Having a lovely time in the fog

Well, they said it would come, and it has. No sooner had we checked into the wonderful Hotel Iris in tiny St Pierre (loads of room, little kitchen, tres comfy beds) than the fog rolled in off the coast and even the lighthouse at the bottom of the street was obscured. It’s no wonder they call this the graveyard of the North Atlantic – over 600 shipwrecks are dotted around the treacherous coastline of around this island.We went on a trip to the Isle aux Marins this afternoon and saw nearby St Pierre blotted out in fog the density of cotton wool. Along with a whipping wind and pelting rain, we investigated the iron hull of the Transpacific, wrecked here in 1971. The crew survived but the cargo including several jukeboxes, mysteriously made its way into various St Pierre households by the time the week was out.

Weatherwise, our entire experience was severe and called for intravenous hot chocolates afterwards. “Will the airplanes be able to get out of here?” asked Mr Millard querelously, perhaps afraid that our global journey will come to a juddering halt thanks to the brouillard. Oh, no. Feisty Air St Pierre, which takes off from a glittering airport has no truck with fog. Phew. So we will make Martinique after all.

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