Developing Country Furniture

The fuzzy and leather-y parts of the cow, all in one couch!

Merry Christmas and Bah Humbug, from Guadeloupe!

M. and I spent Christmas day on the beach. Having spent last Christmas in Guadeloupe (a sort of test-run for moving here), this was not my first warm Christmas. Its obviously quite different. But once you get used to the idea, it can be rather pleasant. Actually, I think most people who are able to have a warm Christmas are pretty smug about it. There were a good number of tourists on the beach, and more than one group came to the beach with a red and white Santa Claus hat and took turns taking pictures with the hat on (most likely to send back to friends in much colder climes).

Above, the beach at Petit Havre and myself as Santa's helper (scanned in from my table place card for Christmas eve dinner)

That was the Merry Christmas from Guadeloupe. The bah humbug came later, when we arrived home.

No water, again. How is it possible for our water to be cut on December 25th? Of all days! Somebody has to go to work to actually turn off the spigot, no? M. rinsed off at the beach, but I - stupidly - thought I could just shower at home. Not wanting to go to bed salty, I opted for the water of last resort: the showers at our local beach. I put on a clean swimsuit, brought my soap, and had my shower...with the waves crashing in the darkness behind me, the only light coming from the headlights of our car. Class! While it was a bit chilly, the shower was not half as bad as I thought. M. did note that I would never be able to shower outdoors, in December, back in New York. Indeed.

One must be grateful on Christmas. I was pretty grateful that it started pouring after we were both in the car, driving back home.

Regular Situation

M. and I spent some time at the Bureau de l'État Civil et des Etrangers, located in the sprawling compound of the Prefect yesterday. M. remarked that my parents probably did not imagine that, after having jumped through all the bureaucratic hoops to become American citizens, their own daughter would find herself waiting in an immigration office. How true.

We found ourselves amongst a group of 30 or so waiting to be called, the palest two in a roomful of black. Most, I believe, were Haitian. Signs scotch-taped to the wall were written in Haitian creole, sometimes with French. Li entedi manje nan sal la (1). All four walls were darkened at seated head level by the hundreds or thousands of heads that have waited here. Children stumbled over legs and benches while babies sat in mother's laps. The children looked healthy, the babies were fat - these children eat more than just mudcakes. This piece of France floating in the middle of the Caribbean is refuge and asylum for Haitians who have managed to travel the 740 miles, with or without papers. In comparison, my request for papers seems so much less urgent, almost indulgent.

(1) Il est interdit de manger dans cette salle. Eating is forbidden in this room.

I Love Ice Cream

France has great ice cream and our favorites are from the HB brand. Okay, HB is not French, its actually Irish, but I consider it to be a luxury of living in France since its not available in the US. M. loves Magnums, which I admit are fairly devastating. I find Magnums a little too rich for daily consumption. My favorite are Soleros, vanilla ice cream coated in an exotic fruit sorbet. It reminds me of the vanilla ice cream / orange sorbet combination that US supermakets carry. If the image is true to content, 'exotic' is a mixture of mango, pineapple, peach, and passion fruit (lots of P's!). Unfortunately, Carrefour only carries Solero exotic, so I can't tell you if Solero smoothie strawberry banana or blackberry banana are any good. The packaging itself is pretty yummy: the orange stripes against a cream background. HB's website is incredibly cute, probably created for kids, but fairly amusing.

Eating Well

As I mentioned in a previous post, our local boulangerie in Trois-Rivières makes an excellent baguette. Here, the baguette is consistently good. The only stipulation is that you must clearly ask for a baguette that is 'bien cuite,' or well cooked, since some customers apparently like their baguette on the soft side (why, I haven't the foggiest). Today's baguette was absolutely marvelous, having been bought while still warm. It was the perfect color, the perfect crustiness, a triumph, I think.


Above, the triumphant baguette. Below, a detail.


Otherwise, we stopped by the market in Basse Terre. We haven't been there in a long time, and so also had to stop by Marcellia's stand to restock on rum. M. chose a red currant punch, which is, along with coconut punch, the traditional punch of the season. Technically, the red currant punch is not exactly a true punch since it is not a masceration of red current berries, but a mixture of red currant syrup plus rum. M. also picked up two bottles of shrub to send to family in France for Christmas. Shrub is rum infused with the peel of an orange (or tangerine, or clementine) plus a good amount of sugar. Beyond these two main components, other ingredients may be added according to personal tastes, vanilla and cinnamon being the most popular.


The more I dine in other people's homes, the more I realize that everybody 'makes' their own alcohol. Its not just people who are from Guadeloupe, or have Antillais roots, but even recent expats. M.'s got a little booklet of traditional creole recipes, including one for shrub. It sounds pretty delicious, and I've convinced him that we ought to try our hand at making our own.

Too Connected

Having spent yet another day aimlessly on the internet, I wonder if the internet is sabotaging my attempt at making a new life in Guadeloupe.

When I first arrived in September, internet had not yet been installed at the house and would not be for almost an entire month. I think its unnecessary to describe the anguish. Still, it took me one whole week to overcome my fear of going out alone so that I could use the free internet at the local library. I can tell you, I was ecstatic when we finally got internet at the house.

Since, I obsessively check my email, refreshing that inbox continually. I also read the NYTimes everyday: first the style and food pieces, occasionally some real estate and home&garden, and finally, I dutifully read the headlines, some world and US politics. Occasionally, I read some other online magazines, and a few blogs. All of this inevitably leads me to random surfing on the internet. Added to work, my days are essentially spent in front of my computer, online.

