A story about recollection

I was talking to a friend about writing this last post, this conclusion to all the stories I told of our travels over the past month. I explained how it was important for me to collect my thoughts together in this moment: between the return home and still being in that sweet, still-in-a-vacation mindset, but with one foot now in the real world, offering me a sort of removed clarity to look back on my adventures and appreciate them for what they are, and still not in the bitterness of a full-on back to work mindset. I pulled out my journal, in which I had been scribbling the thoughts and memories of 26 days, collected the receipts and thoughts and wrote out my list of souvenirs. For the first time since Mario and I have been travelling together, I did not do this on the plane, but really, there was no need, as we had bought so little to bring back with us, save our allowance of rhum agricole. This trip was not about souvenirs, about checking big experiences off a list like we often do when travelling to new locations. This trip was about just being away, but somewhere familiar. It was about leaving behind the stress of the last year, the cold, the pressures of everyday, and living a different everyday. And it certainly opened conversations and posed questions on the possibly of that everyday becoming OUR everyday - someday. Guadeloupe has slowly become a place where I could see myself enjoying life on a regular basis. It was waking up slow and enjoying the sun over a morning coffee. It was walking down the road into town to pick up our daily baguette. It was a trip to the grocery store ever day rather than a restaurant, doing laundry and hanging things out to to dry. It was greeting the neighbours - but for the time being, it is merely more daydreams on the beach while I watch the waves roll in, a cup of coco sorbet in my hand. And when I have a moment of stress that threatens to overwhelm me in the coming weeks and months, I hope that I can hold on to that moment, pause, and feel the warmth of the sun on my face, the grit of the sand on my legs, the cool of the waves on my feet, and the cold of the sorbet in my hand. And until that time when it's not only a thought, but a reality, I'll just have to keep chanting that same mantra to myself: 

Someday, Guadeloupe. 

Someday soon.

Flying out of Guadeloupe

Passing over the North of Grande-Terre

Until then, I look out the window of the airplane and watch as the countryside we criss-crossed so frequently fades from view, and say goodbye. For now.

Until next time.

A story about lasting moments

A beautiful beach :

Mario's feet, full of mosquito bites

We are enjoying every last moment of our time here in Port-Louis, and in sunny, warm Guadeloupe. Our last trip here, the last days were marred by issues, like Mario battling a possible food poisoning, and my falling off a rather uneven sidewalk to both spray my ankle and gouge both my knees the day before the flight. This trip, we are both feeling great, happy, healthy, tanned - the only negative so far, and for most of the trip, has been the mosquitos. The little bugs are bad, but the ones in Port-Louis bite lots, suck little, but inject such a potent toxin that we are scratching for days and days and finding no relief. Forget to possibility of getting Dengue fever, the itch is the killer part of these mosquito bites! Aloe vera gel helps, as do cold showers, and now we've turned to Claritin to keep from going crazy, but the best relief is the salt water waves of the ocean. And so in between all the hiking, we are at the beach. 

Toes in the sand at La Plage du Souffleur

Lathered in sunscreen, we relax on our towels in the sand, and while Mario reads, I scribble in my journal. We watch the comings and going of other beach-goers, busloads of cruise ships daytrippers, long terms renters who reserve their spot all day with their towels, families whose kids run between it all, kicking up sand as they go. But it is nowhere near the crowd we ran into on the Sainte-Anne beach, and we always seem to find a place with some shade and a direct route to the water. Today, we get a couple of the tasty bokit sandwiches from one of the food trucks, filled with a mix of fried egg and marinated, grilled chicken, and the paper bag is filled to the brim with greasy french fries, so finger-licking good. We bake in the sun for a few hours, absorbing as much of that deliciously-warm sunshine and Vitamin D as possible, hoping to store it in our bodies and on our skin, to get us through the rest of the winter.

A fantastic creole meal :

Taking notes

Cheers!

