose to while away the hours at the CreoleArt Museum, a very well put together museum by a local man who wanted to share his Guadeloupean heritage and upbringing with the world. We drank Kako peyi, a local "brut" hot chocolate drink, while we learned about medicinal plants of the country, some even having scientific studies to back up their claims. We waited out a short rainstorm under the protection of a sun shelter, and watched as a line of manioc ants decimated a nearby flowering plant.

We walked past 32 displays of Guadeloupe culture, representing each of the 32 municipalities on the island, then admired the tools shed of the founder, passed down to him from his grandfather. All of the creole culture on display in this museum comes from the founder's youth, learned through his upbringing living with his grandparents. 

There were some life-sized dioramas of the discovery of the Guadeloupe islands, as well as some depicting day-to-day life. This including such common tasks as coffee picking and roasting, cocoa bean picking and roasting, manioc grating and cooking, washing dishes or laundry with specific leaves, even the soft cotton-y ones once used as a natural toilet paper! These are all practices that still exist on the island, but as all old methods and traditions go, they are slowly losing ground to modern conveniences. This was the ultimate goal of the creation of this museum - creating a sort of time capsule of a day-to-day life in Guadeloupe that doesn't exist anymore. Mario and I really enjoyed it.

With still more time to waste before our delayed ferry(we got pushed to the late departure), we headed along the coast to Plage de la Perle, one of our favorite spots, and really not that far away at all. We packed our lunch, left our shoes in the car, and just strolled up and down the smooth sandy beach. We passed a group of military cadets likely on a practice mission on the beach, hammocks tied between the supports of gazebos, socks hanging everywhere. The entire group was in the water, splashing and frolicking in some particularly rough waves. We found a log under a tree, and sat down for lunch just as another band of rain rolled through. We'd been having short burst of rain all morning, so really, it was a good day to be travelling. 

We left the beach behind, the cadets and the kassav vendor. We left the cows with their bodyguard birds ,and the sugar can fields in bloom, and made our way to the big city of Pointe-à-Pitre. We exchanged the rental car for place on a big ferry, and, packed in like sardines, we crossed some rather rough seas to the sleepy island of Marie-Galante. 

This will be our home for the next week - in a guesthouse on the hillside above Grandbourg, with an outdoor living room and great view of the ocean. We breathed a sigh of relief when we finally arrived and tore off our masks after the long trek. No sooner did we dump our bags and we were back out again, down the hill into town, to Henry's Grill, to pick up our favorite poulet boucané with fries for dinner. His place is still happening 3 years on, though he is no longer cooking in the massive fireplace in the back, opting instead for 2 large smokers on the side of his shack. And the stream of people stopping for their chicken was constant. I am glad that some things don't change - it was nice coming home.

Adventuring in the Grand Cul-de-Sac Marin

The pastry mission was a success this morning - Mario came back to bed early this morning, proud to report he had acquired 2 delicious pains au chocolat from the bakery on the corner. They were delicious, so we'll be repeating the mission again tomorrow, just to make sure. 

In related news, we had several success errands in the town of the Sainte-Rose: first, to the post office to buy stamps, which will be needed to send postcards to a special someone back home. Next, to the tourism office for postcards, who sent us to the photo shop next door where Mario bought much-needed sunglasses, who sent us to the librarie next to the them where we eventually found said postcards. And I bought a cooking magazine, because why not? Regardless, we got all the things we had been looking for, so hourray for us! Time for some adventure!

We originally chose to stay in Sainte-Rose because of its proximity to the Grand Cul-de-Sac Marin, a marine nature reserve classified as a National Park in Guadeloupe, as well as designated and protected as a biosphere reserve by UNESCO. It houses immense islands comprised purely of mangroves, coral reefs which house a whole rainbow of tropical fish, as well habitats for tons of sea birds. Of course, there are plenty of tours to visit this wonder, of all shapes and sizes, and Mario and I had browsed the options a bit, but had not really committed to anything pre-travel. Once we arrived in Sainte-Rose, however, our Airbnb hosts casually mentioned one outfit in particular that offered individual and private boat tours with swimming, snorkeling and island-hopping, and the more we looked into it, the more we were sold on the idea. So we booked. (Coincidentally, the company is run by our hosts' son!)

