The Day We Became French

Sunrise at anchor

We accidentally became French the other day. 

It all started like any regular day (for us) in Guadeloupe.  Well, maybe not just any day because the day before, we had learned about the “Breakfast Boat.”  So, on that day in question, we would be receiving fresh croissants and pain chocolate (chocolate bread) delivered to us on our boat. To have them delivered right to us…….is as they say, priceless! So you can see the day was actually getting off to a better than usual start. 

The Breakfast Boat Lady handing us
croissants

In that particular harbor, the Breakfast Boat lady also does laundry for cruisers.  She had picked ours up the day before, while her husband drove the boat and the both of them were corralling two toddlers in diapers at the same time as they were coming alongside.  I was impressed by how far their arms reached, although neither of the little tikes were wearing life jackets which frankly made me cringe, but hey, this is not my country.  At least it wasn't yet. 

Washing clothes on deck

But I digress..….so, the Breakfast Boat lady had taken our laundry!  And we were going to be getting it back from her that afternoon.  Now, before you get to thinking that we are just lying around living a life of leisure on our boat, having people wait on us hand and foot, allow me to disabuse you of that notion.  

My Clothes Washing Plunger

First off, having someone else do our laundry for us is a new thing, but we have discovered that there are a few anchorages in the Caribbean where there are no laundry facilities.  In those cases, the only option is to pay someone to do it for us. Secondly, when there are no laundry facilities available and we really need some things laundered, I do it by hand. 

Not exactly like a plunger on the bottom

I go up on deck with a pile of laundry that I figure will dry fairly well on our lifelines.  (Lifelines = built in clotheslines on a sailboat).  On my second trip up on deck I carry up several things—a big blue bucket which will be my washing bin, a large orange bucket from Home Depot which also happens to be our “look bucket”.*  That will be my rinse bucket.  And my “clothes washing plunger.” 

Room for lots of items hanging on lifelines

On my third and fourth trips up on deck, I will schlep along pails of hot water that I heated on the stove, along with the laundry detergent, bleach, etc. The advantage of the plunger thingy is that I don’t have to pound the clothes on a rock or scrub them up and down over a washboard to get them clean.  Plus, I can wash several items at the same time.  

Sometimes clothes get rained on a
few times before they get dry.

Now if I only had some way to wring out the wet clothes; some method that works better than squeezing them with my hands, which is really hard work.  I am not pointing out this last fact in order to engender pity.  I expect none.  We have been told frequently that we are “living the life.”

Overlooking harbor in Deshaies

Okay, so what I really want to explain is how we inadvertently became French which is the only reason anyone is reading this post, am I right?

Deshaies

So, on that particular day, another flat-bottom motorboat with four official-looking people in it was also circulating in the harbor.  In fact, we’d overheard a brief conversation on the VHF radio about this boat before we even noticed it.  One cruiser was telling another cruiser about how this French boat wanted him to fill out some paperwork; to tell them who was onboard and all kinds of other personal information.  He said to the other guy,  “I just told them I was leaving in the morning and they went away.” “Oh, that’s what I’ll do, too” said the other guy. 

Garbage burning day?

How odd we thought.  Why was the French boat visiting all the boats in the harbor? We would find out soon enough. The French motorboat pulled alongside—three men and a woman.  One of them put a line onto our midship cleat.  They were friendly looking people.  One was driving the boat, two of them were clutching sheafs of papers and the woman, who appeared to be running the show was writing on a clipboard.  A clipboard. Clearly a serious matter.

Four census takers

All four of them spoke French.  Well, duh. But have no fear, we were armed with our trusty Google Translate app on both phones.  The youngest man knew a little English.  Clearly they wanted us to take these papers and fill them out and when someone hands you a paper, it’s an automatic reflex to take it.  (Except in shopping malls where I never take a paper that’s shoved at me).  

Using Google Translate to complete census

So, now Carl had assumed ownership of the papers and he slid his phone with the Google Translate app over the words on the form.  We each had a set to complete. French words magically became English. Our full names, citizenship, mailing address, place of abode, whether we worked or were on any government assistance, square footage of our domicile (love that question—there are not many square feet of walkable space on a sailboat.) Pfft…they’re just census takers, for goodness sakes.  

