Marie Galante is the largest of the islands off Guadeloupe, covering about 158 km2 (61 square miles). It is mostly flat, so it is known as “la grande galette” or “the big biscuit” or “pancake.” (Mostly flat, yes, but we did feel the steep climb up the central ridge, which rises to 204 metres. And DH tells me we did a total of 1,000 metres of uphill during our two days.)
A Tiny Bit of Marie Galante History
I don’t normally include history lessons in my blog posts but this place has changed hands so many times, it seems worth noting. The first Europeans to claim the island were the Spanish: it was the second island Christopher Columbus discovered on his second voyage (nearby Dominica was the first). Since then it has been held by:
- the French, who brought enslaved people from Africa to cultivate sugar canes
- Jewish Dutch exiles from Brazil, who apparently brought better methods for cultivating cane sugar,
- the Dutch, who first plundered the island in 1676
- The British (mostly alternating control in battles with the Dutch in late 1600s to mid 1700s and then with the French until the early 1800s)
- It was also briefly a republic (1792-94), at which point slavery was abolished. Unfortunately, slavery was reinstated when the French re-asserted their control in 1802, and not abolished again until 1848.
Now part of Guadeloupe, it is, like the rest of Guadeloupe, a department of France.
You see traces of the colonial past in the 72 stone bases of windmills that dot the island (there had been over 100 at the peak) and in the remnants of a few plantations. Sugar cane is still the dominant crop, and the island has three excellent rum distilleries.
The Journey
The 7:00 a.m. ferry ride to Marie Galante from Saint-Francois (the town we are based out of) takes about an hour. This is the season for whales, and we were lucky enough see one, including a lovely view of its flukes (the flippers at the tail) as it dove.
We’d taken our rented bikes across, so after landing in Saint Louis and discovering that no restaurants were open for breakfast, we cycled to a lovely isolated beach (La Plage des Trois Ilots) where we had a little snack we’d brought from home.
Next we visited the colonial town of Petit Bourg, then cycled along well-paved roads beside cane fields, cattle and goats, up away from the coast to visit the Bielle Distillery. DH liked the chocolate-infused rum. I liked the passion-fruit one. I also tasted the deluxe 59% alcohol white rum, but it was too powerful for my tastes.
As we were leaving two local vendors were selling home-made, deep-fried, street snacks at stalls next to each other and insisted we needed energy for the road. I, of course, was allergic to them but DH didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings so he sampled from both sellers. (Per him: “One was filled with coconut, the other with vegetables. Both were sweet. Neither was special. Too much dough!”)
We returned to the coast to continue our cycle tour of the perimeter of the island. We stopped at a restaurant called Le Carré Rose opposite “the beach of the 2nd bridge” at Grand Bourg. The owner, Olga, was so incredibly friendly and welcoming and determined to figure out something she could serve me that wouldn’t poison me, that we ended up staying and chatting with her and her husband all afternoon. (With the occasional run across the road to plunge into the ocean.)
She is originally from Marie Galante, but like all youth here who want any post-secondary education, she’d gone to France for a few years, which is where she met her husband, an artist by vocation, railway employee by profession. It sounds like her relationship with her parents is a difficult one, but the pull of islands brought her back, along with her husband and two sons. It clearly wasn’t an easy decision, and it isn’t evident that it will last. As lovely as the weather is, there’s a lot of poverty in Guadeloupe, and limited opportunities outside tourism (which, of course, has taken quite a hit with Covid). They have the added dynamic of being a mixed-race couple. Although that’s not uncommon here, I get the feeling that her husband doesn’t feel fully accepted. They were explaining to me that there are three categories of whites here: the descendants of the colonizers (who are resented), immigrants from mainland France (like Olga’s husband), and a few who’ve washed up from other countries (that would be us). Folks in groups 2 and 3 sometimes get tarred with the brush of the first group.
Eventually we realized we had to get back on the bikes to get to our hotel near Capesterre before dark. The Hotel M was reputed to have a good restaurant, so our plan was to have dinner there.
We arrived at the time we’d told them we’d be there, only to discover that no staff were on hand. We were free to enjoy the hammocks and lounge chairs on the terrace, overlooking the ocean, but had to wait to check in until the owner had had her afternoon break from 16:00 – 18:30. Not sure why she’d bothered asking us when we planned to arrive, since clearly that didn’t change her plans. There were three couples who arrived during that closed window.
By the time she arrived, I was starving (my Tema-safe lunch had been light). Turned out that their restaurant has been closed since last summer, when their cook was in a traffic accident. By now it was dark, and our bikes had no lights. DH had also failed to bring regular glasses; he only had his prescription sunglasses. We looked at the ill-lit highway we’d have to cycle on to get to a restaurant and decided it wasn’t worth the risk. Luckily, another couple overheard our plight and offered us a ride. We ended up having a lovely dinner with them. Also retirees who travel a fair bit, I think they were happy to have new people to chat with as well.
Day 2 on Marie Galante
We continued our circuit of the island after a lovely breakfast at the hotel. Several more beaches and both pastoral and coastal scenery. My favourite beach was Anse Feuillard. It has soft, white sand, turquoise water, and terrific snorkeling.
DH documents more details of where we cycle so these are his words: “From there we rode north along the coast and the almost vertically up a steep hill toward the highest point of the island. We both needed a break on the way up, an oddly short distance, and ran out of water by the top. We found an open store at the top, picked up another bottle of water, downed much of it before a delightfully gradual descent to Gueule Grand Gouffre – a spectacular viewpoint.
“From there we descended further toward and then along the coast to Anse de May – a nice place for a final dip before completing our loop at the ferry dock.
“As luck would have it, by the time we reached Saint Louis, about 14:30, lunch was not to be had. One beach bar was willing to serve beer and desserts but they wanted to close too, even though the ferries didn’t start leaving until 16:00 or so. Clearly, serving arriving and departing ferry passengers is not part of the local business model. Very strange and a real missed opportunity.”
While DH had his beer and we each had a little dessert, we watched some local kids in a Wednesday afternoon water sports class.
Back on the Boat
The winds had picked up and the ferry ride back was rollicking fun! (For those of us who never get seasick.) The crew moved the families with small children into the centre of the deck to avoid anyone going overboard (and to help them stay dryish – many of the edge seats got drenched). Luckily, we’d chosen the dryer side, so we only got a light misting, which actually felt nice.
It was the prefect setup for our next day’s outing, which was a sailing lesson on a 30’ cruiser. I was expecting it to be bumpier and scarier than the ferry ride, but it wasn’t, as the water was calmer. I love being on boats, but I’ve concluded I’m too damned lazy to bother learning how to sail at this age. I’ll just stick with my fantasy of having a crewed yacht to travel on. It’s a fantasy that took hold in 1998, when we were visiting the Greek island of Kefalonia, and saw luxury yachts pull up in our tiny village of Assos. Maybe some day we’ll splurge and charter one for a blow-out family holiday.
