Becoming a cat lady
I've always loved cats so this is no news really, it's just that I've taken my cat-lover weirdness to a new level. The mixture of being the foreigner that no one fully gets, the fact that life in Martinique is depressing and lonely after just a couple of weeks, the fact that people here are weird and stress me out has led to a profound relationship built on trust and care with my cat. No one else here could provide that. People here are just weird. Consequently I enjoy providing food and safety for them, I panicked when I was spending nights over at my boyfriend's thinking they wouldn't understand why I wasn't there and would be hungry. Worse, if I stayed away for too long and left them under too much stress in the care of my horrible housemates they would up and leave. When did I become so protective of my cats? It seems normal to me that cats are for cuddling and not to be used to throw things at or torment, but I have come across a high concentration of people here who don't share this philosophy towards cats. My first house share in Martinique, I lived with boys who were mean to our cat which consequently became MY cat, then I lived with retarded medical students who were emotionally backward, emotionally dead to the world moreover, who were also mean to my cat, they threw her in the pool. During this traumatic time (for both me and my cat) there appeared a small black kitten in the garden and I took pity on him and adopted him. Coinciding with all this my nomadic lifestyle started to feel the weight of cat owning responsibility, the lack of flexibility that cat owning placed on my usual very flexible day to day existence has felt somewhat debilitating for someone who is so used to spontenaity and looking out for only herself. From now on until these cats pass on, they will always be put first, so my idea of hitch-hiking to South America by boat to go and work in Colombia will have to be re-adapted and planned out in a cat-friendly way. The stress of cat owning and the quasi-maternal instinct that this taps into is frightening. I am that crazy cat lady that has replaced children with cats, the solution, have children? Not ready for that yet. Given the fact that I'm in my twenties and not my fifties, I hope there is still time and that actually my cat-care is a good sign for the future rather than a sign I'll soon be cast adrift by society and consigned to the strange fate of being a crazy cat lady. There is still the fear that, in spite of everything my early cat-lady tendencies will frighten men away and there will be no saving me from co-habiting with multiple cats. No one understands or wants to understand a crazy cat lady. But maybe this isn't so bad, cat ladies themselves seem happy so long as the cat population in their homes isn't ridiculous. They have decided that humans are too complicated and weird and that our feline friends make for much better company. My experience of house sharing with medical students is proof that cat ladies are right on this score.
So imagine how my cat-lady heart has broken when my first cat disappeared over a month ago. No trace. Seemingly not squashed, I think that she has been stolen because she's beautiful. It's heart-breaking for me not being able to find her, wondering how she's being treated or is she's lost and hungry somewhere. Torture. I hope I find her, because it really does feel like I've lost a child. The worst thing is that she went missing one week before I stopped working my shitty bar job and started getting ready to leave Martinique. This horrible event could have been prevented if I had already finished working! Or may have never occured. Arrgghh, why is life so shit sometimes? Why?! And yes, I'm soon to be leaving Martinique, without her, and without knowing what has happened to her or where she is. Cat lady depression.
Saturday, January 4, 2014
Thursday, January 2, 2014
Tour des Yoles
When the Fort-de-France leg of the tour des yoles came around I thought I'd take a look, but I didn't really understand what all the fuss was about. A boat race, a traditional boat race, a very Martiniquan affair that draws a big crowd. The tour des yoles seems to be almost as important and celebrated as carnival. An excuse to drink and dance, it's possibly more important for tourism being entirely unique to Martinique. Carnival here can't compete with the world know Rio carnival and Trinidad's visual feast for the eyes.
The tour des yoles lasts a week, a week in which the boats race around the entire island in an anti-clock wise direction. Impressive, it is very physically demanding and the conditions can be tough especially in the north and east of the island. The best way of 'doing' the tour des yoles is to be on a catamaran following the race. Some catamarans are sponsored and drinks are free, it's a big party. But not very well adapted for those who suffer from sea sickness. With a typically Martiniquan or Caribbean twist the tour des yoles features a lot of skimpy, sparkly, almost non-existent swimwear (much like carnival only with a 'water' theme). There is even a Tour des Yoles magazine featuring the adventurous and risqué swimwear paraded and dancing in during the tour.