Our Airbnb host, Carole, is very present in the North Grande-Terre tourism scene, and is always giving us suggestions of places to go, things to see or do in the area, and often more authentic than what the daytrippers are doing. She has mentioned several times this place called "Chef Tof", a table d'hôte in the same neighbourhood. It's by reservation only, one of the only places around here that is actually open at night, and just around the corner, so we can just walk there from our rental apartment. We are greeted by the resident dog, who licks our toes to say hello. Chef Tof follows, and leads us into the open air dining room. He offers us a drink and contrary to everyone else's Ti'Punch, Mario and I opt for the homemade Planteur. Chill jazzy music videos play on a large TV screen on the wall, a playlist from Youtube. 

The Planteur is very much like the one we make ourselves, with lime and guava juices, though this one seems to be infused with other citrus, too - maybe orange. Our first course arrives: a fish salad, maybe cod, maybe dorade, mixed with tomato, carrot, mayo, topped with slices of beet and a sprinkle of manioc flour. A bed of lettuce, dressing and some lime complete the dish. When I ask the chef what we are eating, he says, "A surprise! If I told you what it was, it wouldn't be a surprise, now would it?!" And he puts his fingers to his lips, as if  to hush any more questions, and scurried off joyfully into the kitchen.

Our main course comes faster than we expect, especially since we were taking our time savouring the delicious salad : For me, simmered pork in coconut milk with a hint of colombo spices, and for Mario, slow-cooked octopus, possibly with black beans. Both are served with a shredded carrot and zucchini salad, fresh tomato and a gratin of giraumon with emmental. 

In the background, Pink Martini's "Amado Mio" queues up in the playlist.

The octopus is truly the star of the entire meal, so tender from the slow-cooking(how long?) that it is melt-in-the-mouth buttery smooth. The giraumon is a close second, the nuttiness of the emmental adding a lovely depth to something as simple as a pumpkin puree. The pork is not far behind in 3rd, but all three are miles above anything we have eaten on this entire trip. To be honest, both meat components taste as though they have been simmering for days, the texture is so lovely, and the flavours so complex.

Next up on the playlist: PostModern Jukebox.

On to dessert, a small frozen ramequin containing a creamy concoction of possibly cactus pear(which we saw growing on the cliffs above the Porte d'Enfer a couple of days ago) and banana. I am only guessing, as again, this is a surprise from the chef, but it's creamy, and bright pink, and there's a little crunch from blended seeds, so both Mario and I are in agreement that this is the likely recipe. There is a syrup, or caramel, on top, just a touch, and it balances the flavour of the little dessert perfectly.

Mario observes that the chef looks like an old pirate, who worked in the galley of some ship. He sits down at a nother table and has a drink with 2 young men who came in late, and seem to know him outside of this place.

We finish up our meal with a coffee, and Chef Tof offers us a glass of aged rhum as a digestif - he does the same for everyone. With everyone served, he heads over to his playlist and switches on a microphone. The chef begins to sing karaoke! Though he does have a lovely singing voice, it's a little awkward, and so we decide this is the time to make our escape before we get ourselves ropes into another "Papi" incident. Thankfully, we can pay for our meal with a credit card, which was really our only concern of the evening. Chef Tof embraces us like old friends, wishes us luck starting our snowmobile tomorrow, adds in a token Quebecois swear and bids us a safe trip until our next visit in 2 years. We walk back to the Airbnb with a surprise doggy escort - Chef Tof's dog follows us all the way home, and we sneak inside the house before he takes notice, lest he think he is going to stay the night!

A short story about getting lost

Starting the Deville-Maisoncelle loop hike

More hiking? Why not? I get some work done on the blog now that the internet is back up, Mario packs a lunch, and we head down to the Deville-Maisoncelle loop near Petit-Canal. It's not the most exciting, or challenging, but we've realized that we are nearing a grand total of 100 km hiked on this trip, so what's one more trail, right?

