One of the best things about travelling, is being able to explore new market places.
Only in a local market do you get a real feel for the place, and it’s the only place to try the proper local dishes.
Milly is one of my most adventurous friends when it comes to eating, which makes her the perfect travel companion.
Together we set off to Castries Market, with empty bellies and excited hearts.
We skipped the “craft” area, which you can find inside. There you can buy literally anything with the words SAINT LUCIA embroidered, carved, or painted across the front.
And went right for the food.
Starting out in fruit, veg and spices.
You can find all sorts of bundles on sale, some for cooking, and lots for flavouring bottles of rum!
We stocked up on bags and bottles to take home, for ourselves and as gifts.
And stopped to buy a piece of every fruit we didn’t recognise, nibbling on them as we ducked between the stalls.
^ Man eating papaya.
We skipped the dark tunnels of the fresh meat section, but couldn’t resist the lure of the busy fish stalls.
Local fisherman pull the beasts from the sea and chop’n’ sell them themselves.
Seafood doesn’t come much fresher.
Though the smell in 35°C humid heat, is not one knocks you back a bit!
Outside the sell fish from wooden carts.
I asked if it ever got too hot to sell fish this way, they laughed, rolled their eyes, pointed to the parasols above and said “no problem!”
I think it’s fair to say the fish gets snaffled up and cooked pretty quickly in these parts.
^ Sun warmed nutmegs.
Having picked up fruit, chillies, spices and bottles of local hot sauce, we set our sights on lunch.
Having checked out the competition, we settled on Sylvia’s hole in the wall.
Tucking into chicken and macaroni cheese.
Splashed with hot sauce, naturally.
Just across the way, Marianna served up some mean saltfish fritters.
Over the course of lunch we went back for three bags of them.
She only asked us to pay for two.
We dipped into the crafts area, much quieter than on Saturdays when it’s a buzzing metropolis of people selling their trinkets.
And out through the streets again.
Hot, sticky (totally drenched in fact) and craving a sea breeze, we drove to Pigeon Island.
Where we could freely breath the salty air.
An 18th-century British fort, used to spy on the French, it’s home to the ruined barracks.
And an utterly beautiful spot for a stroll.
Black aviators // Red bag // Gold shoes
