By Tom Clifford
Walking from Nettle Bay to Marigot requires a dexterity of step, more associated with a disco dancer than a rambler, to avoid a sting or two from lurking nettles. Those feisty plants have, at first glance, an almost down-at-heel appearance. Drooping leaves and not much of a sheen evoke an almost apologetic countenance. The grass verge, where they reside to catch the unwary by surprise, also requires a sense of balance to prevent stumbles that would elicit a much more serious consequence onto the busy road. It is not unusual to see cement mixers or large trucks thunder past. The phrase margin of error comes to mind …
The scenery changes as the walker nears their destination. Small businesses, many of them eateries, are scattered along the way but become concentrated as the main town and capital in the French Collectivity of Saint Martin makes its presence felt. A café table on the Rue du President Kennedy was a beguiling prospect as I felt I deserved a reward from my exertions thus far.
The name of the location intrigued me and my mind went back to Ireland. Walking allows the mind the luxury to wander even when taking a refreshment. I was too young to remember his assassination in 1963. Just months before he had visited Ireland. However, I clearly remember this visit still being recalled fondly in the 1970s and 80s.
I was hopeful of finding a bookshop but when I eventually came across the quaint building on the seafront it was closed for lunch. At the Rue de la Republique I went into a chemist(*) to get mosquito repellent. Walking down the street to the bay I kept on gazing at the ornate woodwork decorating many of the buildings. The craftsmanship was exquisite. Are those woodworkers still active? Have they a market today for their skills?
I have not yet climbed up to the fort but like a shy romantic I have admired it from afar. It’s commanding presence requires the viewer to have a knowledge of history. Who built it? When? Did its cannons roar against pirates? These are questions that tease my curiosity. Their answers will help me understand the heritage of the island that is currently my home. To ignore them would be a sign of rudeness or at least indifference to my new surroundings. And again the mind wanders. I have seen small gestures of politeness here that go above and beyond the call of duty. Of course, shop assistants will greet you warmly in the hope that you might spend a dollar or a euro or two. But in a supermarket where assistants are busy and it is obvious you are there to spend regardless of how polite or impolite the staff, they are still warm in their welcome. Setting off by foot on this island will reward the walker in many ways. Just be careful of nettles.
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Publisher’s Note: In this column, the author uses the word “chemist” to refer to what is commonly known in the Caribbean and North America as a ‘pharmacy’ or ‘drugstore’. The term chemist is often used in Ireland and the United Kingdom to describe the same type of establishment.
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Previous columns by Tom Clifford:
The Biting Truth About Paradise: Mosquitos!
A Tale of Two Cities: Marigot and Philipsburg
A northern side apple tart
Taxis & Buses
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