Plage de Roseau

While M.'s parents were visiting, I had a chance to visit the beach of Roseau, which is just outside Sainte-Mairie. Roseau is composed of a series of tiny bays, separated by breakwaters of black volcanic rock.

Beige sand covers the beach. Though, there is not so much beach as a narrow band of sand that quickly turns to dirt. The rather wide expanse of dirt is dotted with sea grapes and coconut trees.

The rocky arms of the breakwaters protect the tiny bays from waves. The water level rises very gradually...until it reaches a sandbar.
(Left: Each bay is a perfect pool. A swimmer is heading outwards while another is standing on the sandbar.)





The beach is less than 5 mins away by car from Sainte-Marie. It would be very easy to eat at a restaurant or to buy something at a bakery en bourg. On the beach itself, vendors set up tables to sell drinks (rum punch included), snacks and of course, coconut sorbets. There are a number of sheltered picnic tables towards the northern end of the beach.
(Left: A tourist buys himself a snack from a vendor.)


I'm afraid the pictures here do not do Roseau justice; I took these pictures as an overcast sky edged towards afternoon. Roseau is a bit rough - in the way the green overgrowth seems to push at the border of the beach itself, and in the way people sit in their cars, with their feet and arms dangling out, several feet from the lapping water. The mixed cocktails and white sand are elsewhere. Come here to escape the feeling that Guadeloupe remains a colony of France.















Plage de Roseau
A series of tiny bays, each lined with a narrow strip of beige sand (leading quickly to dirt). The water remains shallow quite far out and there are practically no waves, making it a very good choice for children and weak swimmers. However, do not attempt to swim from one bay to the next as there is a strong current. This is the closest beach to the heavily populated Capesterre-Belle-Eau; it is extremely popular with locals. Both the ambiance and crowds (especially on Sunday) reflect that. Come during the week for a bit of quiet; come on Sunday to feel like a local.
Location: Just outside of Sainte Marie, not far from Capesterre-Belle-Eau (Basse Terre)
Parking: Parking is officially limited to the road leading up to the beach, but this is usually ignored. Many people simply park their cars where the beach ends and the dirt begins. Apparently, there is a pay parking lot at the entrance to the beach, but we have never seen this in operation.
Food: There are various vendors who set up tables selling coconut tarts, rum punch, candy, etc.
Public Showers: Yes. Though, you barely want to walk within 5m of the building...
Public Restrooms: ...let alone use the toilets.

That Elusive License

(Above, the goal: a French driver's license)

Somehow, I managed to make it to my mid twenties without learning how to drive. Not particularly hard for a native New Yorker, but surprising still since I've lived in various elsewheres.

It never seemed odd that I didn't have a driver's license. Growing up, most of the people I knew didn't have one. I didn't realize how odd it was until I went to a large Midwestern university for undergraduate studies. Somehow, it would come up in conversation and people would be in disbelief. There isn't a need for it, I would explain. And that made sense to them. Quickly, not knowing how to drive became a characteristic I proudly assumed.

Still, I began to have the idea that having a license might be useful. I eventually got myself a driver's permit. Sadly, though, I lacked the follow-through to get my license: I allowed the permit to expire (yes, they do expire). Subconsciously, perhaps, I was reluctant to prepare myself for a life outside of New York.

But I left again anyway, this time for graduate studies. Not having a license or a car was crippling. Somewhat quaintly, I had thought learning to bike might be sufficient, mistaking the Midwest to be similar to the under-served areas of the outer boroughs. The reality sunk in the first time I biked home, laden with grocery bags, uphill. And yet, I returned to New York after two years, still without a license.

I have finally met my match. Life in Guadeloupe is simply not possible without a car (and by extension a license). Of course, there are buses, but they are dreadfully inconvenient. It was only this past year that formal stops were made. Previously, buses stopped any where - convenient for anybody getting on or off, but made for a very long ride for everybody else.

I signed up for driving lessons today. I don't know why I didn't begin sooner. I suppose its more of that same reluctance that has kept me license-less all these years. I am nervous about the whole thing. Though I think most people would be nervous about driving in Guadeloupe. The narrow roads are shared by cars and lorry trucks alike; people often walk along the roadside. The roads twist and turn, sometimes in hairpin curves. And most worrisome, Guadeloupeans prove that they are every bit French especially when behind the wheel.

I'll have to pass the written exam (le code) before I start actual driving lessons. I'll be studying all day tomorrow since I have my first session for le code on Thursday.

Fresh Fish

(above, Simon's catch of the day: la dorade in the background, and poisson perroquet in the foreground)

The in-laws and I stopped by the market in Basse Terre today for some produce. I didn't mention in my first post about the market that fish mongers can also be found along the promenade. M. and I have bought from one in particular, Simon le pecheur. Today, he had a decent line of customers, waiting patiently while fish were sorted, scaled, and chopped up into pieces. We were interested in purchasing some dorade, more commonly known in the U.S. as mahi-mahi. Normally sold as thick steaks, mahi-mahi is a great white fish that eats like meat.

