Une promenade, as translated, and defined by the dictionary, is a leisurely walk, one taken in a public place as a social activity.

After a restful almost 12 hour sleep we were waking up to a beautiful blue skied type of morning, and we heard the call of shore whispering "come, come, explore", as quietly and as gently as the waves that lapped against Banyan's hull, and then the ding-dang-dong of the church bells ringing in the hour, singing "it's time, time to get up!"

"Bon, et alors..." I asked Dave, "est-ce qu'on fait une promenade ce matin?".

The cruising guide describes Ste Anne as a "seaside town with a sleepy holiday atmosphere" and the houses and buildings that dot the shoreline are insignificant and small and shaded by the green hills that rise up behind them.



We find ourselves in the Windward Island of Martinique (part of France) and discovered (of course) by none other than Columbus in 1502, who found it full of snakes and as such, didn't stay very long (might this fearless explorer have had a fear of snakes?).

And as such, the actual Martinique flag,



depicting in each of its four corners the fer-de-lance vipers, native to Martinique. "Wonder if there's any hashes going on here?" we wondered, "already wary of where our footsteps might fall".

Every time we find ourselves heading towards shore, to explore a new village or town, there's always that small thrill of anticipation, of excited awareness, little tiny butterflies (or perhaps the indigenous fer-de-lance viper?) flitting in our tummies, never knowing quite what our first footsteps on land will lead us to discover.



We eyeballed the approaching dinghy dock and were pleased to see how sturdy it looked, almost brand-new, and one where dinghy can easily be tied to knowing she will be safe and sound while we're away.



Once locked on to the steel rings and look, lo and behold, for short people like me, climbing up the ladder to the top of the dock suddenly became acrobatically much easier than ungracefully hoisting myself up and over!!



We had a great view of the little town we were heading in to discover,



But first a gaze along the shoreline where the shallow waters showed the undulating sand formations crystal clearly, the photo-ops plenty and mesmerizingly beautiful,



the brown volcanic rocks on the shoreline helping to break the gentle waves, and if you stop and gaze intently for a second or three, the rocks come alive with a multitude of identically coloured crabs crawling all over them.

The little park that greeted us as we stepped off the dinghy dock, was, in our opinion, once again perfect for incoming cruisers, and had, we both agreed, an instant European feel to it all. A tourist bureau (too early to be open), garbage bins to deposit trash (free of charge) and "hello, they recycle!!", with benches to sit for a moment and enjoy the view, and ensure that our Banyan hadn't drifted away from us the minute we had left.



The canopied stalls void of sellers but definitely promises of what looked like a sleepy little town indeed.



Just ahead of us was l'église de Ste Anne, a small little church inviting us closer for a look, where if you take a moment to see,



you might get curious about the lower portion of it made with stone, and the steeple seemingly built yesterday with obviously modern materials.

The inside picture pretty and hushed with quietness,



time to move on, and we walked up a ways to find ourselves at the top of a hill with...



une Cimetière Panoramique. The above-ground tombstones each one unique and elaborate, and almost all adorned with plenty of colourful plastic flowers and behind, the pleasant view of the bay. A peaceful resting spot indeed.

Back down the street and towards the Marché we walked, and once again, the streets were quiet with morning sleepyness, and the couple of locals we spotted walking around each stereotypically carrying a baguette tucked under their arm, such a picturesque moment à la française.

At the end of the road we stumbled upon a marché in progress, FUN !! The vendors were quick to greet us with a heartfelt welcoming Bonjour and a beautiful smile. Not overly zealous to sell us anything, but eager to entice us to try a sample of This or That.

And there was more than plenty of This or That around, so much so that we didn't know where to turn. Tables upon tables of the usual crafty items one finds in places like this, but better yet, our noses sniffed out the bins of fresh fruit and vegetables (bags of fresh from the garden cherry red plump and ripe tomatoes, lettuce, avocados, grapefruits, oranges, papayes, melons, bananes and oh my, pineapples!!).



Then there were tables of rows upon rows of jars brimming with labels such as guava jam and banana jam and coconut jam and pepper puree and a curious green chow type of mixture called Sauce Chien (which loosely translated means Dog Sauce?). There were so many jars to choose from and I had no idea what to try first and what one could possibly use it all for... so many things to try.

There were more small baggies of spices to be seen and smelt, than I had seen or smelled back in Grenada,



curry and cocoa and peppers and ginger and cinnamon and vanilla beans and dill and fennel and anise seeds and oh the intoxicating smells had me in a tizzy. Think of the baking and the creating of feasts this would produce.

And the bottles and bottles of anything you can think of soaked in Rum... samples for the asking, and I even found a pretty pink one named after me.



There was a lady frying up some fresh accras (fritters) of fish or vegetables and in front of her, across on the road,



not a bus-stop as one might think, but a Crêpe stand.. can't wait for it to be open so we can sample another typically delicacy à la française.

The beach view from the market,



just begging you to stop, and completely inhale in the bright blueness that will allow you to melt into the peaceful tranquility that was, this morning, a quiet promenade through town, resulting with ah que oui, us carrying a baguette, well placed under our arm, home.