Martinique

On All Saints' Day, or La Toussaint, Martinicans make their annual pilgrimage to honor their dead at gleaming-white cemeteries. The women selling plastic flowers take their stations; the peanut lady, nuts wrapped in conical brown paper, sits at the front gate. Taxis and cars pull up as the dark curtain of night comes down. Hundreds of candles illuminate the black-and-white checkerboard tiles and photos of departed loved ones. Tears glisten on the cheeks of a grand-mère. But this is also an annual family reunion where relatives kiss each other warmly on both cheeks.

Numerous scattered ruins and other historical monuments reflect the richness of Martinique's sugarcane plantocracy, of rhum and the legacy of slavery. The aristocratic planters are gone, but some things haven't changed so much. The island's economy depends on les bananes (bananas), l'ananas (pineapples), cane sugar, rum, fishing, and even—voilà—tourism, though it is not the lifeblood of the island. Martinicans will be glad you came, but there's no gushing welcome. Most islanders just go about their business, with thousands employed in government jobs offering more paid holidays than most Americans can imagine. Martinicans enjoy their time off, celebrating everything from le fin de la semaine (the weekend) to Indian feast days, sailboat races, and Carnival.

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