THIS POST IS OUT OF CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER
FOR REASONS EXPLAINED EARLIER IN THE BLOG.
One of the first things we noticed, especially after yesterday's rough ride over the roads of Antigua, was that the streets here were good, except perhaps for being twisty in places. More about that later.
The quality of the roads reflects the fact that. In contrast, Antigua is an independent member of the Commonwealth of Nations, and Martinique is part of France, up to and including the Euro, which is the local currency. If you steal this currency here and get caught, you serve your sentence in France.
We boarded a full-size tour bus. Pam and I were the last two aboard. The guide swept away the 'reserved for handicapped' sign, and we found ourselves in the first row with a great view.
As we left the church, the guide mentioned that the road to Saint Pierre was winding. She said that if anybody felt any discomfort, the bus could slow down a bit. In hindsight, this was the equivalent of offering somebody living in the sun a fan if they felt warm.
Our driver was a wizard, negotiating the full-size bus around your sharp turns on roads not designed for something that size. There was a lot of horn blowing to let oncoming drivers who could not yet see the bus know they were in for a rude surprise. Some of the turns were over 150°.
This track line does not do justice to the gyrations we experienced. CLICK HERE and HERE to travel two comparatively easy parts of it.
Some of the passengers did indeed begin to feel motion sickness, and the bus slowing down slightly made no difference whatsoever. Any and all plastic bags available were called into service. Thankfully, the bus had air vents that Pam and I could position for a steady flow of fresh air across our faces. The noises coming from the seat directly behind us suggested that otherwise things would have been decidedly orderiferous.
Despite the twists and turns, it was a very scenic drive.
When the bus came to a stop in St-Pierre, some passengers disembarked faster than green grass through a goose. Pointing out to them that we still had to return to Fort-de-France seemed a tad sadistic.
Why had we come to St Pierre?
The city was destroyed by the pyroclastic eruption of Mount Pelée volcano that killed over 30,000 people in 1902. Almost nothing was left of the buildings, with a few exceptions, such as parts of the theater and the jail next door to it.
We had an opportunity to wander around the remains of the theater and look over a wall at the jail.
You may have noticed that I have mentioned the jail twice. Not only did the jail survive, but so did the jailed criminal, Louis Cyparis (also known as Ludger Sylbaris). Estimates vary, but averaging them out at 12 survivors in 30,000 inhabitants, his odds of being one were four ten-thousandths of one percent (.0004%). To read about his experience, click on his name.
We spent a few minutes looking around the town.
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As we got back on the bus, the guide told nervous passengers that we would be taking the coastal route back and that it would be straighter. Technically, she was correct; however, experientially, this was like telling those who were too hot in the sun they would be moving to Mercury. It was not long before the people behind us began using their plastic bags.
The drive back, while not as attractive as the interior route, was scenic in places.
After our tour, there was no time to explore Fort-de-France before we needed to get back aboard, so that is where we went.
This was the first time that Pam and I had been in Martinique. As Eurodam pulled away from the dock, Pam and I agreed that we liked what we had seen of the island and would enjoy an opportunity to visit here again.
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