Fort de France is closed
Shutters blind eyes to the passing world
Streets with their ears shut
On every street the mentally beset
Chanting their own version of the pain
Of dislocation from the bored and everyday
Every statue smashed
But a blaster comes round to clean the streets
With his buddies in the sweeper wagon
Like some new american super weapon
Some glorious buildings
Sunk into mould and moss
Egalitarian, hiding imperialism
And colonial efficiency
Behind the itchy skin
Of the would-be pure
And iron
The tropics wear their tropicality lightly
It takes no effort at all
But I could not afford to live here
The prices are higher than Falmouth
All loopholes apparently closed
Some white French have washed up here
For the good life amongst the muddy streets
Funny how powerful some ideas can be
In the face of all evidence
The lines of strain still visible
If you're looking for heaven then
this isn't it.
Why should it be?
OH BUT YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE DARLING
What we need
is passengers enough to intrigue
to have cocktail parties in cabins and selectively not invite
But we three
are incapable of such subtlety
misplaced backpackers
baffled on the sea.
1300: Ashore there was a taxi waiting to take us into Fort de France. Most things were closed because it was Saturday afternoon. Not many people about. We got soaked – Tom wanted to find a pharmacy to get some toiletries (he seems to have come away in a hell of a hurry) so we slogged through a true tropical rainstorm, though the locals were sheltering under awnings and shop fronts. I was best off because I was wearing my raincoat, but even so my trousers and shoes were soaked, and most of the contents of my bag damp.
We walked round the quiet and run-down town and visited a couple of bars where I drank beer (Loraine) and Peter and Tom moved on to rum. In the second bar a group of black youth rapped in French. We were approached by various strange people, including an elderly white lady with some sort of statement stuck to a palm leaf. I got fed up watching people drink so I went off filming.
We got back to the ship at about 1730, but it didn't leave until much later. It was strange to be without the sound of the engine.0730: Rain is battering the ship and visibility is very bad. We three passengers sat staring through the ports at the rain bouncing off a scuttle - just like home! A very familiar feeling of lassitude and pointlessness. Even here it is a bad summer. (Actually it is late in the rainy season.)
We asked Ivan about our passports and about how long we might get ashore. There was no satisfactory answer to either question. Communication in multi pigeon mode often leaves you exhausted but none the wiser.
I'm trying to get a signal on my mobile phone. I want to wish Sue luck for the performance at Lowender Peran later, and I'm running out of time.
0300 - 0500: I woke up about 3 and went on deck. It was soaking wet from a tropical rainstorm and intermittent waterfalls came from the top of the funnel. The decks were very slippery. I wanted to film stars but they were occluded. And then dawn came. Radio available, even VHF, French and English.
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