6 Mar: A Piece of France
"Allô, Allô!" Photo by Juliet, Keoma
“What do you think? Shall I pick it up?” There was something naughty in Charlie’s voice. A telephone might be a commodity for most people, but for a cruiser used to VHF, SSB and Iridium, an ordinary phone is not heard ringing each and every day. Especially not if the buzzing originates from a public telephone booth. “Well, - why not?”, replied my otherwise so well-mannered wife Karolina. I knew nothing about this conversation, since I was in deep discussion with Charlie’s charming wife Juliet walking slightly behind Karolina and Charlie.

Charlie hurried to the telephone booth and picked it up. “Hello!”. A chatter on the other end could be heard. Even Juliet and I heard it by now, having come closer to find out what Karolina and Charlie were doing. “Oh, I don’t speak French so well. I’m from England!”, Charlie explained. The Monsieur on the other end did not take notice to this English statement. Charlie then tried with “Je…ne…parle…pas…bien.... le Français. Un moment s’il vous plaît!…. Ici, un homme qui parle Français!”, which sounded quite good, actually, but then suddenly he handed over the receiver to me, who had nothing whatsoever to do with answering other people’s telephones on a French Westindian island, even though it was public in this case.
Rapidly, I was pushed inside the telephone booth by Charlie and Karolina. Trying to overcome my confusion, I did my best with my very rusty school-French. “Allô?!” I tried carefully, whereby Le Monsieur on the other end continued his French monologue, wondering who and where in France I was. I tried to explain that he actually had called up a public telephone in the Caribbean and not his aunt in Paris, or whoever he was trying to call. “Ici, ce n’est pas la France!”, I tried, but I knew I was wrong, because this was actually part of France and very much so. Everything was French, ranging from the Gendarmerie over the cars to the cafés and restaurant with baguette, café au lait and Les Euros.
Charlie and Karolina looking innocent outside the telephone booth. Photo by Juliet, Keoma.
By the look of it, this island could have been just any arrondissement in France, and it probably was. Like Gotland belongs to Sweden and Helgoland to Germany, Madeira to Portugal and the Canaries to Spain, these Iles des Saintes and Guadeloupe were just another part of France. The fact that it happened to be located on the other side of the Atlantic in a wonderful climate made no difference.
Looking closely on a Euro-bill, Guadeloupe is even marked in a small little box by its own, indicating its share of the EU and the EURO-countries.
I wonder what will happened to the EURO-bills the day these islands become independent, but, I reckon, this is not an issue, anyway, just as Gotland, Helgoland, Madeira or the Canaries would never part from their mother countries, would they?

In other words, we had suddenly come home! Admittingly, it was just a little box in the outskirts of EURO-Europe, but still, at home in Europe, driving on the right side of the road and experiencing European culture. What a strange feeling! Even our E111-form for health care is said to be valid here.
Rue Jean Calot, the main street in Bourg de Saintes on Terre de Haut, Iles des Saintes.
The difference to Grenada could not have been more significant. Two night’s sail up north, everything was so French! The only language we could hear was French, which was more or less also the only language which could be used for becoming understood, as I increasingly became aware of, where I stood in my telephone booth, sweating with my friends around me, each with a big grin on their face. It was not only the heat in the sun provoking the sudden perspiration.

“Alors, ce n’est pas la France normale”. I tried to be more precise now. “Nous sommes en Iles des Saintes. Ce sont des îles aux Antilles…., En Amérique, vous savez?! Et je suis dans une cabine téléphonique, et vous avez m’appelé, n’est pas?!”. Oh, dear, how could I explain that I am in America answering his call? Besides, it was not me but my friend Charlie who did it, and I was actually innocent and was just trying to help him. But with what? Charlie and Karolina were now standing beside me and couldn’t hide their laughter any longer.
Place H. du Buisson in the centre of the town.
How do you explain – in French – to a Monsieur yelling out of a public phone, that even though he had called a French phone number, he nevertheless had reached America and not, for instance, the Côte d’Azur in Mediterranean France. But it almost could have been the Mediterranean France from the look of it, at least with some imagination. The poor Monsieur told me - well, I think that is what he told me at least –that he had been giving this very number and that he was returning this call. Therefore, he was convinced that I was the one who had called him in first place, and that he returned this call to find out what I wanted, which was literally nothing. To explain this – in French - became yet another challenge for me. “Je ne crois pas, Monsieur. Je ne sais rien de tous!”, which, again, was a bit incorrect, since I, at least, knew things he didn’t, like where I was. The fact that he did not know whom he wanted to talk to, put us both into an equal position. I think we finally agreed on the fact that this conversation did little to cast light onto humanity, so we ended the conversation, not knowing who was more confused than the other. All I knew was that Karolina, Charlie, Juliet and all the kids found this being very amusing and, at least Jessica, was impressed that I could talk for so long in French with someone I did not know.

