It's so hot as we head south in the Caribbean that it seems like the dogs have become nocturnal. Almost every dog we see is napping in the shade. As the sun goes down and the temperature becomes more tolerable, we start to hear the howling and barking. Strangely, we never see dogs in the water.
Martinique is another French island where we get to butcher the language, talk with gestures and point a lot, and eat amazing bread and chocolate croissants. However, the amazing-ness of the food does not appear to extend to the local poultry. We bought some chicken labeled "local" and could barely chew through it. It made a good soup though, which we enjoyed with foie gras and fresh baguettes. Mark loves the foie gras. Although I admire his adventurous palate, we may need to shut it down as we can't afford to feed the boy foie gras. Also in the spirit of cheapness, we continue to gather and hoard mangoes and coconuts.
The slow season has officially started, so we have been missing most of the crowds, as well as a lot of the excitement. We continue our march south to get away from any hurricanes that might decide to pop up and to meet my parents who are visiting us in Grenada (Mark and Conrad ask us at least once a day whether we will be seeing them tomorrow; apparently we need to work on the calendar more in school).