You mean that thing has teeth?!

I think have a thing for foreign medical care. I must do, as I'm always so willing to test it out and my ERASMUS year wouldn't have been complete without at least one visit chez le medicin. I just didn't expect it to happen quite so early on, although thankfully in a much less spectacular manner than the 'Canadian-sour-cream incident'.

Mosquitoes are unfortunately very common here so I thought nothing of it when it appeared I had been bitten several times on the one toe, forming a rather amusing phallus shape mark. So I let it be (apart from the fact that it itched like hell and looked hilarious) until I noticed a couple of days later when painting my toe-nails that it had in fact *ahem* grown and was now snaking it's way down my toe and on to my foot.

After keeping an eye on it for another couple of days and realising there was now something in my foot that was clearly not going to stop growing despite the amount of bite-cream, plasters and antibacterial hand sanitiser I put on it (at least I tried!), I decided to turn to the all-knowing Google. A sure fire way to get your skin crawling and convince yourself that you're being eaten from the inside out.

The symptoms and physical description added up. It appeared I'd caught a 'hookworm' - a parasite usually present in dogs and caught by humans walking barefoot through either infected faeces or sandy ground (as I  live five minutes from the beach I am increasingly hopeful that it's the latter). And it has teeth! And was slowly drinking my blood! And taking my vitamins and minerals that were already in short supply thanks to a standard poor-student diet of super-noodles and pasta.

After an uncomfortable night, plagued by nightmares of giant worms with teeth (I think the microscopic image above says it all) I headed to the university nurse after morning class to have my dear worm friend confirmed. Unfortunately she was unable to issue me a prescription as she was only a nurse specialising in 'preventative health care' (ie she hands out condoms and leaflets to students) so I skipped afternoon class to head to the local medecin sans rendez vous and pay 25€ to tell the doctor what was wrong with me: "Il y a quelqu’un qui vit dans mon orteil” literally, “there’s somebody living in my toe.”

Leaving the adjacent pharmacy with a bag full of pills and enough antiseptic wash and spray to make me concerned about the impression I'm giving about my personal hygiene and a receipt to make your eyes water, I was revealed to finally realise what was wrong with me. I had put my tiredness and irritability down to having a lot to take in in my first few weeks and the university's penchant for 7.30am starts but it appeared loosing a substantial amount of blood and nutrients didn't help either. 

On the plus side, the incident has caused me to enrich my French vocab to include the word for worm (ver) and subsequently allowed me to name my resident parasite for the time being, 'Victor le Ver'. Fingers crossed the tablets work... sympathy postcards always welcome! 

Just shut up and drive!

After being in Martinique for a couple of weeks now I certainly think the transport here deserves a mention. The choices, being an island, are somewhat limited. As a non-driver, you can either pay over the odds for a taxi (and trust me, being white and foreign, we do) or risk life and limb taking the local bus. And what an experience that is.

We soon learnt that the bus timetables are purely for decoration and have absolutely no relation to what time the bus will come (and if it does whether it will actually stop or not). We’ve also finally come to the understanding that when a bus driver stops and waves his hand to the right he’s going to Fort-de-France (the capital city) and when he waves to the left, well he could be going anywhere. Because surely the bus number shouldn’t correspond with where the bus is actually going right?! Of course there are then those bus drivers who like to confuse (and scare the living jeepers out of non-local passengers) by driving along and pulling up at bus stops with both hands in the air singing about how beautiful Martinique is, the island of his heart. Unfortunately this has not been a one off experience but I think I am starting to become accustomed to it and have stopped gripping the seats quite so tightly and standing out like the epic tourist that I am. This is of course, if I can get a seat and am not shoe-horned in with a load of school kids, gossiping grannies or the inevitable weirdoes that just love talking to me on public transport “I can speaks ze English, what is your telephone for call you?” “Oh sorry I don’t have a number over here” (only a little lie)!

