Ah, yes...siesta

Les Saintes.

The mooring was very...active. Django danced and pranced the night away. Pitch, roll, combo, she did 'em all, with a symphonic accompaniment of gurgles, splashes and sloshings. It wasn't the most restful night I've ever had.

We were all up bright and early on the morning of January 27. WW taxied Whit and Frisha ashore for their dive rendezvous at 8:30 a.m. They would return at about noon.

WW and I spent the morning doing not terribly much. I was not feeling too well. I couldn't figure it out. Hangover? Seemed unlikely. I really hadn't had all the much to drink the night before. It was really only after we went ashore and I began instantly to feel better that I realized what it was. Seasick. I'd got seasick sleeping on Django. WW and I opined that a change of anchorage might be indicated.

After WW picked up and returned with the divers (who had had a fabulous time and strongly recommended the small dive company they had gone with), we donned our going-ashore gear and were soon back in Boffo, going into Bourg for lunch.

We found an excellent little cafe and had a late lunch of salads or sandwiches, sparkling water and, of course, beer for the gentlemen. It was by now about 2:30 and we decided to climb to Fort Napoleon, which both WW and I had thoroughly enjoyed on our previous visit.

We'd advertised the walk as not difficult. It's not exactly a short climb. It's not long, but it isn't a waltz up a bit of a rise. It is steep and we, naturally, were doing it in the midday sun. Frisha muttered about mad dogs and false advertising and such. I promised her it would be worth it.

We arrived, finally, at the Fort's portcullis (open) and main door (closed). Frisha, Whit, some goats and we milled about the sign saying the Fort is open till noon daily. oops

Bourg (and many other parts of the French islands) close for lunch and reopen in the evening. Siesta. They rest while the sun is high. A commendable notion. One mad dogs might give a shot. But mad dogs and so forth tend to forget this statutory nap time and do silly things like climb steep hills to closed museums.

What we'd have seen if the Fort had been open.

Ah well, it was a nice walk. Really.

We returned to Django and all agreed that a move to a different anchorage would be nice. We headed to a cover off an island just north of Bourg and very peaceful it was. We dropped our anchor and it held at once. There was virtually no motion. Lovely. Apart from the moron who decided to anchor on top of us. There's always something.

I got to work on my lobster bisque, using the shells from yesterday's crustacea. It was a bit of work, but when I served the bisque (with my lobster meat chopped up and stirred into it) with fried bakes, it received rave reviews, so was worth the mild hassle.

We accompanied it with fabulous French cheeses, fresh delicious baguette, one of the best we'd found so far.

(The photos are from our previous trip. Frisha failed us miserably in Les Saintes...never remembered to bring her camera.)