We got ourselves into town by eight o’clock but even so the baguettes were already sold out. We ordered three for the next day, or at least we hoped we did. I’m still struggling with the transition from bad Spanish to bad French.
We walked up the hill to the graveyard, always my favorite starting place, not just for the picture of island life the memorials paint, but for the pretty view over the bay nearly always accorded the dead.
On our way down we poked our heads in the modern church just as the sun came out to illuminate the stained glass window, a rarity in these parts.
Then we happened on the tiny museum as a man was unlocking the door. He was the archaeologist from the University of Hawaii who’s been overseeing various small excavations here since 1984. We looked at the artifacts in the display cases, then asked about internet. Hmmm, no. This despite the fact that I can see ten or twelve networks on our router.
Next stop, town hall. Internet? No, but ask at the shop. They’ll give you the password and you can sit on the benches outside. We walked back to the shop where we think we ordered the baguettes. Internet? No. Really? She shook her head. On to the post office. Internet? No, but ask at the shop. The shop said no, we told the clerk, and she seemed surprised. Nowhere else, we asked? She shook her head. Our incredible photos are piling up and we have no way to post them.
On our way back to the dinghy we met a local man trailing two beautiful children. He asked if we wanted some fruit. Yes! we said, and vegetables too. No vegetables, he said, but when he saw my disappointed face he said he might be able to find some beans. We agreed to whatever else he could get and he promised to deliver to our boat. True to his word, Jim and family pulled up alongside Escape Velocity and handed over a hand of bananas, tons of mangos, pamplemousse, limes, tomatoes and long beans. We paid them 2000 francs, about $20, which we thought fair for the amount of produce and the delivery service. Jim’s wife also promised to confirm our baguette reservation after we told her we weren’t sure we’d communicated our order at the store.
By late afternoon, the anchorage emptied out again and once more we were alone. We planned to go ashore very early to get our baguettes, then seek out Fati, the famous tattoo artist who lives up the hill. The williwaws settled down finally and we had a lovely quiet evening watching the few lights on shore and the stars above.