Postcard from Martinique

Framing first impressions, the art of seeing, and what to do if life gives you a bag of onions

What can a person possibly say about a place after having been in it for only three days? My first impression was, “Wow, this is… I’m going to be blunt… not chic.” When I said it out loud, Peter countered with, “That’s what’s good about it.” We were sitting on the terrace of a seaside pub called “Le Chill,” where the drinks are too sweet and the food regrettable, but where you can step into the bar from straight off Diamant beach and from a cushioned sofa watch children build sandcastles, and teenagers with perfect bodies splash in the waves, and marvel at the blue stretching beyond them that never ends. “This place is for the people,” Peter went on. “It must be one of the last of the world’s most beautiful places that hasn’t been taken over by luxury hotel groups that close off the beaches to the everyman and reserve them for customers willing to pay 40 euros for a mojito. You don’t come to Martinique to parade up and down a boulevard shopping for Louis Vuitton bags and Prada sunglasses.”