Guadeloupe

May 20–21, 2013

After backwater Saint Martin, Guadeloupe feels practically like Europe. The first thing an arriving traveler sees is a stamp vending machine that weighs your letter and prints out a stamp of the requisite denomination.

The second thing a traveler sees is a mailbox on a leg (like in Mayotte or Algeria).

The third thing a traveler sees is a big mailbox (like in Reunion or French Guiana).

The fourth thing a traveler sees is a post office.

The fifth thing a traveler sees is individual recipients’ mailboxes (like in Martinique).

Guadeloupe is a French possession. Consequently, all the details here are French. The directional signs alone say it all.

An ultra-fashionable pedestrian light.

Trash dumpsters.

Recycling dumpsters.

The roads are lined with billboard ads.

For some reason, the decorative cover panels on all the fire hydrants are open. The resulting object resembles a ladybug about to take flight.

And here we are in the capital.

The city is considered unsafe.

But those who’ve been to Guatemala or Somalia will feel perfectly safe and comfortable here.

A local payphone.

Rare old signs indicating paid meter parking.

A modern wordless version with the same message. In the sign’s bottom right corner is a type of parking timer (compare to Saint Barthélemy).

A parking meter.

Guadeloupian women are corpulent.

A local resident (brings the monk from Meteora to mind).

Schoolchildren.

Benches by the sea.

Graffiti.

Public art. An installation called Blech.

Another installation: Man, Incomplete.

By the way, bananas are grown in plastic bags here. Keeps the birds away and makes for convenient gathering.

Let’s fly onward.