After this morning's errands about town, we headed down to the port to meet up with our guide, Richard, and the rest of the group. Richard hooked us up with all the gear we needed for the day - rain gear, mask, snorkel and fins, pool noodles, and a waterproof barrel in which to stash all our delicate equipment (would have been a good thing to have in yesterday's rain!). Then we all headed down to the dock, where we were given a briefing on how to drive our motorboats. Yes, you read right, we toured in individual boats that we piloted ourselves. No boating license needed, and Richard was quick but concise with his instructions, making it really easy to pick up. He also took control during some of the more delicate navigation points, such as leaving the harbour, or winding through some of the narrower mangrove passages, by having the 4 boats hook up to his own, and towing us through in neutral. Very safe and easy.

We first toured through great mangrove islands, where once upon a time, slaves would hide to escape their captors. They would cover themselves in mud and crawl along the raised roots of the mangroves to evade capture, looking like ghosts, giving the mangroves a bad name. As a result, people saw the mangroves as a bad thing, and began cutting them, destroying the ecosystem, and removing one of the major protect elements in the harbour against things like tsunami destroying the towns. The reserve's UNESCO status protects the trees from cutting, as well as too much traffic due to tourism.

Trailing behind Richard's lead boat, we wound our way between "islands" of the trees with they roots in the water, learning about their growth, how they are nourished in salt waters, how the trees reproduce, and how the seed pods can float on the ocean for up to 1 year, still alive, hopping for somewhere to root. Popping out of the other side, we moved into high gear, bouncing along the waves to a white sand "island", l'ilet la Biche, where we saw new mangroves taking root in the sand, while small rays floated quietly by. 

Next, we headed out to an area know for coral reefs and seaweed "fields", and suited up in our snorkeling gear, we launched out of the boats to get a closer look. Richard pointed out different species of coral, indicated where to look for the schools of brightly-coloured tropical fish. He spotted a giant langouste in the rocks for us, and advised us not kick too vigorously over the spiny black urchins, lest we get our knees poked. I took way too many underwater pictures with Mario's camera, though they are likely all blurry, as the waves kept pushing me around. Our "school" of snorkelers floated back to the boats for one last stop. 

We finished the tour on l'îlet Blanc, a sand island created by Hurricane Hugo, and a perfect place for an afternoon drink. Richard floated a cooler to shore with him, and pulled out a bottle of Planter's Punch, a commonly-served drink here in Guadeloupe, and as refreshing as it is potent. Glasses in hand, our group of 12 discussed the obvious matters of the world, as it pertained to each of our respective home countries (France, Belgium, Canada), and then proceeded to hold hermit crab races with the tiny Bernard l'Hermite crabs running all over the beach. It was loads of fun, though probably more so because of the rum punch!  

After a final sprint through the water, we were towed back into the harbour, and sadly ended out fantastic tour. Richard was a great guide, entertaining, informative, but just accessible enough that we felt comfortable discussing with him about recent road blocks and manifestations against the government, to get a feeling of what was going on, that the news agencies weren't reporting. Also, we found it mildly entertaining that we had crossed paths with him several times prior to this excursion, since he came to the house every night for dinner! Mario had even befriended his dog! Too funny.

Well, that sadly brings an end to our stay here in Sainte-Rose. It is a really great base, not too touristy, and Mario and I could definitely spend more time here exploring, or just relaxing on all the beautiful beaches. We'll leave that for next time - tomorrow, we are catching the ferry to Marie-Galante for some hardcore relaxing. If Guadeloupe is super-chill in attitude, Marie-Galante is downright asleep. And we are looking forward to it. 