Hopefully some of the other ERASMUS students will be getting a car soon so we can all chip in for petrol and have an explore of this beautiful island without having to say a prayer to Saint Christopher every time we get on the bus. Although they do drive their cars like bumper cars over here so maybe that’ll be another story entirely...

Until next time, EmJx 

Bienvenue au Martinique!

Today was our first official day at L'Université des Antilles et de la Guyane (or The University of the French West Indies and Guiana for you Anglophones). The campus itself is absolutely beautiful to say the least, with views of the Caribbean Sea and mountains as well as palm trees and brightly coloured flowers, which I’ve been told can also be seen when staring out the window in class (I wouldn’t know because I concentrate 100% in class Mum, honest).

So at 10am, around 25 ERASMUS students (EuRopean Community Action Scheme for the Mobility of University Students for those of you not in the know) gathered in the international relations classroom for our ‘première rendez-vous’. There's people from all over here which is great: Canada, Czech Republic, Germany, America, Slovakia and the slightly closer Barbados, St Lucia and Jamaica (for those smart Alec's, yes I am aware half of these aren't actually in the EU). I even met some fellow Yorkshire-folks! 

So after about fifteen minutes of wondering what was going on and whether we’d actually got the right location, we met Madame Elisée who popped her head around the door to tell us they were just looking for the right forms, timetables (a watch?!) etc. and wouldn't be long. If I’d known this was going to be the reoccurring theme for the next few weeks, I would have just walked out that door to the beach and come back four weeks later (fully tanned) once the university admin staff had decided what was going on. Alors... we waited. And eventually met the staff who work (excluding two hours every day for lunch and most afternoons, ie when you probably will have the most free time to go to their office...) and were given some information about how the university registration works (mega jokes), a couple of tourism guides and some irrelevant module booklets. Half the students then got their registration sorted until 11h55, because gosh, you weren't expecting them to work in to their lunch break because they were late were you?!

So after returning to halls and finding out the majority of international students were living in the same building as me, I finally got my room changed to the first floor (less likely to have another 'flashing accident' there, although still no curtains). I'm now on a predominately foreigners' floor and have a balcony again, check out the view! 

So once all this was sorted, Nicola and I braved the trip to Géant, the French equivalent of Tescos. I knew it was going to be expensive but I wasn’t expecting to blow nearly 100€ on next to nothing. Even worse, the university halls’ kitchens include… some cupboards and a sink. And that’s it. I wasn’t exactly expecting masterchef but a hob or a microwave would have been nice! 

Guess I'll be leaving the baking skills til I get back to Bangor!
EmJ x

The day I flashed my boobs to the whole of the university campus…

I was so glad to meet some of the other students on the evening of our arrival before our induction at the international office at 10am the next morning (it always seems less daunting when there’s more of you in the same situation). We also made friends with one of the local guys after he came over saying he had never seen so many white people on the beach and had to see what was going on! I guess we kind of do stick out a little…

Thankfully, my French wasn’t quite as bad as I was expecting after being out of practice for so long and the German’s spoke such good English that we were able to converse in Franglais with the odd German word thrown in. I was so glad to finally be here yet I was so tired I couldn’t wait to get showered and go to bed. So Nicola kindly walked me back to the uni halls where I saw not one but two cockroaches in the hallway (eeep!) and then another half floated up through the plughole when I took a shower. Thank goodness I’m not squeamish…. much!

However I was so exhausted after 38 hours of travel and then an afternoon arranging accommodation and meeting some fantastic people that despite the heat (and a fear that cockroaches were going to eat me in my sleep) I was out for the count as soon my head hit the pillow. Although there was only one problem. My room had no curtains. Therefore this morning was… early. Thankfully I’d taken the eye-mask they give you on the plane so I managed to pop it on and roll over back to sleep without giving it another thought. However, when I woke up a few hours later I noticed a few things were wrong…

a) I could see. I was so tired I’d ended up sleeping with my contact lenses in. So not only was I squinting due to the bright sunlight pouring in but my eyes had now become a gooey red mess.
b) I could therefore see out the window. Which meant I could see the queue of students outside my window waiting to get to the hall’s office located just down the corridor from my room.
c) It was so hot. So I’d slept topless. And without sheets. And there were no curtains.