Mahi-mahi is an impressive-looking fish. Its an incredibly large fish, dark blue green in color with a flash of yellow, crowned with an imposing forehead. Nevertheless, I was struck by the other type of fish Simon was selling. They were all skinned, but I could tell from the beaked mouth that they were poisson perroquet, or parrot fish. They resembled skinned rabbits at the butchers.


The wikipedia entry for parrot fish notes that "Their meat is rarely consumed in the US; however, it is considered a delicacy in many other parts of the world." I have not yet seen parrot fish on any menu. But that may be due to tourists distaste for such exotica rather than a general dislike of the fish in Guadeloupe. They were certainly not selling as briskly as the mahi-mahi, but at least one customer purchased three parrot fish. In any case, its apparently a bad idea to eat parrot fish.

At some point, though, Europeans in the Mediterranean region apparently liked parrot fish quite a bit:

The best known is the parrot fish of the Mediterranean (A Cretemis, Rond.), of a red or blue color according to season, highly esteemed by the ancients ; it is about 15 inches long, of a general purplish color, roseous below, and violet brown on the back; the pectorals orange, ventraia with transverse lines of violet, and dorsal violet gray with golden spots and bands. There is more said' of this fish in the ancient writers than of any other ; in Pliny's time it was ranked as the first of fishes, and large sums were expended to stock the Italian waters with it from the sea between Crete and Asia Minor. By the ancients it was believed to have a voice, to sleep at night (alone of fishes), to be very ardent in the pursuit of the female, to release its companions and other fishes from nets, and to have the power of ruminating ; the last belief naturally arose from the backward and forward movements of the jaws rendered possible by the mode of articulation, and necessary for the complete mastication of the sea weeds upon which it principally feeds. Its flesh is tender, sweet, and easy of digestion, and the intestines and their contents were highly relished ; the modern Greeks call it scaro, and consider it a fish of exquisite flavor, eating it with a sauce made of its liver and intestines, as the moderns eat plover and woodcock ; its liver entered into the composition of the famous dish called "the shield of Minerva," with the brains of the peacock and pheasant, flamingoes' tongues, and the milt of the murena eel (1).

Such decadence...

*EDIT* (April 26, 2009) I was mistaken. These are not parrotfish. What they are, however, I am not sure. Simon simply called them bourse, but this is an incomplete name. From this page detailing the fish species of Guadeloupe, I narrowed bourse down to two possible families: monacanthidae (filefish) or balistidae (triggerfish). The fish here could possible fit both descriptions in wikipedia. I would put my money on the triggerfish.



(1) Ripley, George and C. A. Dana. The New American Cyclopaedia: A Popular Dictionary of General Knowledge. D. Appleton and Company, 1862.

Caimite

My in-laws arrived a week and a half ago, which has greatly disturbed my ability to post. But, they offer some new experiences.

For example, having visited an arboretum, they came home with a small bag of fruits. Included were a great number of guavas and tiny tangerines. There were two star fruits - lovely in form, but in general, not very tasty - and a strange new fruit.

The fruit is round and about the size of a baseball. It resembles a plum in several ways. It is a deep purple. The fruit has a smooth leathery skin, covering a soft flesh.

They had been instructed to cut the fruit in half and scoop out the insides to eat. (As one would a melon, they said. I don't actually eat my melons that way. So, perhaps more like an avocado...)

Once cut, the fruit startlingly resembles flesh. The deep red seems to bleed into the white flesh through tiny capillaries. It is as if one held a morsel of fish, freshly cut, in one's hand.

The fruit is soft and very sweet. I thought it tasted very similar to a loongan. I think my mother would love it, as it has not one single note of acidity.

Curious, I did a simple search on the web. It's called a star apple in English. Unfortunately, we had cut our fruit transversally. Had we cut it laterally, we would have seen the black seeds emanating from its core in its characteristic star formation.

I found this short passage in an English book published in 1830 about the Star Apple:

Star Apple—Chrysophyllum Cainilo.
This is also a native of the West Indies. It grows on a moderately-sized spreading tree, with slender, flexible branches. There are some species, or, at least, varieties of the fruit. The star apple, properly so called, bears fruit resembling a large apple, which, in the inside, is divided into ten cells, each containing a black seed, surrounded by a gelatinous pulp. The West Indian damson plum has small fruit, and is chiefly found in the woods. The milky juice of the star apple, both of the tree and the fruit, before it is ripe is remarkably astringent; but, when the fruit ripens, it is sweet and very agreeable to the taste (1).

Sometimes, I take myself to be an explorer in an unknown land.



