A la Fin

It's weird. I can recall certain memories I pegged. The first day. The end of the first month. The last month. The last three days. Already,  I am repacked and basically on my way back home. I have today, tomorrow and Tuesday. Then Wednesday I leave at 7.00 with Amanda from campus to my airplane to Barbados, then from there to Miami....then home. Man. It's over as soon as it starts. Of course there have been those inspiring ups, and those emotional downs, but hey-- I did it and I'm sad that's it's over.

The last few days have been pretty low key. Studying for exams, sight seeing, cleaning and being sick has taken up most of my time. Hoping my stipend comes before I leave, making plans back in the states and last minute gift shopping has taken up the rest. When I come home I will regret becoming so familiar with Martinique-- losing that first-day-awe, but at the same time I will be proud that I could call this place home. What an adventure it's been.

Attends, Attends.

Oh, la vie. Elle est belle, elle est laide. Elle est tranquil et bizarre. La vie, ca, ca c'est la vie.
A la Martinique.

ahhh

Attend should be the first word in French any anglophone learns upon his of her arrival to Martinique. Attendre-- to wait. You better be ready to wait, wait, wait. Wait for the bus, wait for your food. Wait in line. Wait for your appointment. Wait to be waited on. Wait, wait, wait. Attends, attends. "Caribbean Time" is not a joke-- it's a lifestyle. Punctuality is going to be a slap in the face 2 weeks from now.

Alllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllright. So, it's May 5th. Cinco de mayo (surprisingly not celebrated here... dommage). That leave exactly 13 days until my arrival back in the US of A. The world has changed so much since I left-- the crisis in Japan, the near governmental shutdown, tornadoes, riots celebrating the death of Osama. Naturally I've been grilled about all of it by my fellow exchange students--being American is a full time job in this bitch. I hope I still fit in when I get back. I suppose I've changed as well, hopefully we're just as cohesive as we were when I left.

A regular Campus Day

I've been keeping myself busy during my absence, that's for sure. A few weekends ago, Carin, Ines, Christian and I rented a car and did a tour of the island. Initially I was going to be the driver-- but me+stick+mountains=imminent death for everyone in a 10 mile radius, so Christian took over and was a boss. The group dynamic turned out to be amazing. Carin from San Diego, Christian from Germany and Ines from Peru turned out to be the most excellent of traveling buddies. The four of us made our way to some of the most beautiful places on the island. We met up with Stefan, his friends, Christos and Argyro, his girlfriend as well as a ton of others at one of my favorite beaches, Anse Couleuvre in the north. On our way, we got a bit turned around, so we decided to take a lovely detour and drive as far as possible up the Mountagne Pelee-- a volcano that erupted in May 1902 and killed 30,000 people. The volcano gives an incredible view of the island-- you can see the Atlantic Ocean and the Caribbean Sea at the same time. The temperature change is startling, and the natural power of the volcano is virtually tangible. Once you park, you can climb the mountain to the summit, but we left that for another day.

Christian and the Car

Anse Coulevre

View from Mount Pelee

We also made our way to small towns on the way, and the next day went to Les Salines, which is meant to be one of the prettiest beaches on the island. But the beach didnt meat our now snobby credentials, so we left to another, did some shopping and roamed the south. Having a car breathed a bit of life into all of us; I can't stress how poor the public transport is . We plan to rent another one for a week or so, and really destroy this place before we leave.

 Ignore them, even when they are laughing.

Ignore them, even when they are screaming.

SO, most of the time we are in the town of Schoelcher-- livin' the schoelcher life. Schoelcher is basically a suburb of Fort de France, but too small to be considered anything other than a village. The campus is considered Schoelcher, but the "town" where the "businesses" are (a pizzaria, kabob place and  like 6 creperies) is down what I like to call Mount Campus ( a heinously steep hill we walk down to get into town and to the beach, and UP TO GET HOME FML). I will leave with fond memories of Schoelcher, but it is, to be polite, an honest portrayal  of life in Martinique. Some of the homes are just skeletons of old, dilapidated foundations and frameworks. They look as though they could tumble at any moment. They are dirty, broken and nestled in the streets that often wreak of piss, corpse and vomit. It's only saving grace is night fall, when their true nature is masked by darkness. The Schoelcher cats rule the streets, constantly hunting in garbage cans and using the beach as their personal litter box. The crack heads are in full force as well, fighting, mooching and befriending naive foreigners. But the beach, corner bar and dock have become our second home, amongst the poverty and character that makes the town. Some of the residents don't have running water or electricity. But somehow, they find happiness in their ocean view.