Now I’ve heard about making a good first impression, but waking up topless in front of a load of students I’m going to spend the next four months at uni with was not what I had on the top of my list. Sometimes I wonder what I did in a previous life to deserve this…

Embarrassed doesn't even cover it. 

Love, a bright red (and thankfully now fully-dressed),

EmJx

Update: latest news is that a British Erasmus student has been spotted stripping in public. And it’s in the local newspaper with pictures. Thank goodness someone is out there taking the limelight! Unless, oh it doesn't even bare thinking about. I need to get my hands on that paper!

I don’t even go here!

So the journey to Paris was a lot less eventful, I was sat next to a bohemian type who thankfully slept for the majority of the way which meant I could catch 40 winks every now and then. However, due to the heightened security when we got to the Euro-tunnel (no idea why, it wasn’t me I promise!) we had to take a later crossing, resulting in us arriving at Charles de Gaulle a bit later than expected. Luckily I managed to cross Paris with no problems before having a very expensive brunch at Paris Orly and meeting up with Nicola before checking in to fly to Martinique. Only 8 more hours to go…

However, I am never flying with Corseairfly (the French version of Thomas Cook) ever again. Yes they were the cheapest, and yes it actually turned out I could take 50kgs of luggage because I’m a student (as well as a 10% discount… nice!) but I had no TV, hardly any leg room and the food was terrible (this is definitely a big factor for me). I am in no way a travel snob; I took a coach from Bangor for crying out loud! But it’s deffo going to be AirFrance on the way back for me, even if it’s just for the free mini bottle of wine and rum hehe.

So we finally arrived at Fort-de-France, tired but happy to be finally here after 38+ hours of travelling. So we went to get our bags. And waited. And waited. People here seem to make the most of the generous luggage limit and bring EVERYTHING back from their visits to Paris (and after seeing the prices of some of the items here I see why)! And then all I had to do was go to a cash machine to get some money to pay for the taxi from the airport to the uni. Because telling the bank in advance that I was going abroad should mean my card would work abroad right? Wrong.

Thankfully between the two of us we had enough to get to the university student residences, the taxi driver being kind enough to wait whilst I ran in and had a brief encounter with the ever helpful security staff that went something like this (except in my tired, broken French):

‘Hello I’ve got a room reserved’
‘What name is it please?’
‘Jones, Emma-Louise’
*has a quick look* ‘No sorry’ *walks off*
‘Erm… are you sure. I got a confirmation email saying I did…’
*sighing* ‘Did you ring to confirm?’
‘No, I just got an email confirming my place; there was no number on it or instructions to do so’
‘Well you should have rung’
‘Ok, well I’m sorry I didn’t. I thought the confirmation email was enough. I have the email here…’
‘Well I haven’t got a key for you because you didn’t ring’
‘Right… well what do I do now then?’
*sighs even more* ‘well I guess I’ll have to give you a temporary room then you’ll have to come find me tomorrow morning. You can’t stay here’

Wow. My first encounter with the ever helpful Madame Richer. What a welcome to Martinique! Thankfully I think I looked bedraggled enough to scrounge a bed for the night and the halls were a lot nicer than expected although I was under strict instructions not to make a mess! So after dropping off my bags, so began Nicola’s and my long journey to find 2, Rue Joesph-Semphore where her landlady should hopefully be waiting for her (she has chosen to stay in apartment with other ERASMUS students rather than student halls).

