Mangez bien, riez souvent, aimez beaucoup.
Eat well, laugh often, love often. The Learning Curve.
Joe untangling the line so we can hoist the flag of Guadeloupe.
Ce n’est pas la mer à boire. Literal translation: “It’s not as if you have to drink the sea.” Actual meaning: “It’s not that difficult” or “it’s not a big deal.”
Our first days in Deshaies, Guadeloupe were full of the magic that keeps the dream alive. We woke up to sunshine and swam off the boat. Coffee and pain au chocolat followed. We snagged a strong, new mooring close to a snorkeling area in the little bay, some comfort in this area known for dragging boats due to sudden, strong winds. Boat secure, we hiked the hill and called through the gate to a customs officer. They weren’t open but would let us in early, undoubtedly charmed by my clumsy French. Soon we were strolling through the Jardin Botanique, a short shuttle ride up the hill(new-to-me French word- shuttle-navette). The koi dissolved into a feeding frenzy when we tossed them food and we delighted in becoming perches for the lorikeets. The next evening, I used my rusty French and best smile to score a last-minute table at the Paradise Kafe. We sipped our very first ti punch, nibbled our first housemade accra (spicy fish fritters), specialties of Guadeloupe.
We fit in some first-class snorkeling, wandered the back streets of this tiny town, found the ATM and stamps for postcards to our granddaughter Ryland and bonus granddaughter Zoe, sampled our way through the market, became regulars at the boulangerie, and tasted rum at the recently opened La Boutique du Rhum de Deshaies. The owners gifted us a bottle of rose after a warm chat.
Joe leaned back that second evening, elbows behind his head, “I could be content in a place like Deshaies for a long time. I feel so at home. Good food, good rum, beauty, great company.. “Even better,” he smiled slyly, “I can’t speak the language and you do…” Translation: all the errands were mine. We walked down the narrow street to the dinghy dock hand in hand.
Early the next morning, we set off to accomplish some tasks of daily living. As it turns out, while traipsing from place to place, we have plenty of chores and all the regular stuff of life. We needed a local phone plan to use throughout the Caribbean. We had intel from cruisers before us. It would take a day but it would be a snap. Fast forward to day two of this one-day task.
We stood on the steamy pavement under the shade of tall palm trees that provided a little shelter from the broiling afternoon sun. Chickens scratched busily in the dirt, chicks following the mamas while roosters occasionally swooped in to strut their stuff. A collarless dog lay in the shelter of a tree trunk next to some debris. This little triangle of shade divided the busy roadways surrounding us. People perched on the edges of the sidewalk, coming and going. Buses and cars stopped to discharge or pick up passengers. The bus we needed had not yet showed.
Joe and I thought we were pros at taking the bus. The previous day, we had ridden to Saint Rose, then to Baie Mahualt and back, about three hours of bus time. A kind high school student used her break time to walk us from one stop to another in Saint Rose. Some local women in Baie Mahualt gave us directions to the return bus to Deshaies. We knew how it worked. So we thought.
This day, Saturday, we’d hopped on an empty bus, with passports AND the needed boat papers in hand, brimming with confidence. We were getting this down; language and the unfamiliar be damned. We cheerfully mapped out stops at a rum distillery, intriguingly named the Museum of Rhum, and the agricultural museum right along our bus route.
Yet here we were, well into our fourth hour of waiting. I consulted the bus schedule again and again, willing the bus to show. Surely, one of the scheduled buses would come? We were hot, sticky and thirsty. Our earlier bonhomie dissolved into thirst, fatigue with a tinge of grumpiness.
We wanted to get back home to our boat. It had been two days of culture immersion and frustration. After presenting my passport and our check-in papers(brought day 2 but not day 1), negotiating all the French needed to buy a Digicel plan, the employee handed me a physical SIM. Ah- I have an iPhone 14, I explained, not for the first time. She looked perplexed. Eventually, I learned:
1. Digicel has e-sims but, in Guadeloupe, you need to go to a special office to get them. On Monday.
2. My contract could not be canceled. We needed a manager. The manager would be back at work. When? Monday.
3. Customer service? 555. And from a non-Digicel number? Bah! Not sure. Come back on Monday.
4. The current bus schedule was not so current and the drivers didn’t seem to know the schedule. I was told this was very French. More than once. C’est la vie.
Another bus approached. I dashed across the street to the bus stop in the hot sun. “Pardonez- moi. Quand arrive le prochain bus pour Deshaies?” I sputtered out. The driver replied as all the previous drivers had. “ Il arrive bientot (soon).” The sun set.