Lovely Night for a Sing along

Friends on the dock

Schoelcher Plage

Schoelcher

It's been quite an experience being here. La Negritude, colonization and identity issues have a whole meaning to me and my perspectives. I love the place that I live, but its waring me down and I have a huge respect for those that call it home.

Ce qu'on aime est toujours belle

Oh Martinique.

My blogs have fallen few and far between. Like I've said before, it's an odd thing to know that your life is anything but normal-- the oddities have become a daily standard. But needless to say there are still plenty of interesting things to discuss : )

Martiniqueeeeee!!!!!!!!

True to French fashion, the people here love to strike. One day while I was t work in FDF I saw a huge, potentially 1000 person strong, march in the center town. The signs were in creole (sweet) so I wasn't sure what it was about, but I eventually came to find it was the postal service. The strike grew and grew, others began, others ended, more businesses and business people got involved. A few weeks later there was a gas strike. There were lines 50 or more cars long, reports of people waiting upwards of 12 hours long for gas at the petrol stations. There was a strike at the port leaving grocery stores BARE. And eventually, about 2 or 3 weeks ago, the strikes reached the power services which meant BLACK OUTS!

AWESOME.

When the power goes out at home there are still street lights and back ups and so on so forth. Here-- nothing. The entire town of Schoelcher, the university and dorms were completely out of power. It was so amazing. We were on campus the first time, and everyone decided to go down byt he sea. The town Schoelcher, where I spend most of my time, had never looked so beautiful (probably because you couldn't see it). But standing on the beach, in the Caribbean, with all my friends around, silenced by the beauty of the stars and quieted by the hush of the ocean. Man, it was awesome-- in the proper sense. Incredible. Inspiring. We saw night how it was really supposed to look. Perfect!

chatting in the dark!

In other news-- a couple of my closest friends Max and Isabelle have left. They are 2 quebecois who were not students here, but backpackers who were close friends to some of the quebecois exchangers. Max and Isa are two of my favorite people in the world, traveling bad asses is what they are. They were so patient, so kind and giving with me and my shit French. Any progress I've made I owe to them, the other Quebecois and a few other little gems. We had so much fun with them, exploring the island, going out and crossing language barriers. Those two are a huge reason why this experience has been so monumental.

Love them.

However, their going away party was not as sentimental and adorable.
The Shoelcher plage has a few negative aspects. Besides it being the central meeting point for every foreigner ever, it is also a lions den of crack heads and feral cats. At Max and Isa's going away party, two of the aforementioned crack heads went AT IT. Alex, a toothless what-looks-like-100-but-is-probably-40 year old crack king who always plays shitty "Drums" he made from garbage and who speaks some melange of creole, french and gibberish, and Elliot, a more coherent more aggressive, younger version of Alex got into a serious brawl. Elliot at one point was stomping on Alex's chest, spewing an incomprehensible arsenal of what was surely obscenities. The origins of the fight are unclear and probably unjustified. But that's life here for them.

However, after the fight someone whipped out a guitar and we had a serious jam session. Jonas took over laying down some blues choruses and I sang words I was making up in English (good thing no one knew what the fuck I was saying it was surely nonsense).

Alex and I. OOps : /

So, all in all it was a good night, and I miss my friends dearly. They have returned safely to Quebec and plans to meet again are in the mix : ) That there is the best part of study abroad. : )

Not our boat.

What Else?!?!?!?!
Well, as I am sure I have mentioned before, the transport system here is virtually non-existent. The buses come and go as they please, and if it's past 7 or a Sunday-- good luck. That's for traveling around town, FDF and to University and back. If you want to get to another part of the island, its even harder. Ines and I went to St. Anne, a beautiful white sand beach to the south. We took a taxi navette, basically a shared van. The cost is 6.50 euro each way-- rip off-- and they are meant to just do tours back and forth. We went on a Sunday when the last taxi was meant to leave st anne for FDF at 3. We started waiting at 230 and, as I should have guessed, the taxi never came back. FML. 

We are stuck in the south.



This is the same day, no less, mama is meant to arrive.