We figured this would be relatively simple. One person’s bags between the two of us and we can just ask for directions for the address written on the piece of paper, after all Schoelcher is not that big. How wrong could we be? Again. No-one knew the address. We didn’t have a contact number for Madame Semphore. And we had genuinely no idea in which direction we should be going. All we knew was it was 2 minutes from the beach and 5 from the university. So, like a river, we headed in the direction of the sea. At least it was downhill.

After walking for what felt like forever (which we have since found is not actually that far) and asking every single person we met, we eventually came across a guy who took us to the local ‘gendarmerie’ to ask for directions (I’m sure this is a waste of police time but at least I can say I’ve been in a Martiniquais police station)! So having lost a wheel on Nicola’s suitcase and feeling exhausted from travelling and the afternoon heat we finally arrived at Rue Joesph-Semphore....

After assuring her only one of us was moving in, Madame Semphore gave us the great tour of the apartment. If I can get some pictures of it and put them up here I will. Despite my OCD, I think it is brilliant (although I certainly couldn’t live there)! The whole place is on various uncoordinated levels, a ginormous mismatch of different building materials and fabrics (Nicola currently has a curtain for a bedroom door and something that wouldn’t look out of place in a prison at the entrance) and like many buildings here looks like if you leaned on a certain part too heavily the whole thing would fall down.

We then met Hannes, a German guy who lives with Nicola and three other English girls, Amy, Rosie and Sophie who live in the flat above, and are thankfully all on the same ERASMUS program as us. After a slight repose and pizza we headed to the beach where we were introduced to so many more students and locals than I fear I will never be able to remember all of their names. Sat watching the sun set, the waves gently breaking on the shore as everyone chatted and drank tropical juice I couldn’t think life could get any better.

That was until one of the girls asked me, “Do you like R&B music? Because not to stereotype but just about everyone here is a gangster!” I think I have found heaven on Earth. I only wish Sioned was with me.

Une fille me demander « si j’aime la music de R&B. Parce-que elle ne veut pas stéréotyper mais presque tout le monde est un gangster !» Je pense que j’avais trouvé le ciel sur la terre. Je seulement la souhaite que Sioned (une copine qui aime bien cette culture) est ici avec moi.

The day I got mistaken for a tramp :/

Shortly after my not so romantic proposal we eventually arrived in London town, the poor Welsh girl looking like a rabbit caught in headlights as I don’t think she’d ever left the island of Anglesey. I dropped my bags off at the left luggage office and headed out to go find something to eat before my next coach to Paris. I also managed to buy some postcards in advance, at least this way some people will hopefully receive humorous ones, I found them hard to find in France (Martinique’s proving pretty much the same unless you find a picture of a beach and some flowers funny). I bought a small Japanese take away noodle box and took it to what looked like a miniature park so I could chill for a bit, have some peace and quiet (in London?! Maybe not) and people watch (yes, I’m epically nosy). So I was happily playing on Facebook on my phone, reading my well-wishes (thank you folks) and watching the world go by when I heard ‘you’re not the first one you know.’

Well I turned around and low and behold, there was what I had wrongly assumed to be a tramp standing over me looking sympathetic. “I’m sorry?” was all I could muster before he explained “don’t worry, many people carry a pillow round with them when they lose their job, it’s a sort of comfort thing for when they have to stay with friends.” Excuse me; did he think I was homeless?! Sure, I technically had been staying with friends for the past five days, still had my cabin luggage with me that was slightly larger than the average handbag, was feeling a bit shaken up/groggy after being on the coach for over 9 hours and was carrying my mini pillow for on the plane, and I was eating a takeaway on the bench in a local park… but I was about to go live in the bloody Caribbean for four months for goodness sakes!