Tree covered in epiphytes

This hike is relatively easily, flat, runs through a protected forest and some farm fields. One of the highlights is the concentration of epiphytes - air plants - that grow along the trail. Every tree is a host, and their branches hang heavy with the plants, like leafy green Christmas ornaments. Some are even too much for the trees to support, and the branches come crashing down, strewn on the forest floor under our feet.

There is no videogame challenge this hike - the challenge today is just following the actual trail! It seems someone has taken possession of land in the middle of the route recently, and the markers have been moved to reflect the new route, but none of the maps, online of otherwise, have been updated to reflect this change. So when we get to a crucial intersection,  the posted signage steers us in one direction, but the app we are using begins yelling at us that we have taken a wrong turn, and neither trail looks very cleared or well-travelled. 

We follow the app only because we can see ourselves using the GPS locator, get turned around in the middle of a hot, dry field, and miss the entire last section of the trail, but we end up back at the car park anyways, and that's all that matters. Moral of the story? Always confirm trails in a crowd-sourced app with those on OFFICIAL websites before leaving, and follow the trail markers above anything else, as they USUALLY right.

A story about Gwoka

I often check out the local experiences available through Airbnb, because they offer some wonderful inside information and activities that we wouldn't normally have access to as tourists. We've previously done a paella-cooking workshop in someone's backyard in Barcelona, where we got to discuss politics with our host during a time where there was a strong Catalan uprising and election during our stay, as well as an evening of Flamenco with one of the dancers, who then took us to a local bar where the dancers hang out after their shows, and we talked about daily life and food. I lucked out this time, finding an night of initiation in Gwoka, taking place on a local beach, and then finishing at a bar where people gather in the evenings to jam together. Of course I booked right away.

First challenge is to find the place - the directions indication the Plage des Raisins Clairs, near Saint-Francois. Turns out, the beach is LONG. And there are a lot of carbets. We don't really know where the meet-up point is. We stop in a parking lot, under a street light, and wait for someone to flag us down. We watch every car that turns into the lot, but none come our way. Next, we investigate a nearby section of restaurants off the beach, hoping maybe one of them has a groups of musicians jamming, and we are just in the wrong place. Finally, we opt to exit the lot, and drive to the other side of the beach, near the cemetery. It doesn't seem likely, but sure enough, we spot a carbet with lights, and several people gathered around some drums, and someone waves in our direction as we pull up. We join our host, Claude, who greets us like old friends, as well as the three other people in our group tonight, Anais and Zoe who are travelling together and just arrived last night, and Mathilde, a dark horse of sorts who does not divulge too much about her travels. Claude offers us snacks:  some plantain chips and Gwosey Peyi juice, this time infused with ginger, the gets down to business teaching us about Gwoka.

Claude is not a musician, nor is he a teacher. He is a lover of music, an aficionado of the history of Gwoka, a world traveller, and someone who has worked both in tourism, and as a recreational therapist in hospitals. He loves the music and wishes to share his passion for its root and history with travellers who are interested in knowing more about the culture of Gwoka, and have a better appreciation for the spirit of the music they are listening to.

Claude teaches us the very basics: the instruments that create Gwoka music, the seven basic rhythms at the base of all Gwoka music, the spirit in which the music is played, and in what circumstances you would play Gwoka. It is so much more that just notes. It is celebration, it is death, it is sadness, it is harvesting of sugar cane, or call to acts of rebellion, or simply played at the end of a long work week, to celebrate getting paid. And in a culture that was once enslaved, that in itself is a big thing.