Census question- "How many iguanas do you have?" 
Just kidding. No iguana questions on census.

We mumbled a little to each other — should we be filling out a census form in a French country?  While Carl was using his phone for the form, I tried the tactic of the gentleman we’d heard on the radio.  I texted, “We are leaving in the morning.”  The young guy knit his brows together and read my Google translate screen .  He straightened up and smiled,  “Oh, no, is okay, is okay.”  And we figured, it really was okay.  

The driver was shy

The purpose of a census is to have a snapshot in time of who is in the country, right?  No reason NOT to fill it out.  Good grief.  By that time, Carl was filling out a second set of papers.  Hmmm…  When we were all done with the papers, I google translated, “May I take your photograph?”  They cheerfully obliged and cast off from our boat. 

"Can I take your photo?"  sounds like -
Poozhah prah footah footah

I mean, it’s not like we were giving up our U.S. citizenship, right?  As we were waving and saying “Au revoir” I wondered, Wait….what was that last question again?  Carl looked hard at me.  “I think we’re French now.”

*For non-cruisers, a look bucket is one that has had a large hole cut out of the bottom which is then replaced with a plexiglass disk, set in with an amazingly sturdy adhesive.  A look bucket allows one to see into the water by holding the bucket onto the water’s surface.  Good for looking at the bottom from a dinghy.

Great Expectations: Jacques Cousteau Underwater Reserve

Bluehead with mustard hill coral, Bahamas

Purple sea fan, Bahamas

Admittedly, we came with great expectations.  After all, we had snorkeled on several reefs in the Bahamas and were astonished by their colorful beauty and diversity.  The reefs went on for miles and one could even swim out to them from the beach in many locations.  All the purples, lavenders, brilliant greens, yellow, shades of red and pink, and the electric blues….it was breathtaking!  

Coral, unknown species, Bahamas

Flower coral, Bahamaas

Here in the Caribbean, on the west coast of Guadeloupe in the municipality of Bouillante (which means “boiling” —thermal springs provide energy for a town of the same name) is a place that cruisers refer to as Pigeon Point.  The reason is because the “real” name is “Ilets a’ Goyaves ou de Pigeon.” (I rest my case). Pigeon Point is the location of the Jacques Cousteau Underwater Reserve!  Or should I say, a “formerly protected marine area.” On our nautical charts, on land is simply printed “Parc National” and over the water is printed “Reserve Naturelle.”  

Fairy bassslet with Fragile saucer corals? 
Bahamas

We were very excited to stop here and snorkel for a few days.  After all, it bears the name of Jacques-Yves Cousteau. People in my age group grew up watching “The Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau” on TV, which ran from 1966 - 1976.  

Foureye butterflyfish and Giant brain coral,
Bahamas

The thrilling world of Jacques Cousteau and sharks, manta rays, colorful jellyfish, giant brain coral and deep sea fish of the most unexpected kind….fish with little lightbulbs suspended out before their eyes, and fish with too many colors to count, fish with enormous underbites and sharp teeth, critters that lie on the bottom camouflaged by sand just waiting to scarf up some unsuspecting fish merrily swimming by.  

In the dinghy

Now, since we are not divers, we knew that we would not be seeing any deep sea fish, hopefully not sharks and most likely not the jellyfish either, so close to land, but we knew what to expect for a variety of corals, fans, and schools of reef fish.

Our dinghy sharing a mooring ball close to snorkeling

We rigged up our dinghy with a little 3 step ladder to hang over the side, attached to hardware on the bow and on the stern.  (The bottom two steps are superfluous since they float to the surface anyhow, and are of no help to me whatsoever, in this instance.)  With that we were ready.  We didn't even need to wear wetsuits here; the water is warmer than in the Bahamas.  

Carl snorkeling

I donned the little neon green inflatable vest which keeps Carl satisfied that his wife won’t sink, nor disappear from his sight.  I quite concur with his thinking on this point). I strapped the little waterproof camera onto my right wrist and off we went. 

Underwater self-portrait

On our first day, we took our dinghy out to the two tiny, unpopulated islands just 1/4 to 1/2 mile off the shore….Grand Ilet and Petit Ilet.  They are quite close together and it is very shallow between them as well as on the windward side. We tied our dinghy onto a mooring ball placed there expressly for the use of divers and snorkelers and in we went. 