(1) E. Lankester, C. Knight, and W. Clowes, A Description and History of Vegetable Substances Used in the Arts, and in Domestic Economy, ed. 2, 1830

Moonlit Night 2

Daylight is slowly being stretched further into the evening. Two months ago, the moon made its appearance in front of a black night sky. Now, the moon rises against the red wispy clouds of sunset.

Guadeloupe Makes The Economist

I brought back with me an entire stack of Economists that were sitting unread on a shelf. They've lost their news-worthy value, perhaps, but remain incredibly informative. I am currently on last week's issue (No. 8619), and came across an article describing the strike in Guadeloupe. Is it wrong to feel slightly proud that my new home has made a major English-language publication?

Apparently, Guadeloupe, along with Martinque, also made this week's issue (No. 8620) as well. The article focuses on the fear of contagion: that social unrest will spread from the overseas départements and infect the whole of France.

Nothing like a month-long strike fraught with racial and social divide to put you on the map!

My Japchae

(above, a closeup of my japchae)

I don't think I could've waited any longer to try my hand at one of Maangchi's recipes. I thought I would give her recipe for japchae a try, despite not having many (most) of the ingredients. The noodle used in Maangchi's recipe is dangmyun, or more commonly known as cellophane noodles. I had to swap the dangmyun for my Assi brand 'oriental style noodle pasta (1),' which I typically eat in a noodle soup. I also had to replace the beef with a fried egg since I have nothing but frozen ground beef in the house (fresh meat being all but unavailable during the strike). With the exception of the mushrooms - both types - I had the remaining ingredients. Though, to still call it Maangchi's recipe is perhaps a stretch.

I was rather pleased with the way it turned out. The noodles were a bit dry; I think dangmyun is inherently more moist. So, next time, I will think about retaining some of the noodle liquid if I use my wheat noodles again. Somebody commented that they used regular spaghetti to great effect, so I might try that too. I think I can get some cellophane noodles in the Asian foods section at Carrefour, so I'll try to look for it once the strike is over.

I think in normal circumstances I would have never felt the urge, nor had the courage to make my own Korean food. I suppose this is the upside of living in a culturally homogeneous island. Either I broaden my culinary range, or I forgo Korean food all together. I don't really see it as a choice.

I suppose that is what living elsewhere is about: the changes that are encouraged and obliged by a wholly different life. Learning to cook Korean food is a small but meaningful gain. That is what my friend A. calls it, a gain. In the immediate past when I had difficulty characterizing my new life other with terms other than of loss, A. told me to try and see the situation in terms of what I had gained. Sound advice from someone who has always shown me the way.



(1)

Pigs and Kimchi

Since my return, I've been obsessed with two things: having a pig, and Korean food. The two make an odd combination, perhaps, but represent two things sorely missed in Guadeloupe.

The first is garbage pick-up. Since the strike started more than a month ago, sanitation workers have come 'round exactly once, somewhere in the middle of week two. M. has kept our garbage bin at the end of the street to place the maximum amount of distance between ourselves and the stench. Since there simply isn't enough room in the bin for a full month's worth of garbage, M. has been sorting the garbage, putting perishables in the bin and non perishables in trash bags on our terrace. But, even this can only go so far. Garbage bins are overflowing at the end of every street, and there is a disgusting number of flies in the air.

This has led me to fantasize about having a pig. Every vegetable peel, every cantaloupe rind, every carrot top could go into the slop bucket. Of course, a compost pit could do very much the same thing, but a pig seems so much more efficient. I find it a minor miracle that one could raise an animal on the vegetable matter that one throws away. And isn't it possible to use a pig's manure as fertilizer? You could have the pig and the fertilizer too!

The second is Korean food. I am not exactly sure why I have such a craving for Korean food. After all, it seems more natural for me to want Chinese food, no? However, I am able to reproduce a number of Chinese dishes with an acceptable level of authenticity that keeps my appetite at bay (though, I do miss Chinese vegetables). I can even make two or three Indian dishes. But I have never really made Korean food. After living a year with a Korean girl, though, I was inspired to make my own version of bibimbap. In truth, my dish is so far from the original I call it my ginger beef dish out loud, and bibimbap in my head.

I had intended to bring a jar of kimchi back with me to Guadeloupe, but was thwarted for the lack of space in my food box. On the plane ride over, I read this article in the NYTimes, and promptly despaired the kimchi left behind. With the help of the internet, my cravings for Korean food has blossomed nicely into a 24-hour food fantasy. The best find is Maangchi's video recipes for making Korean food. Many of the recipes call for ingredients that are most likely unavailable here. But, I think I could manage gaji namul (eggplant side dish), or sigeumchi namul (spinach side dish) without too much trouble. Maangchi also has a recipe for making kimchi. It seems a bit daunting, but I believe my cravings may push me past my apprehensions. Of course, I could try purchasing kimchi online, such as at Granny Choe's kimchi, but I think the shipping costs must be incredibly high.