He then explains to us the instruments. Two Boula drums, made of old rhum casks, of course, provide the base rhythm, and have to be played in perfect synchronisation with each other. At the centre, the Markeur, or Maké, drum, plays the more complex melody, accompanied by often impressive and completely improvised solos. Often, the Maké bases his solos on the moves of a single dancer who joins the group, in a sort of musical conversation - each move elicits a beat, and vice-versa. The Chacha, a cleared-out calebasse filled with dried seeds, and Ti'bwa, sticks to hit together, add more rhythm and percussion. Sometimes there is even music played on a conch horn, or an empty bottle, and usually singing. Once we understand the make-up of the bad, we learn some basic beats, and get to try all of the instruments, because you can only really appreciate the complexity of the music when you've had a chance to play it yourself. The Chacha proves the most difficult for some, as you have to realize that it's not a shake so much as a back-and-forth motion that makes the sound.

We help Claude pack up all the instruments and head over to Saint-Francois, to the Filet du du Pêcheur bar next to the Marina. For the past 20, 30, maybe 40 years, there has been a Léwoz - a Gwoka jam night - held here. We grab a drink and head outside where the musicians are already beating away on their drums, and join the onlookers in the street. There are some tourists, but most are locals here to enjoy the night, all with a glass of Ti'Punch in their hand. We watch the musicians play off of each other, often times rotating through the instruments when one of the other gets up to take a break. Our host, Claude, even gets roped into playing one of the Boula drums, and we cheer when we see him show all the techniques he had just taught us about. A woman in a gorgeous red skirt and matching headscarf gets up and begins to dance with the rhythm of the Maké. For every move, every giration of her hips, or shoulders, or flick of her wrist or even her skirt, the Maké responds with the beats of his drums, and now we can see and understand all of this happening, thanks to Claude. Other dancers tap in, one by one, and the Maké follows each of their movements with his rhythm. It's fascinating, and like a foreign language, something we now understand, thanks to our initiation, and Claude's fantastic explanations. It is a wonderful evening, and a great way to continue our learning about the culture in this beautiful place we love so much.

 

The story about redemption - part two

Time for redemption, for both myself AND a beach. Last trip, Porte d'Enfer was a mess of sargasse seaweed, brown and smelly, and the beach itself was absolutely deserted. The restaurant seemed all but abandoned, the only people inside being the sad waitstaff, and no one else in the vicinity but a handful of hikers walking disappointedly by. Today, it looks as though someone had taken charge of the situation and been doing something about it: the beach is raked clean, all of the offending seaweed pushed to the edge of the forest to decompose. The beach is no full of sunbathers, mind you, but the trails are full of hikers at this early hour, and we *know* all those hikers will be coming back in a few hours, looking for a tasty and convenient place to eat...I would bet anything the restaurant owner is the one responsible for the improved beach conditions. The water is not as clear or beautiful, but there is definitely a marked change in the place.

As for my personal redemption: 6 years ago, Mario and I came here to hike the cliff trail, from Trou Man Coco to the Pointe-Souffleur, where the waves are forced up underneath the limestone, shooting up into the air in a very geyser-like fashion. But we were ill-prepared for the difficulty of hiking on uneven, and often sharp, limestone. We were not ready for the heat and humidity that bogged us down as we hiked on the very open and unsheltered cliffs. We didn't bring nearly enough water, having only one small bottle between the two of us. And I was much less of a hiker back then, with much less endurance, and zero tolerance when faced with a stressful situation. I didn't make it - Mario had to leave me in one of the few shady groves to wait while he went to the Pointe-Souffleur alone, then came back to collect me on his way back. I want to say that it was because of the extreme heat, the lack of water, the fact that I was experiencing borderline heatstroke, but in hindsight, I think it was more my inability to push through the stubbornness and mental block, and just keep going.

Looking out the end of Porte d'Enfer Bay	Tidal pools in Porte d'Enfer bay
Trou de Man Coco, hidden under the limestone cliffs	Forceful waves beating against the cliffs

This visit was a chance for me to revisit the hike, with better boots, LOTS of water, and a much more positive outlook of the journey. It is only 6 km round trip, which is getting to be a little too easy now for us to complete. It is labeled as "difficult", but we've hiked BOTH La Soufrière and Chutes du Carbet, which are qualified as "very difficult", and not only did we survive those, we did it with smiles on our faces. Mario insists that is the best indication that a hike was a success: not how tired you are, but how much you enjoyed it. 

