Lunch in Marigot

The narrow streets are filled with cars, motorcycles, fashionable locals and sun burned tourists. Beautiful women walk with a carefree attitude and give you a smile when you notice them. Tour buses unload smiling sweating people with cameras and shopping bags. Families laughing, no scolding. No soccer Moms. No grumpy Dads. The heat of the day dampens shirts and adds a shine to many foreheads yet people continue on. Happy. Smiling. It's lunch hour in Marigot.

We walk away from the crowds, working our way towards some place yet discovered. We have the time. Shops and restaurants are small. Most are open to the street and the smells from the kitchens draw the people to the chalk boards displaying today's specials. We walk on.

A quiet street. A corner cafe. A favorable chalkboard. Tables with unnecessary umbrellas are shaded by a canopy of palm, thatch and colorful cloth. A cat sits on a table top watching the birds on a trellis. Another is curled on a chair. Our table is in the corner next to the garden and a view of the street. A man and woman sit at a table on the other side, coffee cup in one hand, cigarette in the other. They do not talk. They stare out into the street.

A black dress and a smiling face welcome us and before long the cold bottles sweat a pool of water onto the table. We talk, we joke, we eat. A man behind his laptop will occasionally glance our way. A table full of business men laugh too hard at someone's joke. Hours pass while we watch this little corner of the world go by. The couple that do not talk take their indifference to each other with them to the streets. The sun is now at a better angle.  The lovely owner apologizes for the delay. No worries Madame. There is no hurry these days.

The drone of our little outboard removes us from the busy waterfront to the quiet harbor where our home floats in the blue water. The sun is leaving us for today and once again we sit and watch as another part of our world passes into memories.

Cheers!
P