We were in town for the arrival of the yoles and a freakish event that saw me wake up impressively early and make it into Fort-de-France, entirely without planning it, to see the yoleurs arrive and assemble their boats. The large wooden batons which are fixed to the side of the made entirely out of wood are what intrigue me the most.
There is something stirringly emotional about the departure and arrival of boats, a significant part of my childhood (significantly lots of the best memories) was spent by the water, my aunt and uncle were passionate sailors. An annual family outing to the London boat show each January to shake us out of our Christmas hibernation and festive food gluttony, summer holidays with topper dinghys and walks around marinas to admire the boats, my dad's favourites were always the simple Mallorquin fishing boats.
The day of arrival of the yoles there were hoards of people in town, food stalls, music, crab racing... It was a scorching day, painful to be walking round on the tarmac, thankful for the occasional coastal sea breeze. The arrival of the race was announced by the disturbance in the water, followed by a regatta of catamarans and other sailing boats, flag garlanded, in support of one of the racing teams (or team sponsors). There was a true sense of excitement as the boats fought their way to the finish buoy and landed on the tiny stretch of beach near Fort Louis. There were speeches and announcements afterwards but we were busy watching the crab racing.
Many of the teams for the yoles are from the south and the east of the island, many from the communes Robet, Francois and Ste Anne. They are all sponsored by businesses here, it's hard to decide on who to support, not being martiniquan or a die hard fan of Lorraine beer or AFR assurance policies. I wanted to choose which team to support based on my favourite colour sail but it was one of the last to come in.
When the Fort-de-France leg of the tour des yoles came around I thought I'd take a look, but I didn't really understand what all the fuss was about. A boat race, a traditional boat race, a very Martiniquan affair that draws a big crowd. The tour des yoles seems to be almost as important and celebrated as carnival. An excuse to drink and dance, it's possibly more important for tourism being entirely unique to Martinique. Carnival here can't compete with the world know Rio carnival and Trinidad's visual feast for the eyes.
The tour des yoles lasts a week, a week in which the boats race around the entire island in an anti-clock wise direction. Impressive, it is very physically demanding and the conditions can be tough especially in the north and east of the island. The best way of 'doing' the tour des yoles is to be on a catamaran following the race. Some catamarans are sponsored and drinks are free, it's a big party. But not very well adapted for those who suffer from sea sickness. With a typically Martiniquan or Caribbean twist the tour des yoles features a lot of skimpy, sparkly, almost non-existent swimwear (much like carnival only with a 'water' theme). There is even a Tour des Yoles magazine featuring the adventurous and risqué swimwear paraded and dancing in during the tour.
We were in town for the arrival of the yoles and a freakish event that saw me wake up impressively early and make it into Fort-de-France, entirely without planning it, to see the yoleurs arrive and assemble their boats. The large wooden batons which are fixed to the side of the made entirely out of wood are what intrigue me the most.
There is something stirringly emotional about the departure and arrival of boats, a significant part of my childhood (significantly lots of the best memories) was spent by the water, my aunt and uncle were passionate sailors. An annual family outing to the London boat show each January to shake us out of our Christmas hibernation and festive food gluttony, summer holidays with topper dinghys and walks around marinas to admire the boats, my dad's favourites were always the simple Mallorquin fishing boats.
The day of arrival of the yoles there were hoards of people in town, food stalls, music, crab racing... It was a scorching day, painful to be walking round on the tarmac, thankful for the occasional coastal sea breeze. The arrival of the race was announced by the disturbance in the water, followed by a regatta of catamarans and other sailing boats, flag garlanded, in support of one of the racing teams (or team sponsors). There was a true sense of excitement as the boats fought their way to the finish buoy and landed on the tiny stretch of beach near Fort Louis. There were speeches and announcements afterwards but we were busy watching the crab racing.
Many of the teams for the yoles are from the south and the east of the island, many from the communes Robet, Francois and Ste Anne. They are all sponsored by businesses here, it's hard to decide on who to support, not being martiniquan or a die hard fan of Lorraine beer or AFR assurance policies. I wanted to choose which team to support based on my favourite colour sail but it was one of the last to come in.
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