Dangers on the trail - spikey cactuars!	Great viewpoint of the Pointe du Souffleur geysers
Mario checking out the view	Look at that water spout!

I like to think that, by the time we hit the Pointe Souffleur, 1 km further than we originally calculated, and sat on the cliffside for a moment to watch the blowholes noisily spout their geysers of water, I was all smiles and enjoying the show very much. When we sat in the cool shade of a small grove of raisinier trees, finding the only two flat rocks and eating our baguettes sandwiches, I was laughing at the parade of hermit crabs that suddenly emerged from the forest around us. When scoping out the trail from a good vantage point, I scoffed at how the 3 km hike to Trou du Souffleur seemed like nothing, even laughing at the extra kilometre added when we realized that the "Trou" was just a big, fenced-off hole in the ground, and not the geysers we were searching for. Even the strong winds and heavy rain we saw coming at us from off the ocean did nothing to dampen my spirits on this hike, only make me put away my camera and keep walking. 

The arid clifftop trail

At the furthest point - you won't get me this time!

Nope, I completed my hike smiling, and proud of myself. Check another one off my personal list of hikes completed with a smile. I even mocked a couple of those flip-flop-wearing hikers heading out on the star of their own possible disaster. They turned around! 

And when we finally emerged back out on the beach of Porte d'Enfer, and headed past the restaurant, all of the tables were full, piled high with plates of chicken and glasses of juice and bottles of beer, and the restaurant owner was happy.

A story about redemption - part one

Our our last visit to Guadeloupe, we had the wonderful surprise of being able to spend a whole 5 weeks here. I won't get into details, because I've told that story, but it meant that there were a lot of stories that didn't make it into the blog, as I felt the humdrum of our everyday here was not noteworthy enough to write about, or bore you with. One such event was the loss of about 2 or 3 days towards the end of the trip, due to a possible food poisoning. We think Mario got ill from a piece of takeout chicken, and as a result, his general queasiness manifested itself in earnest while we were clear across the island, having lunch at one of our favorite places to eat. I had to quickly pack up the lunch so we could get to a nearby beach to cool Mario down enough to drive the car bar to Port-Louis, where he basically slept for the next 2 days. I was glad he was okay, but sadly, the lunch was no good reheated. 

Cut to today, a little less than 2 years later, and we find ourselves driving down those same roads to Pointe-des-Châteaux, in a search of a hike, and a hopefully a fantastic lunch afterwards. Pointe-des-Châteaux is the easternmost point of mainland Guadeloupe, a rough stretch of dramatically-eroded limestone formations, leading out to the ocean where massive waves come crashing into shore. Just past the point you can see the tiny island of La Désirade, an 11-km rock bluff, lined by a beach, and home to a couple of small communities. We went there once, on our first trip, and the boat ride out is NOT for the faint of heart. But with its amazing views and dramatic landscapes, the Pointe is a big draw, and we see the first of the tour buses as we make the turn down the last stretch of road.

The trail

Hiking to the cross

Thankfully, most of these buses carry tourists from cruise ships, daytrippers trying to get the most authentic Guadeloupe experience, but see it all at the same time. They will stop here, spill out onto the point for 15 minutes - maybe some of the more ambitious will try to climb up to the cross overlooking the ocean. Then they will all climb back on the bus to head to one of the beachfront restaurants near Saint-Francois for a long lunch. We are almost planning our days around this schedule now: even though it is the hottest time of the day, from 11 until 2 we can almost guarantee that the population of a location will shrink by 90%, because that's when French people do lunch. Sure enough, we don our boots and begin the hike up to the cross, and already people are checking their watches and heading back to the buses. 

