Ship masts, bare without their sails, rocked with the movement of the green sea within the small port.
Pointe-à-Pitre.
Along the quayside, only a few meters from the schooners and the rust-stained ferry for Marie-Galante, the stalls bustled with their early morning commerce: jars of hair pomade from Liverpool, ground corn from Suriname, anthuriums from Martinique, good-luck aerosols from Puerto Rico.