Thankfully, when I explained what I was doing and where I was going he apologised but said he was seeing more and more of it nowadays, people losing their jobs and having to stay with friends because they can’t afford the rent. We then talked about what I was studying, where I was going, what it was like living in London, where he was from (he was Polish but I would have never known with an accent that good) until I had to go back to the coach station to collect my suitcases from left luggage (I didn’t want to pay some ridiculous amount for ‘up to 24 hours’). He was actually a really interesting person to talk to (and yes, I still have my passport, purse etc. for all your suspicious lot) and he thanked me for my time and wished me all the best for the future before I left. Bechod.

However, once I’d picked up my bags I still had another two hours to wait before the coach left for Paris. So, along with some other people in the coach station (genuinely homeless people I think), I attempted another 40 winks on the benches, further confirming my ‘tramp’ status. And then began the long journey to Paris… 

Désolée c'est qu’en anglais. Je vais le traduire bientôt… 


__

Un peu après mon proposition pas vraiment romantique nous avons finalement arrivés à Londres, avec la fille galloise qui a un regard comme un lapin pris dans les phares d’un voiture, je ne pense pas qu'elle ait jamais quitté l'île d'Anglesey. J'ai laissé mes valises à la consigne à bagages et je suis allée chercher quelque chose à manger avant mon prochain voyage à Paris. En plus, j'ai à acheter quelques cartes postales à l'avance, au moins de cette façon certains seront humoristique, je les ai aperçus difficiles à trouver en France (Martinique, il prouvant près le même, sauf si vous trouvez une photo d'une plage et quelques fleurs drôle). J'ai acheté un petit repas japonais à emporter et trouvé un petit parc afin que je puisse se détendre un peu, avoir une pause de tranquillité et calme (à Londres?! Peut-être pas) et regarder les gens (oui, je suis vraiment fouineuse). Donc j'ai été heureux de regarder Facebook sur mon portable, lire mon bien-souhaits (merci les gens) et regarder tous qui me passer quand j'ai entendu «tu n'es pas le premier que vous savez."

Eh bien, je me suis retourné et, ô miracle, il y avait quelqu’un j'avais supposé d'être un clochard debout sur ​​moi avec un regard sympathique. «Je suis désolée?" était tout ce que je peux dire, avant qu’il expliqué "ne vous inquiétez pas, beaucoup de gens portent leur oreiller avec eux quand ils perdent leur emploi, c'est quelque chose pour le confort quand ils ont besoin de rester chez leurs amis. Excusez-moi; a-t-il pensé que j'étais sans-abri?! Bien sûr, j’avais resté chez mes amis pour les cinq derniers jours (mais pour les rendre visiter pas par la nécessité !), j’avais toujours mon sac de cabine avec moi qui était un peu plus grand qu’un sac à main de taille moyenne, je me sentait un peu secouée / groggy après avoir été dans le car pendant plus de neuf heures et je portais mon petit oreiller pour dans l'avion, et j'ai été en train de manger un plat à emporter sur le banc dans un parc à Londres ... mais je me préparais d’aller vivre dans les Caraïbes pendant quatre mois !

An interesting journey! Un voyage tellement intéressant !

I spent a fantastic few days back in Bangor and was so lovely to stay with Jess and Marcus who cooked me the most amazing last supper – a Sunday Roast with an endless flow of gravy! A massive thank you to you both for putting up with me for five days. I only wish I could have brought you both with me. Oh Marcus, if you could see the weaves…!

So very early (for a student) on Tuesday morning Jess took me to the coach stop in Bangor with my ridiculous amount of luggage, I’m still surprised all of it and myself have arrived in one piece! Unfortunately I was told I had to be there an hour early (which in reality I didn’t) and the coach was late (quelle surprise!) so had woken up early for nothing. At least I could sleep on the coach, or at least that’s what I thought…

Quite frankly, I have never experienced anything quite like it. In the beginning it started off well, leather seats and plenty of room for a coach was certainly an improvement on all those OTC and school trips. I read my book, spoke to the lady sat opposite me who had done plenty of interesting things in her life and to the girl in front who was from Anglesey and I had a nap for a bit. All in all, a good start. Until Birmingham. FML.