Doing battle against the waves

I watched a tiny green crab digging a hole in the sand today. Just on the edge of the surf, he would pull clawfuls of sand out and toss them onto the beach, always keeping an eye on the waves. Every so often, the water would creep higher - the little crab would dart back into the hole, and the wave would push the sand over him. But as soon as the ocean receded, out came the little crab again, pushing sand back out of the hole. He would even run at the waves, as if to say, "See, you can't keep me down, I will always get back up again."

Today, I felt just like that little crab. Life threw a few curveballs at me, and I had to keep digging myself out that little hole in the sand. Let me explain:

We discovered a bakery on the end of our street, and found out they had pain au chocolat in the morning. So this morning, bright and early, Mario slid quietly out of bed and made his way to buy us breakfast. Some time later, he came back and returned to bed, dejected. The pains au chocolat were all sold out, and he had returned empty-handed. We instead woke a little later, and made a delicious breakfast of scrambled eggs on baguette toast, even using up the leftover ham and cheese sandwich from yesterdays lunch in the dish. And it was delicious.

Afterwards, we headed out on a little hike we had planned. Nothing hard, just a walk along the littoral, from the Plage des Amandiers where we had ended our walk yesterday, around the coast to the Pointe Allègre, about 5 km away. Everything went fine - the hike was flat and dipped in and out of the forest, offering beautiful views of the coastline and beaches that we were walking along. We passed creole homes, tall palm trees, cows lounging in long grasses, protected by their "garde-boeuf" white egrets. But the wide vistas also offered another view, that of the sky, and clouds, and incoming storms that we watched along the horizon. They got closer as we headed further along the trail, and when we emerged on the plateau of the Pointe Allègre, the skies were grey, and the air filled with a mist that hinted at the imminent storm that was upon us. 

We decided to press on, hoping to find refuge in the trees that lined the Pointe. As the sky opened up, Mario fashioned a shelter for us from a piece of tin he found on the beach, and we sat there, watching the rain fall. During a break in the clouds, we scurried out and continued again along the trail, looking this time for shelter at the Plage de Clugny, hoping this time for real shelter, maybe a restaurant, maybe something else. We instead found heavier rain, and a hole in a tree where we hid camera, mobile, basically anything of value that we did not want to get wet. And that's where we stayed, for a little while, eating wet ham sandwiches and wiping the rain from our faces. It was...fun...no, it wasn't, but when thinking about how silly we must've looked, hanging around that tree, having our lunch, I can't help but laugh at the absurdity of it. 

We eventually got a long enough break in the storm to walk back to the Plage des Amandiers and hide all our gear in the car. Then we stripped off all our muddy wet clothes and jumped in the water. Boy, did it ever feel good! It was like all the stress of the situation washed off me with the mud. And then I just sat on the beach, and watched a little green crab trying to dig out his hole in the sand, all while doing battle with the ocean. 

Slowly getting back into things

Today, Mario and I began to relearn how to travel. Actually, it began last night, where a bizarre series of events, including a faulty circuit breaker, on again/off again air con system, spring-loaded mosquito net and a very loud cricket echoing throughout the house, may have delayed our sleep just a little bit. It felt like a scene out of a Mr. Bean travels to the Caribbean-style movie, and by the end of it all, we could nothing else but laugh at the absurdity of it. But I digress.

It began with relearning how to relax - but really relax. That meant no specific goals for the day, no alarms set, not appointments or reservations. We woke up when the sun shone brightly through the window, when the room got to warm for us sleep anymore. We lingered over a lazy breakfast of yogurt and granola(imported from home!), fresh fruit and coffee, while the birds flitted through the palms lining our patio (and through the kitchen window, searching for unattended food).

Somewhere around 11, we attempted to depart for a small hike along the coast, but a quick check of my email resulted in a few unexpected messages: cancellations that needed to be tended to. Once upon a time, we would make reservations and they would just happen. No questions asked. Now, being "connected" all the time, plans are in constant flux, as we experienced today with the cancellation of not one, but two ferry crossings, as well as one return flight back to Montreal. Luckily, all three were easily rescheduled at later times, but it just goes to show that, when travelling, you have to be ready for anything. A hour later, we finally headed out on that hike.

