Baguettes, Rum & Rainstorms – Our Delightfully French Detour in Martinique

So, picture this: you sail across the blue, the salty sea breeze in your hair, dreams of croissants in your heart, and BAM — you arrive in France. Sort of. Technically, we landed in Martinique, which is a French overseas territory, but trust me, it might as well have been Marseille with better weather. First stop: Le Marin.

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As soon as we stepped off the boat, what do I spot? French baguettes. Real, crusty, beautiful baguettes. And cheese. French cheese. My soul smiled. Ian and I did our usual “new country” routine — check in, get our bearings, casually pretend we’re local — and then we got a little ambitious and decided to rent a car.

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Now, the real reason for the car? Ian had his heart set on a pilgrimage to Decathlon. Yes, the sacred French temple of affordable sportswear and wing foiling dreams. He needed new UV shirts (he goes through them like tea towels) and possibly a peek — just a peek — at the wing foil section. Just in case.

Being the generous souls we are, we told our friends on Moose (the boat, not the animal — though equally entertaining) that we had wheels and a loose itinerary. They were keen, so the next day we piled in and set off to discover the island.

First stop: Jardin de Balata — a garden so picturesque it made me question whether I’d somehow stepped into the opening scene of Bridgeton: The Tropical Special. Trees draped in moss, flowers that looked like they were painted by Monet — honestly, a botanical dream.

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Then, we popped over to the Habitation Clément Rum Distillery. Now, this is where it got good. We’re meandering through the estate, enjoying the history and architecture, when one of our friends squints and goes, “Honey, doesn’t this look familiar?” Cue squinting. Cue pondering. Cue the dramatic realisation… they’d been here before! Years ago! But in their defence, the place had changed loads — new tasting rooms, fancy rum shop, all very bougie. We laughed until we wheezed. Turns out even sailors get déjà vu.

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After all that culture (and just a smidge of rum), we swung by Carrefour, aka My Happy Place™, and filled the boot with enough French goodies to survive a mild apocalypse. Cheese, wine, butter… and yes, other things too. I do have somerestraint. Kind of.

Next, we sailed up to Fort-de-France, the capital of Martinique, with Moose keeping us company boat-to-boat. Anchors down, dinghy ashore, and we were off exploring. The boys spotted a McDonald’s (because of course they did), and suddenly it was fries over culture. Don’t worry, I got them back on track in time for dinner.

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We found a little restaurant (thanks, Google!) called Chez Lucrece, strolled in like we owned the place, and had an absolutely delicious dinner while the heavens opened and drenched everything in sight. Honestly, there’s something quite magical about good food in a rainstorm. Highly recommend that place if you find yourself in Fort-de-France.

The next day it was onward to Saint-Pierre, and oh my word, it’s a completely different vibe. Less city, more character. We adored it. Reunited with our friends on Infinity, which felt like a surprise party for our souls.

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And just like that, it was time to sail off again — but not before I (Dee, your faithful narrator) popped into the bakery and grocery for one last haul of French essentials. Cheese? Check. Wine? Check. Butter? Check. Did I buy more than I could carry? Absolutely. Do I regret it? Not one buttery, brie-soaked bit.

Next stop: Dominica.

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