At Birmingham we picked up some more passengers including Ikram. After less than 5 minutes on the coach he decides he’s bored and can he come sit next to me to talk? So not to be rude and because it was just over an hour to the next stop I said yes even though I really wanted to sleep. So we got talking. Ikram comes from Pakistan. He’d already spent four months in England and will be staying there for another two years to study. He works part time in a fried chicken takeaway for less than the minimum wage. He thought the English were crazy because we eat dog (I had to explain that a hot dog thankfully isn’t actually made from dog meat). He asked if we could be friends because he doesn’t have very many in England.

But then it started getting weird. He asked me if I was married (“no I’m only 21”). He started trying to hold my hand and stroking my hair (when I asked him not too he told me it was okay because his hands were clean…). He then asked if I would marry him as he’s very lonely in England. I said no and then added, ‘in England we tend to get to know the other person first’ so not to offend him. However, he seemed to think we did know each other because we were ‘friends’ (we had been talking for less than half an hour at this point).

So his feeble attempts at seduction continued for the rest of the journey (thankfully he got off at Milton Keynes to go visit his sister who had married their cousin, each to their own). I could have gone and lived with his parents and two brothers and their wives in Pakistan, he would have ‘learned me’ Urdu and I would never have to work (he looked entirely baffled when I told him I wanted to work) but to be perfectly honest I didn’t particularly fancy it. I could hear the two women in front of me trying their best not to laugh their heads off as I tried my best to refuse his advances as politely as I could (“please don’t put your arm around me, it’s not confortable”) whilst all the while wishing I’d chosen the aisle seat (he might as well not have paid for a ticket seeing as he was practically sat on my knee). Eventually we reached Milton Keynes. After much persuasion, Ikram left (“but I can come to London with you instead”) settling for a kiss on the hand (he was not going near my face) and my old mobile number (I turned it on when I arrived in Martinique to find about a dozen messages). Thankfully, the rest of the journey went smoothly… until I reached London.

However, you'll have to wait until the next update as it's taken me quite a while to write this (in both languages) and we're headed to the beach! 

Until next time,
EmJ x

______

J’ai passé quels bons jours à Bangor (la ville de mon université) et c’était super d’être chez Jess (ma camarade d’appartement pendant mes deux premières années à l’université) et Marcus qui m’a cuisiné mon dernier dîner en Angleterre, un poulet rôti avec une provision inépuisable du jus de la viande (mon plat le plus préféré)! Merci beaucoup vous deux pour me loger pendant cinq jours. Je souhaite que je puisse vous amener avec moi. Marcus, si tu pourrais voir les tresses Martiniquais… !

Alors très tôt (pour une étudiant) mardi matin Jess m’amener au l’arrêt de car à Bangor avec tous mes valises, je suis toujours choqué que tout ça et moi-même avons arrivé sans souci ! Malheureusement l’Enterprise de bus m’a dit que je devais être à l’arrêt une heure en avance (ce n’était pas vrai) et le bus était en retard (quelle surprise!) donc je m'étais réveillé tôt pour rien. Au moins je pourrais dormir dans le bus, ou alors c’est ce que j'ai pensé ...

Franchement, je n’ai jamais eu une expérience comme ça. Au début, tout va bien, des sièges en cuir et beaucoup d’espace dans le bus était vraiment mieux que tous mes voyages scolaires et voyager en bus avec les réservistes. J'ai lu mon livre, parlé avec une dame assise à côté de moi qui avait fait beaucoup de choses intéressantes dans sa vie et avec une fille qui vient d’Anglesey et j’ai eu une petite sieste. En générale, un bon départ. Jusqu'à Birmingham. Entrez, Ikram.