We learned that we have to listen more to our bodies, and to each other, and let that guide what we do with our time. Though the hike was short, we enjoyed every moment, stopping at Plage des Amandiers for a swim and a sandwich. As we sat on the sand, staring at the waves, we discussed the possibility of hiking further, and ultimately decided that maybe heading back was a better option, with the possibility of a cool shower and a rum tasting instead. Not a bad option, if you ask me!

We learned to take a chance on that "gut feeling", and try new and exciting things again. Yesterday, when doing the groceries, we noticed a little shack next to the parking lot, advertising roast chicken, creole blood pudding, codfish fritters, all hand scrawled on boards outside. Inviting, but otherwise looking rather boarded up and abandoned. We made a note of it, and vowed to return, because we've seen many a business in Guadeloupe that looks absolutely shut down on their days off. Sure enough, after some less-than-stellar rum tasting at Reimonenq, we headed back to the place, and the gate was open, the boards pulled off, and what I can only describe as a Guadeloupean Nonna was busying herself serving a table of Germans. She called to us from inside, beckoning us in, listing off her "plats du jour", or specials of the day. Today, she had 2 pots stewing in the back, Poulet Coco or Poulet Colombo, and told us to be patient while she carried the precious plates of food, one at a time, to the only table in the back, carefully wiping the edges clean of each one. She scooped rice and rich stew into containers, grabbed forks, and then insisted we taste the food before she packaged it up for us. She wanted to make sure we liked it, and of course it was more than delicious. I made sure to tell her that I had been waiting for this meal since we saw the sign yesterday, and her face lit up. With a final smile, and a heartfelt "Bon Appetit", she sent us on our
way. Dinner was extra delicious tonight.

So as I sit here, looking back over the day and remembering all of the little adventures we lived, I realize that maybe we didn't have to relearn all of these things - we know how to do them - we just had to remember that. And I think this trip is reminding us, a little more each day.

I am already looking forward to what tomorrow will bring. Hopefully it's not more very loud crickets!

Rediscovering how to do NOTHING

Today's mood: Salt water on my lips, ocean waves on the sand, the sun overhead warming my skin. 

Turns out, Mario and I are more worn out that we thought, and so today was all about doing nothing. For obvious reasons, we did no planning prior to this trip, with the exception of booking lodging and transportation. More importantly, we chose locations we had already visited, so there was very little need to "find" everything and get ourselves situated. Granted, we have never been to Sainte-Rose before, but our Airbnb hosts are incredibly helpful, making suggestions and giving directions on all manners of things, so we don't have to go looking ourselves. They point us in the right directions for the nearest grocery store, and so after a lazy breakfast, we stock up on supplies for the days ahead. 

Just after noon(yup, it's a lazy day!), we take a drive to one of our favorite beaches in the north of Basse-Terre, la plage de la Perle. You might know it from a little TV show called "Death in Paradise", as the location of the run-down shack that plays home to a whole string of detectives. Or maybe just 3 - I couldn't say, I haven't watched in a while! Regardless, it's a beautiful beach, with vast expanses of soft, flat sand on which to lay, crystal clear blue waters in which to play, and magnificent views of the island to admire while floating in the waves. 

Next to the beach, we stopped at a small metal shack, where inside, an elderly man cooks manioc flour cakes, called Kassavs. These flat galettes hide tasting filling like spicy ham and cheese, or grated toasted coconut, and they are a very local specialty, and especially good when eaten on the neighbouring beach with your toes in the sand! 

The weather was a bit iffy, so once the big grey clouds started looming a little to close, and we could see rain coming down over the "Perle" island in the not-too-far distance, we figured it was time to pack up and head back to the house for an afternoon break. And break we did, both falling asleep in the warmth of the afternoon, rain having past, air heavy with residual humidity. 