So? We have to hitch hike. After walking for about an hour in the direction we hope is towards FDF we get picked up. The man takes us north east , unfortunately, that is one direction more than we were meant to go. Now we are north--good-- and east-- bad. We wait in this town by a gas station for 2 hours, looking for a ride. It's starting to get dark, we're scared, it's late, and mama is coming in. Finally, we get someone to drop us off at the airport. It's about 6 hours before my mom gets in-- what to do? We took a taxi back to school, we made it about an hour and a half closer than where we started, so why not? However, the 15 min taxi ride costs 50 euro. And I had to take it back to the airport that night, for the same cost, to meet mama. 


So many stories like that. Nothing here is efficient or dependable. If you want to go to the store to buy a toothbrush, be prepared to be in the store for at least 30 min. The lines are long and unorganized, stores are packed, things are hard to find. Everything shouts UNORGANIZED.

Life here is impossible with out a car and a proper house. But we're getting along.

LA CARNAVAL

Near the Hotel

Shit, It's been a while.
Every great adventure starts out with a travel blog-- then it just becomes your life and suddenly the metaphorical MDMA high just becomes regular...
But hopefully I have something interesting to tell you guys about.
LA CARNAVALLLLL
My mom came the weekend before Carnaval. She stayed in the Hotel Bakuoa (sp?). The hotel is located in Trois Ilets, a highly, highly touristic area of the island. Better off, staying somewhere like Shoelcher or Fort de France might have been dangerous, uncomfortable or over priced. Trois ilets, however, was the shit.

Mom in Costume for Devil Red Fat Tuesday

Stefan and a stranger celebrating

Scaries!

Friends against language barriers

Tout le gang

The hotel resort was an amazing break from the dorm life. There was a continental breakfast, hot water, big nice beds and air conditioning! Amazing what a 10 min bus ride and 15 min boat ride will do for your reality-- I felt like I was on a different island. Plus, mama was here. The week was amazing. We walked around Trois Ilets the first night, at around 2 in the morning, after I met them at the airport (15 min drive= 50 euro). On the Sunday after they arrived, the Carnaval started! There was a huge parade with amazing costumes, decorated beat up cars, cross dressing and caribbean music. The entire festival is a celebration of Caribbean culture, heritage and tradition. The first Sunday was an amazing experience. The rest of the days, however, were less organized. More just like music blasting, drum lines beating and people dancing. It was amazing to see how happy everyone was and how the ENTIRE community participated. It certainly wasn't geared around tourists, and all of us had an amazing time.








Having my mom here was the best thing ever. I got to show off the island I now take claim to knowing pretty well. Explaining to her some of the cultural differences, having her hear me speak French and learning, together, about the little secrets this place has to offer. Wow. I miss her so much and it's amazing how quickly a week flies by. Plus she bought me stuff. Awesome.
Tim bought her, Ines and myself tickets to go on a boat tour. The boat left from Trois Ilets, went to the south around Diamant and back up, explored caves, supplied snorkling gear and food and drink. We left at 9 am and were meant to return around 5. The first three hours were amazing. It felt so natural to boat in the Caribbean.

Natural growth off the of Diamant, now a bird sancutary!

Funn

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Thanks Tim!

Anse D'Arlet

Amazing. Unfortunately, while Ines and I were snorkling, looking at star fish comparable in size to the yaris' tires, the beginnings of a tragedy were beginning to unfold. The boat ran out of snorkles, and had only masks. My mom isn't a very confident swimmer, so she was out with a noodle, and Tim was beside her with just a mask. We were in about 30 feet of water, and Tim began to get tired. Asking for help at first calmly, and then with more panic, his cries were ignored by the boat crew and near by swimmers. I headed over from about 20 yards away and started to help him get to shore, or at least shallow water,  and Ines joined shortly after. After we got to shore, tons of people from all around came over and offered to help. Tim and my mom speak no French, so people were translating left and right and going out of their way to help us. It was amazing what people were willing to do to help. People are people all over the world-- they just speak a different language. Tim couldn't catch his breath, and someone called an ambulance for us. Everyone on the beach tried to help-- getting water, making phone calls, offering help with the French. It was amazing. The ambulance arrived about 45 minutes later (we weren't sure if it was just a panic attack or if he needed medical help). He was in the hospital for about 4 hours, and it was GRIM. People lined the hall ways in their beds, the floor, walls and equipment was dirty. Third world. Terrifying.

On the way to le Francois^

But everyone is okay, and the rest of the week was very tranquil : ) We went to Habitation Clement, a plantation in the east.
It's a rum distillery and nature preserve.
 

