This weekend was one of interesting encounters:
1. Salsa man
Salsa seems to be the most popular kind of dance here – although strangely, line-dancing is also very popular, though usually done to rather un-line-dancey music – and there are regular salsa nights at several bars in town. Sadly, I can't dance salsa, and, to be honest, it doesn't really interest me. No, what I really want – and miss, despite only doing it during my final year of uni – is some swing dance. Despite this, on Thursday I went with a few other assistants down to the now-famous Café de la Gare (famous amongst the language assistants as we used it as a meeting point constantly for the first week or so as everyone gradually arrived in Saint Pierre. Bizarrely, it is nowhere near the gare: the bus station is a fairly brisk 20 minute walk uphill) for one of their bi-weekly salsa nights. My thought was just to go and see, soak up the music and enjoy watching people dance well, but when rock and roll type tunes came on I found myself keeping a beady eye out for people who look like they might know how to swing dance. I took the opportunity of the more upbeat music to surreptitiously do a bit of tandem Charleston with my housemates in the corner of the dancefloor, just in case any unknown fellow swing dancers could see me. There was only one couple who looked like they knew how to dance to the music, so I later asked the man if he could swing dance. Disappointingly, he informed me that he had been dancing "rock-jive". Never mind. But then the music changed again. Did I know bachata? asked the gentleman. Well...having spent five weeks in the Dominican Republic I really should, but I shamefully could not remember a thing from the dance class we had (the first of my five weeks in the Dominican Republic with International Student Volunteers consisted of staying with a local family, Spanish lessons, and cultural activities such as cooking, dancing and museum visits. I've noticed a lot of similarities between the two islands, despite one being in the Caribbean and the other the Indian Ocean, such as a love for rum, especially when it's soaked with other ingredients for a couple of months: wine, honey, tree bark and herbs for Dominican Mama Juana; various fruit combinations for Réunionese Rhum Arrangé). No problem! He whisked me onto the dancefloor and set about re-teaching me the basic steps for bachata. This was soon followed by salsa, which I also didn't know, and for which he also proceeded to teach me the basic steps. Not content with that, when the next song came on, he added another move. As soon as I thought I'd got it, he added another move. Several songs in, and oh! What's this? Another move?? Okay...
This continued for quite some time, song after song, adding move after move...in short, I had a spontaneous, private, salsa masterclass! It was fun, and I had a great teacher, but I'll still take swing any day.
2. Unstable lady
On Friday morning on my way into town, I witnessed a teenage girl and a middle-aged lady in the middle of a shouting match. The lady seemed pretty distressed, and after screaming at a teenage boy standing nearby to listen to what this girl was saying to her, she had some sort of fit, fell over and hit her head on the pavement. The girl ran away, the boy sprang into action with a bottle of water and a mobile phone, and I watched helplessly as more and more people gathered round until the paramedics came. I asked the lady standing next to me what the number for the emergency services was, realising that I didn't know it and that it could prove pretty useful someday. She hesitated, made a couple of guesses, then admitted she didn't know either. Well it's a good job that boy was there. Later, when I passed by the tourist information office, I discovered that there are in fact three emergency numbers: 15 for SAMU (which, despite appearances, refers to the ambulance service, not a trained killer whale), 17 for the police and 18 for sapeurs pompiers (firemen, but probably used more often here for rescuing people from flash-flooded mountains and ravines or foggy volcanoes).
3. Tricksy grocer
In the afternoon, deciding that we really needed to get out of the town for a bit, my flatmate Alice and I had a fairly spontaneous afternoon trip to Entre Deux. Not as interesting for me as for her, as I teach there every Monday, but it's still a pretty village up in the mountains and I had to admit I hadn't yet explored it. Unfortunately, after about forty minutes of wandering about and taking pictures, it started to rain. We were saved first by a grocer's then by the boulangerie (bakery). The grocer was a friendly man. The two of us being obvious foreigners (Alice is blonde, and our accents give us away in any case), he gave us both a passion fruit to try. When I then asked him what was in the little jars on the counter, he convinced me that it was delicious and I should try a bit. Not being one to turn down free stuff, I held out my hand and he dabbed a splodge of the oily mixture onto my thumb, reiterating that it was delicious and telling me to lick it up. Turns out it was a home-made pâte piment (chilli paste), and the grocer was in absolute fits of
laughter at my reaction (I have never much liked spicy food). However, he was a
nice man, and gave me a banana and cut us up some pineapple for my pains. As it
was still raining and the boulangerie was right next to the bus stop, we
rounded off the day with some amazing sweet pastries – possibly one of the best
consequences of French colonisation!