My telephone booth experience was an acid test to the French language, which would become very useful on this island, since English is practiced only as a backup-system to the otherwise superior language: French.

For me, it was wonderful to stroll through French culture again. The attractive smell of well-prepared food from the countless restaurants filled the streets. You know, this smell of melted butter mixed with herbs and possibly fresh garlic oozing out of the many restaurant kitchens. People were carrying baguettes under their arms rushing along the streets and French wine and cheese was sold to subsidized prices. Of course, the French government has to help these poor inhabitants far away from French vines, ensuring that wine and cheese is available to affordable prices. How else could you expect a French man to survive so far away from the homeland vineyards? The French words “Liberté”, “Egalité” and Fraternité” obtained a new meaning to me: the Freedom to move to a wonderful climate, the same Rights to still enjoy the wines and cheese from home and the Fraternity with the original population, in case they showed up somewhere.
The proud town hall of Bourg de Saintes neither missing the French Tricolore nor the words "Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité".
Every morning, I took the dinghy and came back with fresh Baguettes, to which we had Brie or Confiture together with a large cup of Café au Lait. Well, in all honesty, the coffee with milk was just the same we always had every morning, but here, in Iles des Saintes, it clearly tasted more like Café au Lait!

Being back to a Euro-land, we observed that people were stressed, which we hadn’t seen for a long time. The local café, for instance, served us efficiently and quickly. But the price they paid was the lack of the happy faces we had become accustomed to in the Windward Islands further south. “Island time” and the slow living had not spread to the French islands. Some believe the French are slightly unfriendly, but I do not agree. They are just lacking the laid-back “take-it-easy-man” attitude we had begun to love so much on the previous islands. They took it all so seriously here!

Something to take seriously, on the other hand, was the 5th March, Jessica’s and Jonathan’s birthday. They were eagerly preparing invitation cards to the boats we knew or hoped would show up in Antigua for the big day.

To join up with a lot of boat friends in Antigua was great, but the company of Charlie, Juliet and their wonderful daughters Alice and Pip on Keoma was equally wonderful on Iles des Saints.

Charlie is an engineer, just like Karolina and I am, so we talk the same language, so to speak.
His parents-in-law are working on introducing electrical scooters in Europe, which must be very timely during this present decade, I believed, when world-wide oil production reaches its peak. Charlie and I were in deep discussions about the technical benefits of NiMeHy-batteries, charging times, engine torque and parking solutions for electrical scooters. We both couldn’t understand why these superior vehicles had not become more popular, yet! Juliet, being a lawyer and no engineer, said she could have had one, but declined, since she didn’t like the idea of casting a helmet on her hair or to knee down in the rain to lock the scooter. Now, here was the market talking! I think engineers need some female touch in marketing, sometimes!
As in Mediterranean France, Scooters were found everywhere on the French islands (but none with electrical propulsion), here parked in a long line outside the church of Bourg des Saintes. Photo by Juliet, Keoma.
We spent some wonderful days with Keoma in Iles des Saintes. Especially Jonathan was enjoying the company of Alice and you could see them sticking together whenever they got a chance to.
Alice and Jonathan enjoying each other's company. Photo to the left by Juliet, Keoma.
Too soon, we realized that we had some serious preparations to do for the birthday-beach-party. So we decided to leave Iles des Saintes after just 3 days heading to Antigua, which was another 85 miles further north.

It is incredible, by the way, how we have got used to sailing distances. The 260 miles from Grenada to Iles des Saintes were not comparable with the similar distance over the North Sea. We caught some good sleep already on the first day at sea and on the second day, we were almost in the rhythm of passage making again. We instantly found it relaxing to turn in after a watch, falling to sleep much quicker, rather than anxiously lying awake unconsciously wondering if your partner would be all right during his or her watch.
Overlooking the town of Bourg des Saintes from Fort Napoléon with the sheltered anchorage, where Regina and Keoma stayed for 3 days. Photo by Juliet, Keoma (I had forgotten to bring my camera!!!)
The archipelago of Iles des Saintes. Here the Passe du Pain de Sucre. Again a beautiful picture taken by Juliet, Keoma, with Leon's camera left behind on Regina. Thank you Juliet for sharing these photos!
The 85 miles ahead of us to Antigua were hence regarded as a day’s sail. Motoring out of Iles des Saintes at 04.00 in the morning made us arrive 12 hours later at 16.00 in Antigua, the Mecca of British sailing art, gathering yachts of all sizes, with a significant predominance of the larger superyachts.

Saying “Au Revoir” to the French islands was a bit sad. At least “Au Revoir” meant we hoped to meet again, which we already were looking forward to.