It has occurred to me that time I spend online, connecting with the world outside of Guadeloupe, is time I might have spent with Guadeloupe. M.'s brother J.C. spent three weeks here, and in those three weeks, he had more contact with people here than I have during the three months I've been on this island.

Worse, since November, I've started blogging, which adds a few hours of internet time weekly.

I started this blog for a few reasons. I feel a blog is a wonderful way of sharing my experiences and my new life with family and friends, all of whom now live several layovers away. However, I blog mainly for myself - a reason, I think, that is fairly common amongst bloggers. I blog to reflect upon my experiences and my life in Guadeloupe, and to do so in an intelligent and thoughtful way. The prospect of having an audience ensures that I take the time to blog, and do so in a somewhat serious manner - both of which gives blogging a great advantage over a personal diary. Finally, I started this blog in hopes that it would help me adapt. I thought it might help me generate the excitement I lacked in making Guadeloupe my new home.

Despite these good intentions, though, I think blogging about Guadeloupe may only make any sort of integration or assimilation more difficult because I insulate myself from my new environment. I observe, but do not participate. I see and experience my life through the lens of a former New Yorker, instead of attempting to seeing Guadeloupe as it is.

Perhaps this view is harsh. Anybody who is obliged to undergo such a radical change is permitted a period of adaptation. In any case, I don't think I will give up blogging for the time being (nor stop my other online activities), but I think I will try harder to get away from my computer, and out into the real Guadeloupe more often.

Plage de la Caravelle

Plage de la Caravelle is supposedly one of the most beautiful beaches in Guadeloupe. Its hard to say, since I think most beaches in Guadeloupe are pretty amazing.

La Caravelle falls within the commune of Sainte-Anne, which lies on the southern coast of Grande Terre (the eastern 'wing' of the Guadeloupe butterfly), facing a turquoise blue Atlantic Ocean.

There is public parking along the road leading to the beach. Its never been so crowded that there weren't any parking spaces left, but you can always park in the small private lots along the same road for a few euros. Signs posted can direct you.
(Left: The road leading to the beach. On the left, private houses. On the right, free parking!)



After you've parked the car, walk south along the dirt road. You may find the right side of the road littered with wood, corrugated metal, garbage. Not exactly promising for Guadeloupe's most beautiful beach. The road used to be lined with merchants selling beach garb, local crafts. There were even a few food stalls, and a place that rented windsurfing material at the end of the road, facing the water. But all of these merchants were asked to leave by the government in order to enforce French law (1) which prohibits any establishment within 50 meters of the coast.
(Above: The road lined with broken down stalls; in the foreground, the last remaining stall selling pareos, rasta-inspired clothing.)

The beach is public, even though it may not appear that way. At the end of the road you must pass through a little gate, somewhat resembling the HEET turnstiles in NYC subways. I suspect that the gates may be chained in the evening. Then, you walk by armed guards with german shepherds. They are somewhat less intimidating than it sounds, since both men and guards are usually lying about underneath an open tent. There will be a narrow path - dirt, then sand - with a low fence running along it. Behind the fence is the Club Med complex (and, the reason for the guards and dogs). Walk along the path until you find a nice spot.
(Above, the narrow path. That sideways palm tree is great for posing)

It can be a bit of a hike, depending on what part of the road you parked. So you may be tempted to spread out your towel at the first empty spot on the beach. But, the first section of the beach is rather windy. The breeze may seem nice after all the walking, but it will get tiresome. If you continue walking along the path until the path completes a full right turn - or, alternatively, until you pass the jolly roger - you'll come to the section that is best suited for lying about, windlessly.
(Above: Windy part of the beach, perfect for windsurfing.)

There is an invisible border marked by the small concrete pier. After this pier, most of the people on the beach will be Club Med guests, since the main entrance to the hotel lies further down along the low fence. Here, the beach chairs are for Club Med guests. The photographers are for Club Med guests. And, most painfully, the man wandering about with little cubes of watermelon on a platter, are also for Club Med guests. This, of course, does not prevent you in any way from choosing any spot beyond said pier. You will not be bothered. You simply won't get any watermelon.

If you get hungry, you have two options: You can either walk back to the dirt road where you parked your car. You probably already saw the small restaurants amongst the houses that serve sandwiches, and also full meals. Or, for those who are too lazy to make the trek, merchants wander up and down along the beach selling various and variously tasty things: crepes, sandwiches, cakes, donuts, pineapple, coconut. There is also a man, set up not far from the jolly roger, that sells fresh coconut juice. He hacks off a piece with his machete and pops in a straw. You can also buy non-food items, such as pareos, seashell necklaces, etc.
(Above: A wandering merchant showing a sunbather children's clothes made from madras and folk print cloth.)

















Plage de la Caravelle
A white sand beach facing turquoise waters, in front of Club Med, populated mostly by tourists from Club Med, with a mixture of couples and families. The beach and water are kept extremely clean. First section of the beach is ideal for windsurfing; entire beach has strong currents at times.
Location: Ste. Anne (Grand Terre)
Parking: Public parking along the road; private parking in small lots.
Food: Restaurants along the road to the beach; wandering food merchants.
Public Showers: None
Public Restrooms: None

(1) Loi Littoral