La Négritude

La Négritude: a term that derives from the French version of nigger, négre. Now, however, it is the name of a movement in which blacks around the world come together and form a unified appreciation for being black, the black diaspora and the history, destiny and power of black culture that began in the 1920-1930's. There are three "Fathers" of the negritude movement: Aimé Cesair, the Martiniquan born, Paris educated author, politican and poet, Senagalese preseident Léopold Sédar Senghor and Guianan Léon Damas. The three find solidarity in one thing as founders of the movement-- rejection of French racism. They wrote in a contemporary realist style and faught together French domination and hegemony. The movement was heavily influenced by the Harlem Renaissance, and many of the leaders of both movements met in Paris together with leaders of the Spanish-speaking Caribbean movement negrismo.

The three fathers were from different French colonies or territories in Africa and the Caribbean, but met in Paris in the 1930's. There they discovered that their countries were much less developed than the metropole, and that they were still territories or colonies, and they were being discriminated against.

Cesaire was the first to incorporate the term "nergre" into negritude. He decided to stand up against the term, and to wear it proudly in his anti-racism movement. He believed in validating African history. Senghor and Cesaire never asked for freedom from France, instead they desired only to have equal power, say and influence on French politics.
Damas is known as the "enfant terrible" of the Negritude movement. His approach was much more militant and he rejected any and all "western" influence.

Babyy

clever hiding spot from the rain

No racial tension here.

Needless to say, this movement has been a huge part of any and all classes I have taken at this university. Aime Cesaire is the only voice that has stood up against French colonization and imperialism for Martinique, and most of the Caribbean. He came back to be an important politician, and asked people to see how gravely mistreated they were. However, like so many great leaders, his ideas were twisted and turned into anti-white, anti-France political theories, and not much change can be seen.

Every teacher talks about the movement. Chali, a black/Indian from Martinique, has obvious distaste for the "becais" or, white Martiniquans. He blaims the underdeveloped status of Martinique on them, the lack of change on them and, obviously, his own financial, economic or other random problems on them. He believes in moving, changing and progressing as one country, one identity, he claims, but also draws and OBVIOUS divide between himself and the white locals. Apparently, the white locals are extremely exclusive, wealthy and direct descendants of French colonists. What's not to hate I guess? Unfortunately, the hate then becomes unfocused, and as it brews inside the people here, it becomes stronger and less tactful.

Some say everyone has to mix to end the racial problem here.
Others say Martinique needs to be freed from France.
No one knows what the fuck is going on, or how to fix it.

It's amazing to be here, to see the vigor and passion that some teachers have for Martinique, and to think and presume that it's all in vain-- they're fucked. It's great to be in class with a teacher who hates you, for your history, heritage, clothes, skin etc but can't let it out.

Needless to say, things are going swimmingly!! Classes have JUST settled (hopefully), French is coming along, and plans are getting bigger, braver and closer.

We might buy a car! Martinique with out a car is impossible-- buses run late, if they run at all, taxis are undependable and charge white people too much and boats don't always run on schedule either.
Excellent.
Besides that, school is good. I haven't had much work, which kind of makes me nervous. I will certainly not have any 10 hour trips to the library. I can't say I miss it yet, but it is odd having nothing to do. Beach trips are still frequent and money is flying faster than it should (yes, we use Euro here and everything is more expensive than in France because it's all imported FML).

Christos Loves Kitties

I am in a class about the French dissertation. That's their method of writing a paper. It's extremely detailed and painful. Certain words are used for transition, points have to be made in certain places (and have they better be the points the teacher wants to see) and our 5 paragraph system just doesn't compare. You can't just come back to a point later, or reiterate something down the line. As a comparison, I would say the French system is much less demanding because you're simply regurgitating the dictations teachers gave you during class. However, it is more tedious and they expect exact detail. Downer.

Foreign friends are being made left and right, as well as a few Martiniquans and French military. The friends I have here are incredible. Their extremely talented with languages, as well as so many other things. They have great perspectives, presence and intellect. I learn so much from this place and them, and I am thrilled to leave this place with 5 or 6 really great new friends. This weekend we are taking a trip to the south, to what has been said to be the most beautiful beaches in the world!

Packing Heat

It's February!

In Martinique, that means an end to dry season, and a quick transition into the wet season. Seeing as it's almost every day in the three weeks I've been here, I'm not quite sure what to expect. All I know is the sun stays out longer and hits harder these days, Martiniquan summer is well on its way.




