
It started with the unveiling of a new sculpture, which is appropriate since St. Pierre, known as "Little Paris" before the volcanic eruption of 1902 wrecked it, prides itself on being a center of art. A few apparently important members of the national government were present to cut some ribbon, shake hands, and, yes, take selfies.

Then my supervisor, who had brought me along, and I checked out the Christmas market, just waiting for the festivities to get started. Local food trucks, rum vendors, and the rotary club (dudes are everywhere) were out trying to sell goodies and last-minute Christmas gifts and crowd slowly formed.
Finally, around 8 pm, the choir was warmed up and the master of ceremonies got the mic to kick things off and remind everyone that, when it comes to goodies and rum, at Christmas there is no such thing as moderation (which I feel is a dangerous proclamation at an event to which most everybody drove). Then he announced that, before the singing began, the event would start with a ... pole dance.
Then the traditional festivities began. Everyone whipped out their chanté nwel books - everyone already owns one, some bent and rust-stained, other brand new since apparently the classics aren't budging. The Choir started but paused occasionally stopped to nag at the crowd to sing louder - this was a heavily participative event. Most of the songs were call-and-response style, at least for the choruses, and they got lively. Some were in creole, and many were clearly specific to Martinique, referencing Mont Pelé and local dishes. Usually at the end the choir and most of the crowd, minus myself and the other gringos, would break into an unwritten but otherwise universally known refrain, sometimes as secular (about a mosquito, for example, or about Santa Claus) as the original text was religious.
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