View out to La Désirade	View back to the rest of Guadeloupe
The cross	Following the trail over the other side of the point

Up on the point, in view of all the sailors and fishermen coming back in from the water, is a tall cross and a small shrine filled with melted candles and small food offerings. At the same time, it is intensely windy, blowing my hat off of my head and whipping my hair about. But the view is spectacular, and one of my quintessential views on Guadeloupe, when looking straight out to La Désirade. From here, we hike around the Pointe: down from the cross, where the views are clear all the way to Saint-Anne, around the back of the limestone cliffs. Here we watch the powerful waves crash up against the shoreline, splashing water into pools formed in the limestone. We can see fish and crabs and small urchins in their depths and wonder what life must be like for them, forever trapped in the same small space. 

Waves splashing in coves under our feet	Mario finds the bionic arm achievement!
Mario and his new bionic arm!	"Dangers" on the trail - giant spikes!

From the limestone pools, we descend to the back of the point, in a cove and protected from the ocean, to a beach lined with massive chunks of coral. The waves and weather churn and polish everything to a soft finish, and so the coral roll against each other with every one of our footfalls, making clinking noises, like glass. I remember a giant pile of weather conch shells here, but they are gone now. We return inside the forest and cross an open field.

All alone the hike, though a small one, we follow the trail markers, small yellow streaks of paint, on tree trunks, on stumps, on particularly large and immoveable rocks. On some trails, they are quite far away, and so you navigate by finding the next one and then walking towards it. On this trail, however, they are frequent, and very close - unnecessarily so. It becomes a sort of game for Mario and I, like collecting coins or checkpoints in a video game. We step on each yellow mark, make an accompanying sound effect(these change), and then move on to the next. Sometimes I am distracted by the views and miss one. Sometimes Mario walks right over one. Thankfully we are two, and so collect as many as possible. We talk of having to restart at a previous save point if we miss one in the series, and how a cluster of paint splotches on one rock must signify a spawn point. It's funny how video games make their way into our day-to-day. For all you completionists out there, we are claiming that we got 57/72 markers, and so are missing that achievement and will have to try the level again at another time!

Back at the turn-a-round, where the t-shirt salespeople and sorbet coco vendors are waiting for clients, we head to Soif les Bronzés, a food-truck turned semi-permanent restaurant on the side of the road. The extended kitchen faces out over a spread of plywood and plastic and palm frond canopies, and a veritable mosaic of pallet wood platforms, where the tables just seem to multiply from year to year. The owner also loves to paint, and so any flat surface has been turned into an amateur fresco, of nature scenes, of quotes or words of wisdom, of menu items. They have always served amazing food for a place on the beach, with no services: Grilled chicken platters, plates of accras, the most unusual bokit sandwichs I have had anywhere in Guadeloupe, delicious and refreshing fruit juices. I have never eaten a bad meal here, and I hated that last trip's experience spoiled my perception of this place. 

Hand-painted menu	Placing orders at the kitchen
The pieced-together dining room	Check out that bokit!

We know the portions are huge, so Mario and I get a combo bokit and accras platter, and two fruit cocktails - a mix of juices with fresh ginger and tumeric added. The bokit sandwich, usual served inside of a large fried bread, is done here folded into an even larger, thinner, but more crispy fried bread, almost like a taco. It is overflowing with fresh salad and tomato, and served with a side of gratin de giraumon(pumpkin) and banane verte(surprisingly delicious). The accras are always crispy and flavourful - the only sad part about today's lunch is that they seem to have run out of sauce chien. The BEST sauce chien I have tastes in all of Guadeloupe, and half of why I keep coming back. The salad dressing is an okay substitute, though, and so I happily dunk my accras in that, licking my fingers and lips with every bite. Needless to say, they haven't lost their touch, and I am sad I can't eat here every day, but Saint-Francois is an hour drive from Port-Louis, and this meal is our reward for the hike. It's a sweet redemption.