Classes are well underway. Unfortunately, my schedule is still changing and changing back. It's incredibly difficult to pick courses here, and once you do you're lucky if your schedule stays the same. I'm now taking Karate for credit (awesome), French and French speaking negritude literature, as well as a few other different ones. Books are impossible to find and in high demand-- so that's tricky. Instead of trying to figure it out I'm just going to sit back, relax and use being foreign as an excuse. From what I've seen, being foreign doesn't buy you much mercy. From anyone. Students laugh and ridicule in class, teachers exploit any foreigners inability to communicate well. Not all experiences have been like that, but some have been pretty traumatic for us foreign kids. I've gotten over my problem with looking dumb, being ridiculed or exploited-- I'm foreign, my French is getting better, and you live on a tiny rock in the sea. The reason for the animosity is a complicated one....

our friends who threw coconut nuts at the honkies

Martinique is a bizarre, unstable place. It is the perfect example of how fundamentally fucked up colonization is/was. Basically, Martinique is still a colony. They work under French rule, go to school under French rule and suffer under French rule. This place is poor. The houses are shoddy, the places are unsafe. There buildings look run down, campus looks like an abandoned ghost town. As if, with proper care, it could be beautiful, but instead it's just forgotten. Everything is too expensive because it's imported from France. They use the Euro but the benefit is limited. Also, of the 400,000 Martiniquans who live here, 3,000 are white, direct descendants of the colonizers. They own everything, and never mix with their black countrymen. So, there is a racial segregation/prejudice, contempt for whites for being wealthy, contempt of France for owning them, love of France for keeping them and love of saying they are French. Most people are ambivalent in the we-are-we-aren't-French war. Others have radical extremes. This island is a tortured soul-- beautiful and interesting but the victim of a serious identity crisis and, inevitably, self destruction. And all the while I'm in class trying to understand exactly what they're saying, never mind why they feel so strongly.

Ugh, classes.
Monday is awful with class all day, but every day after that I finish at 1230 and am usually off to the beach. The last two days we've watched the sunset over at the beach and continued the night somewhere else with fellow foreigners and their friends. It's been a great routine so far. We have big plans-- buying a car between us, going to volcanoes, rowing, kayaking and things of the like. Weekends are big days for us.

Last weekend was a big weekend for us. Ines, Carin and I spent Saturday in Trois Ilets, a touristy beach are about a 30 minute ferry ride from Fort-de-France. On the boat, we spotted some army men who live on a base here which we are determined to befriend. The beach was incredible, the water was breathtaking, and I got pinched by a crab.







The next day was the preview of Carnaval. Ines and I spent the whole day tromping around the parade site with cameras in hand, and then met up with the Dominicans. During the day everything was perfect--good vibes, laid back people. It was what I had expected of the Caribbean. When the sun started to set, everything shifted suddenly. Drunken men started to outnumber anything else. People became more agitated and aggressive. It was like the St. Paddy's day in Chicago, except all day, with no police, no barriers and if pot was legal--mayhem. By this time we've met up with the Dominicans and they're professors, native Martiniquaise. Once the parade suddenly stops and people seem confused, the professors rush us away. A fight broke out and we had to go. Naturally, we take refuge in a near by McDonalds, which has a large, security man as a bouncer. We wait paitiently for our turn to enter, as others push and prompt the security guard. As we're allowed in, and the door shuts, people scream and cry as a near by tear gas tag lets smoke into the building. Throats burned, eyes cried. Sweet. The security guard started letting babies in to seek refuge.





That's not it. Even more drunk, apparently very hungry men came up to the security guard, looking angry and ready to throw down for some McD's. Later we discovered that they were on a man hunt for the bleeding guy in the bathroom. More police arrived, and bleeding guy, victim of a stab wound in his leg (which I couldn't get a picture of, sorry) was held hostage in the restaurant. As one could see, people outside wanted him dead.

After the tear gas cleared and bleeding guy left, we got on our way. The teachers showed us around the island, told us never to go out alone at night, always to take a taxi, and repeated several times that I was white and would never blend in.

Thanks.

So everything is going exceptionally well. Classes will come together, and taking 3 lit classes has already improved my french. Befriending more and more foreigners has been great too-- someone is always up to do something. And as german Christian put it, the people here are family oriented and so, on weekends, the campus is nearly dead. Besides that meeting the canadians at the beach or at night has helped my speaking as well. They speak english, we speak french. It's a win-win.