We’ll always have Paris (or a reasonable facsimile)

15 December 2007

Pointe-à-Pitre, Guadeloupe

There is probably something to be said for returning. An American General even made the whole concept famous and put a statement about how he would return into the lexicon. The first time you visit somewhere there is that initial confusion and uncertainty. The second time it is gone and you have a greater idea of where things are and how they work. The only problem is that by the third and fourth time you have become so familiar that you wish the rush of that initial confusion would come back. Today in Guadeloupe I got off the ship for the first time this contract and suddenly that “first time in a strange place” feeling took hold. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like after having gotten so used to the same ports, cruise after cruise, last time. I walked down the gangway, avoided the obligatory photo by the ship photographer and stepped onto virgin soil.

Immediately I found that I had a bit of a language problem.

Guadeloupe is French to the core and has been for almost 400 years. The language is French and as a consequence all the signs are in French. That wouldn’t be a problem if I had gone down the gangway expecting to be in Paris but my lack of research meant that it came as a bit of a surprise. The lack of Euros in my wallet was also going to be a problem but I managed to solve that one by finding an ATM and dipping into my savings account. The language was going to be a bit harder to overcome but the old fallback of pointing and smiling had never failed me before and I figured it wouldn’t here.

We had docked in the town of Pointe-a-Pitre (okay, so the name should have given me a clue about the language) and when I first headed up to the buffet for breakfast (eggs Benedict, Tony Bourdain forgive me, plus toast and fruit) I had sat with a view to the starboard side of the ship. All that I could see was a large industrial port with the usual collection of shipping containers and cranes and a heavy rain that didn’t fill me with much enthusiasm for what I’d find ashore. Finishing breakfast I wandered over to the port side and the view immediately changed to one of a mass of buildings coming virtually up to the side of the ship. It was far and away the closest I had ever docked to buildings and was a little disconcerting. It almost felt more like I had gone to sleep on a ship and then woken up in a hotel in some city. But I was determined that the rain wasn’t going to stop me so I got changed, grabbed my camera, and headed out.

By the time I got off the ship the rain had stopped and the sun and heat had come out. It was that familiar Caribbean tropical feeling that I knew so well and in some way it was kind of welcoming. The mass of buildings that is downtown Pointe-a-Pitre wasn’t the most welcoming of sights though and made getting my bearings a little difficult. Without that line of sight down a coast line or some way to see more than a street ahead at a time it is difficult to know exactly the best direction to walk. When in doubt just barrel on ahead I figured so I just walked forward and up the street in front of me.

The streets are narrow and the buildings are old. I’ve never been to Paris, in fact I’ve never been to Europe at all, but I can’t help feeling that this is a taste of what it must be like to be in one of the older, more congested areas of that city. Iron lacework balconies hang off the buildings, little European cars abound (forgive me all the car nuts but makes and models are not my strong point) and the traffic system seems to be a maze of one way and dead end streets. I even found a pay toilet sitting on a street corner that must have been shipped out directly from Paris to sit in its round metallic glory at an intersection.

Jazz music abounded, spilling from miscellaneous windows above the street and even from the Guadeloupe Big Band playing a free concert in the gardens of a museum. The music suddenly gave me a feeling less of France and more of New Orleans, a Creole ambience that fitted with the faces of the locals. Walking up another street I found a market place that seemed to be catering both to locals, with the abundance of fruit and vegetables, and also to the tourists, with neatly packaged plastic bags of spices ready to take home. The smell of large open bags of spices gave the place a nice Caribbean aroma. Around another corner and the music suddenly became a thumping drum rhythm as three men pounded out a frantic African sounding beat on large drums. They were drawing quite a crowd, their tip jar prominently placed in front of them.

I managed to find my way to a large open area fronting the harbour and a line of stalls selling fresh seafood. Some impressive looking lobsters were laid out on ice along with a number of fish that I didn’t recognise and local shoppers were fighting to get to the produce through a crowd of tourists taking photos of the fish and the fish sellers.

Today is Saturday and when I first headed out I thought that was probably the reason so many shops were closed but as the time hit midday more places began to open and cafes began to come to life. The architecture may have been only reminiscent of France, I really have no personal experience to compare it to other than time spent at the French pavilion in Walt Disney World, but the voices could definitely have come straight from Paris. I found a small café, sat at one of the street side tables and ordered an espresso.

One of my aims in life is to have a coffee in a Paris café and if I never make it then I can honestly say that I may have done the next best thing. My coffee arrived and I sat back and sipped it while I watched the people walk past and listened to the French accents of those sitting around me. I was probably the only English speaker there from what I could hear and it only helped to add to the illusion. There was no pressure to hurry and vacate my seat, others seemed to be lingering over nothing more than a cup of coffee, so I just relaxed and watched the world go by.

Would I hurry back to Guadeloupe? I don’t know but probably not. To be perfectly fair one visit is not really enough to judge any place by so to write it off after just a few hours is certainly unfair but I feel it’s more of a place where a taste and a quick immersion is enough for the town itself. If I was to come back it would be to see more of the island and that is where the real advantage of returning becomes obvious.