A Birmingham on a pris plus de passagers, y compris Ikram. Apres moins de cinq minutes dans le bus il a décidé qu'il s'ennuyait et peut-il venir s'asseoir à côté de moi pour parler? Pour ne pas être impoli et parce que c’était seulement un peu plus d'une heure de le prochain arrêt, j'ai dit oui mais j’ai vraiment envie de dormir. Donc on a parlé. Ikram vient de Pakistan. Il a déjà passé quatre mois en Angleterre et il va rester là pour deux années de faire ses études. Il travaille à temps partiel dans une restauration rapide de poulet frit pour moins que le salaire minimum. Il pensait que les Anglais étaient fous parce que nous mangeons le chien (j'ai eu besoin d’expliquer qu’heureusement un hot-dog n’est pas vraiment fabriqué avec de viande de chien). Il m’a demandé si on peut être copains parce qu’il n’a pas beaucoup en Angleterre.

Mais alors il commencé d’être bizarre. Il m'a demandé si j'étais mariée ("non, je n'ai que 21 ans"). Il a commencé à essayer de tenir ma main et caresse mes cheveux (quand je lui ai demandé de ne pas faire il m'a dit qu'il était acceptable parce que ses mains étaient propres ...). Il a ensuite demandé si je voulais l'épouser car il se trouve très seule, en Angleterre. J'ai dit non et ensuite ajouté, «en Angleterre, nous avons la tendance de connaître l'autre personne avant de se marier» afin de ne pas l'offenser. Cependant il semblait penser que nous avons déjà fait connaître parce que nous étions des "amis" (nous avions parlé pour moins une demi-heure à ce moment).

Donc ses faibles efforts de séduction continue pour le reste du voyage (heureusement il est descendu à Milton Keynes pour aller rendre visite à sa sœur qui avait épousé sa cousine, chacun a son gout). J'aurais pu aller vivre avec ses parents et ses deux frères et leurs épouses au Pakistan, il aurait m'a appris l’Ourdou et je n’aurais pas besoin de travailler (il était vraiment choqué quand je lui ai dit que je voudrais travailler) mais pour être parfaitement honnête, je n'ai pas particulièrement envie. Je pouvais entendre les deux femmes en face de moi qui essayent de ne pas rire pendant que j'ai essayé de refuser ses avances aussi poliment que je pouvais («s'il vous plaît ne mettez pas votre bras autour de moi, ce n'est pas confortable") en souhaitant que j'avais choisi le siège côté couloir (il pourrait aussi bien ne pas avoir payé pour un billet car il était quasiment assis sur mes genoux). Finalement nous avons atteint Milton Keynes. Après beaucoup de persuasion, Ikram est descendu ("mais je peux venir à Londres avec vous") il me donne un bisou sur la main (il n'allait pas près de mon visage) et j’ai lui donné mon ancien numéro portable (je l'ai allumé quand je suis arrivé en Martinique de trouver une douzaine de messages). Heureusement, le reste du voyage s'est bien passé ... jusqu'à ce que je sois arrivée à Londres. 

Cependant, vous devrez attendre jusqu'à la prochaine fois pour la fin de cette histoire car j’ai pris beaucoup de temps d'écrire (en deux langues) et on va à la plage maintenant!

A plus,
EmJx

Salut mes amis francophones! Hello French-speaking friends!

So now I have internet I can finally update my blog, however did I survive for four days?!

And from now on it will be written bilingually (half and half, how suitable!) for Paul and all my foreign friends who read this and also to practice my French a little! I’ll do the best I can but let me know if there are any serious mistakes. But be nice none-the-less!

Enfin, j’ai l’internet donc je peux mettre à jour mon blog. Comment j’ai survie pendant quatre jours sans une connexion?!

En plus, a partir de maintenant mon blog sera bilingue (moitié moitié, bien assorti pour moi) pour que Paul et tous mes amis étrangers qui le lire et aussi pour pratiquer mon français un peu ! Donc, je ferai le meilleur que je peux mas dites-moi si il y a des fautes très grave. Mais soyez sympa comme-même!