Foureye Butterflyfish, Jacques Cousteau Reserve,
Guadeloupe

Immediately I saw a flounder hunkering down onto the sand, both eyes looking up at me and then with great enthusiasm swam off to find more cool fish and corals.  “Where is the color?” I wondered.  Here was a parrot fish; there an 4 eye angelfish, some wrasse, grunts, snappers, but there were no schools of fish.  And again, where was all the color?  Below water was oddly monochromatic…..just shades of green.  No lavender, nor pinks, certainly no purple fans.  The brain coral appeared sickly, and there were stubs remaining of the stag corals.  

A type of Trunkfish? Jacques Cousteau Reserve,
Guadeloupe

Carl and I popped our heads up out of the water and consulted in what felt like conspiratorial tones, “It’s all dead!” we voiced at the same time.  We looked around at all the other snorkelers.  Did they realize that this wasn’t what reefs were supposed to look like?  Did they know all the coral was dead?  The people diving were on the opposite side of the island where the land descended into a deep pit.  Maybe they were seeing more life down there? We don’t know.  We had no divers in our group.

Unnamed species; let's call her Dottie.
Jacque Cousteau Reserve, Guadeloupe

The next day, we went by ourselves to a mooring ball that was placed close to the cliff face of the mainland.  There were some living corals there, and fans and sponges and fish, of course. I did see a long brown and white spotted snake/eel which was a new find for me (the jury is out on what it was) and all in all, it was at least 50% better, maybe just 30% better snorkeling than the day before.

Unnamed snake species; we'll call him Spot.
Jacque Cousteau Reserve, Guadeloupe

We wanted to give snorkeling another try before moving on. We swam from the back of our boat toward shore.  The word was that there were turtles near shore—that a snorkeler could spy a turtle coming up for air and then follow it to wherever it was munching on turtle grass below.  Unfortunately, the only way we would have spied a turtle would have been if we’d accidentally bumped into one. Visibility was terrible.  The water become increasingly turbid as we snorkeled until we finally gave up.

Unnamed snake/eel species; perhaps Lilith?
Jacque Cousteau Reserve, Guadeloupe

So sad.  We were so sad to see what remains of the reefs of the Jacques Cousteau Underwater Reserve. Perhaps the diving reveals more living coral, but the point remains that so much is gone, forever, I suppose.  Monsieur Cousteau died in 1997. He would have been so devastated, n’est-ce pas?

A few species of coral, not very robust in appearance. 
Jacque Cousteau Reserve, Guadeloupe

A Live Volcano

Ropey lava covers the landscape near the Kona airport, Hawai'i

We had been up close to an active volcano before this one—the Hawai’ian Kiluea Volcano has been putting out hot lava for many years. After we were married, 17 years ago, we took advantage of a professional conference scheduled in Hilo, Hawai’i, to circumnavigate the Big Island. Following the circumference of the island, we were able to see different types of lava in various stages.  

Lava rolled across the roadway to the ocean

On the southern end, we carefully walked across lava that spilled across the highway as it snaked it’s way to steam in the ocean. That lava looked like miles of ropey sharp-edged licorice. 

Volcanic sulphur gas leaks from many vents

We had driven over older lava fields which were like miles of giant spilled pepper as far as we could see along the eastern shore. And of course, we’d seen ancient lava flows smoothed by time and weather in which tropical plants now grew between the cracks.

Plant life inside a crater

But this volcano, the Soufriere Hills Volcano in Montserrat is a different kind of animal.  It had not spewed molten (liquid) lava but rather, over the course of the last 20 years, has coughed up flaming boulders, sand, ash and gases.  

Soufriere Hills Volcano, 1997 eruption
(brochure photo, Montserrat
Volcano Observatory

The major eruptions have occurred a handful of times and generated clouds of gases and ash many thousands of feet high. But aside from major eruptions, the volcano routinely emits ash and gases alone.  We could in fact, see and smell the sulfur emissions from a couple of miles offshore as we were sailing away.

Deep trenches carved into the mudslide by tropical rains

With each major eruption, the mountain would grow another knob upward higher and higher, building onto itself with each belch from the opening. Eventually the growing pile could no longer balance where it grew and toppled over. During the next major eruption, the growing pile of rock from another  vent would lose its’ balance and fall in a different direction. 

