Friday 30 March and we’re away early on a fast sail with no2 gen and main for the Bay of Fort de France, the capital. 1210 pick up (someone else’s) buoy off Anse Mitan and ashore to tatty litle marina and hurricane-ruined hotel with jerry Can for water. Pm: slip bouy for nice sail across bay and over tricky shallow shoals to anchor amongst closely packed bateaux off the eponymous Fort. One always feels the scowls, loathing, anxiety, and hate emanating from the assembled cockpits as one eases through the throng looking for a hole to drop the pick in. As a latecomer, one is ALWAYS in the wrong, and for as long as you are there, one is certain to have a frozen cockpit stare drilling through the back of ones neck.
Got chummy with 2 boats: John and Rose, long-term liveaboards on Jayess a Rival 34 from Portsmouth, and a very young and brave couple (22) David and Chloe living on a 27ft Twister (Twisting shadow).
Fort de France waterfront is noisy. Very noisy. All night. Les doesnt sleep and develops shingles. Girls scream ashore. MB prowls around with a relapse of sinusitus. The ferries make the boat rock like one of those fairground rocking things.
Sat 31 March.
Creaky start. Breakfast is grumpy. We go ashore to find Fred Olsen’s merry team of trippers and blotchy fat tourists in baseball hats and wife-beater t-shirts are out in force. An International Petanque tournament is in full play on the promenade. Oh what excitement and fun. Hot and sweaty in town, so back aboard for a doze and jobs. What can tomorrow bring us?
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