St. Pierre, in the French island of Martinique, is a picturesque little town with a very interesting history. Founded in 1635, it grew to become the economic and cultural center of Martinique, even though administratively the capital was Fort-de-France. It was known as the “Paris of the Caribbean”, until disaster stroke in the form of a volcanic eruption.

In 1902 the nearby Mount Pelée became active, emitting clouds of ash and rock. The danger was largely dismissed, but just two weeks later a mud flood buried a small town, killing 150 people. Authorities declared St. Pierre was safe, in part because of two valleys that separated the town from the volcano, but mostly for politically reasons, since an evacuation would have implied large financial losses right before upcoming elections.

Still, some people had the good sense of leaving. At the same time there was an influx of refugees from smaller towns and tourists from the capital that came to watch the show. On May 8, 1902, one hour after the Governor had insisted the city was safe, the mountain exploded and a pyroclastic surge—a fireball of superheated gas that the valleys did nothing to stop—rushed to St. Pierre setting everything on its path instantly ablaze, including ships in the harbor. Almost 30,000 people lost their lives. It is said that only two people survived. One of them was a prisoner, saved by the thick stone walls of his cell.

Modern volcanology was born with the study of Mount Pelée’s 1902 eruption. It brought a better understanding of pyroclastic flows, showing that lava is not the only threat volcanoes pose.

A new town was built on top of the ruins, with many buildings reusing part of the old structures. The remains of the most iconic places, such as the prison quarters and the 800-seat, 18th century theater have been left untouched, serving now as open-air museums. This mixture is what gives St. Pierre its unique charm.

The town

Today St. Pierre’s population is less than 5,000 people, far from what it was before the eruption, but it’s still a bustling town.

The ruins

Walking through St. Pierre’s evoking ruins—interspersed here and there around town—it’s not difficult to imagine the former grandeur of The Paris of the Caribbean.

The zoo

I don’t really like zoos, but the Zoo of Martinique is a misnomer. It is more like three museums in one (or four if you count the awkward pirate room). The zoo part is the tertiary one, in my opinion. The Zoo of Martinique is in the first place a historic site: the ruins of a big 17th century estate (“the oldest house in Martinique”) destroyed by the volcanic eruption.

Secondly, it’s a beautiful botanical garden, and only thirdly it’s a decent zoo. Through elevated pathways you can see spider monkeys, jaguars, ibises and anteaters among the ruins. It is actually a peculiar sight worth a visit. Especially if you are anchored right in front.

The distillery

The Depaz Distillery is another gem of St. Pierre. Martinique is known for the production of “rhum agricole”, which is rum distilled from freshly squeezed sugar cane juice, as opposed to the more common rum distilled from molasses, a byproduct of sugar.

The estate and distillery have been around for three and a half centuries. They were completely destroyed by the 1902 eruption. Victor Depaz, a teenage student in Bordeaux at that moment, was the only surviving member of the family. He returned in 1917 to rebuild everything from scratch.

We really liked St. Pierre and enjoyed strolling around its streets, discovering treasure after treasure.

The Martinique Passage is the 25-nautical mile strait that separates Dominica from Martinique. The day we jumped between the two islands the forecast for open waters in the region was 15-20 knots of wind and 8-10ft (2.5-3m) waves. When the wind passes between tall masses of land it gets funneled. And if you add to that a bit of inaccuracy in the forecast, you may end up with the 25-30 knots of winds and the huge 20-25ft (6-7.5m) waves we faced, coming about 60° off our nose.

The word “brutal” comes to mind, but then again, it can get much, much worse during a storm, and I don’t want to run out of adjectives too soon. And, while it was shaky, noisy and wet, it wasn’t unsafe. Of course, if anything goes wrong in those conditions, even something that’s just as a minor inconvenience in calmer waters, things can quickly cascade into something catastrophic. But all that wind at least had us moving fast, and it took us less than three hours to get to the lee of Martinique, unscathed.

Oliver may have a less cheerful perspective of that passage. He was scared an seasick. Yet, nature called, and if you gotta go, you gotta go. The problem was that he was clearly in a hurry, so he left the litter box when he wasn’t really finished (and I’m not talking about emptying the bladder here). I was going to say that he cut the errand short, but if there’s something he didn’t do was to cut anything. The sight wasn’t pretty. The solution, even less.

I think Oliver was so happy to be back at anchor that day that he performed his evening ritual—a tour to the outside world around the cockpit enclosure—twice. He always goes counterclockwise, though; I guess he’s not ready for that much innovation yet.