A more recent eruption which covered Plymouth

With daily tropical rains, all that stuff became slow rivers of mud oozing down the mountainsides, along with the occasional house-size boulder.  Layer upon layer of mud spread out over huge expanses of land, filling valleys and rivers and slowly covering up everything in its’ path.

Many feet of mud, sand and ash filled in rivers, valleys

In some areas away from the direct flow of the mud, the billowing clouds of ash would accumulate in layers over days and months.  Now and then, a burning boulder would come flying from thousands of feet in the air away to land on a rooftop, incinerating it and all that is wood.  

Ash covers much more of the island than the two enormous swaths chosen by the mud paths.  The ash fertilizes the land already verdant with trees and plants, and speeds along the process of the jungle retaking the towns that it smothered.  

A home in what was Cork Hill, half buried in ash.

We went on a “volcano” tour with a gentleman who has been a guide for 30 some years on Montserrat.  He showed us photos and videos of the island and the towns before the volcano woke up, breaking its’ 400 year hiatus. 

Piles of mud and sand narrowly missed this house

On steep and windy little paved roads with curb and gutter, he drove us through an area where the only noticeable sign of prior human habitation was an elevated cricket field which someone had continued to keep free of jungle growth.  

Jungle reclaiming the land

In order to “find” the rest of the village he stopped multiples times to point out what were once nice homes, but now were burned-out roofless shells hidden behind dense jungle vegetation. 

A garden planted on fertile ash where Cork Hill once stood.  

The village had been Cork Hill, and our guide had lived there. With the exception of that cricket field, his village has been swallowed up by jungle growing on top of fertile ash.

Abandoned home overlooking Plymouth

We were taken to what was once, a lovely home overlooking the town of Plymouth, now labeled an Exclusion Zone. The abandoned home was still coated in ash and grime. Modern furnishings and utilities were left behind along with a house key.  

Occupants left in a hurry

A couple hundred feet below was a sports stadium, but only the elevated stands were visible.  

New waterway sliced through the many feet
of mud to reach the ocean

The remains of Plymouth, once the capitol of Montserrat, now seem as a dystopian moonscape of brown block houses, most without roofs.  Here and there, a roof remains as the only evidence of a house that lies entombed in mud beneath it. 

In the Exclusion Zone.  Most of the brown "blocks" on the horizon are shells of homes, businesses

Travel is forbidden within the Exclusion Zone but for the companies with heavy equipment that go in to harvest the rainwater washed sand which is now the island’s only export.  The mountains of clean sand sparkle with silica.

Rainwater cleaned sand, Montserrat's only export

On the other side of the island, the miles of mud and boulders had filled in what was once a bay adding an unknown (to me) number of acres to Montserrat. In so doing, it enveloped the airport.  From a distance we could see the top of the old airport control tower rising out of the mud.

Look for the air traffic control tower on the far right of photo

We talked about the thousands of people who fled Montserrat after the first major eruption.  The 11,000 citizens of Montserrat at that time, were British subjects.  They were welcomed, in fact, encouraged to leave the island to become permanent residents of Great Britain with talk of the island being unsafe to live on. At the same time, however, there were mainland Brits who were grabbing up prime properties on Montserrat for a pittance of their previous value. 

This old church is being repaired for families to live in. Churches
and schools served as residences for years.

Many, like our tour guide, refused to leave the island.  With the loss of so much housing, he was obligated to live in a school classroom with his family for two years. 

A small-farm owner who remained on Montserrat tending his pigs.

Now the island’s inhabitants number only five thousand, and of those, only two thousand are natives of Montserrat.  

Nobody lived on the north end of Montserrat before the volcano erupted. New towns sprouted up here.

I will conclude with a light-hearted tidbit that just may come in handy during a game of Trivial Pursuit or during one of those awkward lulls in conversation after meeting a future in-law.  

Wild goats, as well as donkeys roam Montserrat mountains.

Along with Ireland, only Montserrat celebrates St. Patrick’s Day as a national holiday!  And, if you were of a mind to earn a degree in Irish Step dancing, you would have to go to Montserrat to study because that is where the professional school exists.  Who knew?

"Like SHE said, 'Who knew'?"