At this point we decided that maybe this was just what we needed: a break. No obligations, no appointments, nowhere to be. We wandered the neighborhood around the house in the evening, hoping for a sunset that remained hidden behind rain clouds. We cracked open our bottle of rum and tasted our first sip of rum agricole and guava juice this trip. We feasted on what would have been our Christmas dinner, had our hosts not been so thoughtful and generous, but fried pasta with garlic and sardines is also delicious, and reminds us of another meagre holiday meal once upon a time. And we capped of the evening with more Christmas cookies from home, a visit from a giant frog, and a little light reading of many tour guides. 

Tomorrow, we have plans. They might not be big, or spectacular, but they are plans. 

Letting go

 It was in that moment when I took my first step out of the plane door, down the stairs and onto the tarmac at Pointe-à-Pitre airport, when the warm, humid air hit my face, and the distinct smell of the tropics hit my nose, that I finally let go, and began to breath again. It was that breath that I have been holding for a while now - during the newscasts of the manifestations in Guadeloupe 3 weeks ago, the uptick in Omicron cases 2 weeks ago, the unexpected cold that hit both Mario and I last week, accompanied by rather stressful Covid tests and thankfully negative results. I held it during all our packing, during last-minute car rental bookings and during most of our activities leading up to Christmas, always wondering when the other shoe was going to fall, and our trip would be pulled out from under us.

But no. We walked through the corridors of the airport, and no one stopped us. We passed through security, collected our bags and no one stopped us. We took a shuttle to Magaloc car rental, collected a cheeky little Fiat Panda to zip around in, and no one stopped us. Was I in a dream? As we booted along the darkened roads, past houses glowing under the weight of way too many strings of Christmas lights, I repeatedly had to pinch myself, still not believing that we had succeeded, and we were now driving  in  Guadeloupe.  

When Mario and I pulled up in front of the place we would call for the next 5 days, surrounded by giant palms, we were greeted by our lovely hosts, and gifted with a magnificent (and unexpected)Christmas dinner of braised boar and patates au gratin. I still had to pinch myself. 

And now I sit here, full from my delicious Christmas feast, with Christmas cookies and panettone we toted along in our carry-on luggage, watching a performance of Cirque du Soleil's "O" on TV, while listening to the sound of the rain falling on the roof, and the chorus of Rainette frogs chirping outside. We've finally arrived, and I am over the moon happy that we made it. 

Never thought this would happen again!

 Well, it has finally happened. After so many months and years of being penned up in our own house, in our own town, in our own province, Mario and I are finally getting out. Like a self-imposed house arrest situation, we have kept to our own bubble, hoping to protect ourselves and others, but it has been a very difficult last year on both of us. Too much work, not enough time off, and our ability to constantly go, go, go, has turned us into two very tired people. 

And I know what some of you may thinking - this is not essential travel, you are putting yourselves and others at risk, you shouldn't be travelling. My answer? This trip is essential to us. On a besoin de décrocher - we need to unhook ourselves from this busy life for a few weeks, change our mindsets, heal our mental and physical health a little, to be able to do it all again when we get home, and who knows for how long. 

So as I sit here in the completely empty Air Transat area of the Montreal Trudeau airport (have to remind myself, it's been so long!), listening to the lilting melody of a far-of piano, I want to say thank you. Thank you to all of you who we've visited with in the past few weeks, part of cookie drop-offs and front porch greetings, who have supported our decision to fly, who have not criticized us for going anyways, who are all excited at the prospect to follow along, be it through Mario's Facebook posts or my ramblings. Knowing that you are behind us in this decision have made the weeks of stress leading up to this moment just a little more bearable.

 And when we raise that first sweet drink of Guadeloupe rum and guava juice to our lips, we will first toast to all of you, wishing you a very Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year, and all the health and happiness in the world for 2022, because really, it's all we really need right now.