Another bus to Sainte Rose rolled up. I asked the question again. This driver shrugged. This was the last bus towards our little fishing village that day, he said. The schedule? Bah, who knew? Joe and I had already discussed taking a bus to the airport in Point-a-Pitre, the opposite direction, renting a car and driving back to our little village, then returning the car. But then once again- there would be a bus. Simple plans are best. We jumped on the bus to Sainte Rose. We told the driver we would find a taxi. Deshaies was only about half an hour from Sainte Rose. The drivers and riders up front expressed concern with this plan. Well. We would be that much closer.
The bus rolled through the darkness into the town square of Saint Rose. People were lined up along the streets expectantly. Dozens of empty chairs sat facing the street. What was happening? I stopped a security guard with kind eyes. Pardon, I began. Did he know of a taxi to Deshaies? The guard explained., “Mais, non.” The pre-carnival band competition, night two, was about to start. The entire town was lining up for an evening of fun. Even if there was a taxi driver, none would be willing to leave the party. We appreciate the values but we still wanted to get home.
His eyes widened and his face grew concerned. He consulted a group of security guards and a few local men. His English and my French were not quite connecting but the news wasn’t looking good. We asked for a hotel. None in this town. The guard was genuinely worried. He added that he wished he had a spare room for us. Joe quipped that they might have to arrest us so we could have a place to sleep. No one laughed.
I noticed a woman hovering on the edge of our conversation. Perhaps she could help us, both with the language barrier and finding a ride. Christine, and her husband, Guy, from France, were vacationing in Guadeloupe. Christine, a retired English teacher, was interested in our situation. Within a few minutes, Christine and Guy offered to drive us back to Deshaies. We insisted on repaying them with a round of drinks, which led to another and then gourmet pizza. We ended the day sharing delicious food and drink and making new friends.
Christine and Guy below and a photo Christine took of the competition in Saint Rose.
Scoring the cell phone plan took some persistence. Digicel customer service reps and I communicated via email, chat, and finally on the phone. Each day, I was advised to be patient. The appropriate department was working on it. Why couldn’t they just send me a QR code I wondered? They were working on it. Each time I communicated with someone, the Donna the Buffalo song, The Learning Curve ran through my mind.
Learning: language, culture, persistence with patience, practicing humor and self-control.
We sailed from Deshaies to Pigeon Beach where a turtle, about three feet in diameter, hung out around our boat. We snorkeled at the famous Cousteau Underwater Park, admiring the variety of fish. We walked around town and went out for drinks. We found the protected dinghy dock, the Carrefour, the laundromat and a creperie. We learned to use the self-serve laundromat with the help of cruisers from Texas and another pair from France.
We sailed on to Les Iles des Saintes. We admired the view from Fort Napoleon. We met up with some old friends and made some new ones. We “researched” local pastries and walked miles. We snorkeled and swam. Each day I sent an email or tried to reach someone by phone about the phone plan. I reached out to a friend who lives in France and had formerly lived in the Saintes. After hearing my saga, she said my French is probably not the problem. It’s just the way things are. C’est la vie.
Almost two weeks from when we first visited the Digicel store, the phone rang my T-Mobile number. The Digicel customer service guy just needed to send me a security email so I could receive my QR code. We lost connection. I didn’t receive the email. Surely I gave it to him wrong, he insisted when he called back. We tried again. No email came. He would try again tomorrow. I sent an email once again. Why couldn’t they just send me a QR code?
Our final day in Guadeloupe, we worked through our project list: finish the conversion of the toilet from fresh water flush to seawater to conserve water, refill our water tanks, laundry, change beds, garbage disposal, provisioning, clear cubbies to make space for our upcoming guests, chart our course, secure the boat for the passage and so on. I casually checked my email.
Woohoo! An email from Digicel with that QR code and a sentence neutrally stating the email had been incorrectly entered the afternoon before. Five minutes and two weeks from the onset, my local phone number was operational. We celebrated our last evening in Guadeloupe with a walkabout, a little wine, yet more accra, dessert and botanically infused rum at Ti Kaz La. As we returned to the dinghy dock, all the diners in the restaurant adjacent to the pier were on their feet dancing to the music playing there. They were about 20 feet away through the restaurant’s open air window. Joe and I joined in, dancing on the dinghy dock, twirling and swaying to the music from the restaurant. This brought a cheer and round of clapping from the couples inside.
It was a beautiful ending to our too-brief visit to Guadeloupe. We will return. The Rhum Museum and so much more need visiting. Ce n’est pas la met à boire. La vie est belle
.
Hi Mary and Joe. I think about you guys nearly every day. I'm so happy to read your posts, Mary. Thank you, thank you, thank you for committing the time to keep us all in the loop. What a fabulous experience you are having!