You know what made us giggle a little? What we found très drôle, as we started our driving adventures on the highways of Martinique?

Highways which are, by the way, identified with little (and we do mean little as in barely a foot high and often hard to spot),



stone pillars by the side of the road that indicate the route number you are on.

And so as we drove along being watchful for these marked stone pillars on the roads of Martinique, which by the way is "an overseas department of France", or part of La Metropole, as les Martiniquais like to call France, and we found ourselves stumbling upon this unmistakeable signage,



which is decidedly very English, in a very French place. They were everywhere,



these stop signs, and without evoking a political debate, this is why giggled just a little.

And so here we are zoom-zooming along in our rental car, a small white Peugeot, (that we had upgraded to a diesel, which by the way, is a definite, in our humble opinion, must for these hills and inclines), along with Lynn and Ken (Silverheels III) who found themselves acrobatically folded up in the backseat with their long legs tucked every which way in order to fit, exploring this wonderful ti-coin de paradis while the Christmas winds were blowing a holy stink around us.



Martinique is a rather large island, of volcanic origin,

"Dave we have to go see Mt Pelee" murmurs I as we pore over the map, to which Dave wholeheartedly agrees and responds in his usual "Yes, Dear", meaning we're on our way !!

Quite a contrast in landscapes as we travelled along. Having started from the South end, where I can impress upon you the beauty of beaches and palm trees,



to inland roads that have you driving through fields of sugar cane or banana plantations,

.

as far as the eye can see !

It was a nice day for a drive but before long...
"Dave, did you hear that?" I wondered "How close are we to Mt Pelee?? Or was that your tummy??"

Enough said, it was close to/almost after lunchtime, and so we found ourselves stopping in the little town of Le Diamant, at the local Patisserie for the ubiquitous baguette (or two) an almond tartine for us, and guava spice cake for Lynn and Ken.

And then we followed our noses to the beachfront shack



(and what a gorgeous beach, non?) but not be deterred, we kept going towards the smells of food... and found some Poulet Boucané.



Literally translated Poulet Boucané is smoked chicken. It is quite a French Creole Speciality, and is basically whole chickens smoked over sugarcane leaves.

According to Ken and Lynn, boucané comes from the word buccaneer's who were pirates. The dictionary also defines them as speculators or ruthless adventurers. Buccaneer originates from the French word boucanier, which were hunters that poached cattle and pigs and smoked the meat on wooden frames which they called boucans. History reveals that they might have been taught this from the Arawark Tribes who used the word "barbicoa", which is quite possibly the origin of the word BBQ.

The lady serving us was determined to speak to us in English, and us to her in French. She smothered le Poulet Boucané with Sauce Chien, another Creole speciality, and is basically a chow-herbal-type of sauce (that has nothing to do with dogs) and one that she insisted on telling us, no-one else knows how to make as the very special and secret ingredient is in using the water that the root vegetables are cooked in!! And then she sent us on our way, with a smile, that reached from ear to ear and had us smiling from ear to ear.

I have no idea how the four of us sat in the car, with the unbelievable heavenly aroma of le Poulet Boucané for as long as we did, as Lynn directed us up and down roads too numerous to mention, routes with spectacular views,



(every single one of them, WE SWEAR, that she has ran or hiked or both), before finding a shaded rest spot,



where like true buccaneers we dug into the feast before us, with finger lickin' gusto !!