After much hemming and hawing about which French island to experience for the first time in our quarter century love affair with the Caribbean, we punted on polluted St. Martins and opted for the oh-so-French outpost of Martinique. This review is about the hotel we vowed to rave about publicly, but we must say... about the island: 13 days is not enough. Oh, the architecture, the food, the beaches, the diving, the Volcano!, the rain forests, the music, the rum plantations....Bill's only complaint was that since I doubted we would ever return, I insisted we explore the 40 mile length and 20 mile width of the entire island. This, contrasted with lolling on the cliffs of Negril, he did not consider a vacation.
But the hotel. Not knowing a soul with real knowledge of Martinique, we had to "suss it out" on the Internet was difficult. Partly because of conflicting reviews. We finally gambled on L'Impératrice as our pied-à-terre upon arrival. No less than the night before departure did we confirm it by e-mail with Mme. Elise herself who, with her mother, manage the establishment as if it were their own home.
I should point out that when we arrived at midnight at FDF airport, our luggage did not. Nor was there any taxi service at that hour (perhaps our discussions about luggage lasted longer than the patience of the few taxi's who came to scoop up the last arrivals of the night). This was the first of many instances confirming that a rudimentary grasp of the French language is essential to a visit to Martinique. Really, you are in France. A kind airport security worker offered to drive us to our hotel, since he lived en ville. He refused to take the 20EU bill we so sincerely offered him.
Robert, the Chef, and a jovial security pal greeted us at the Hotel. After our tale of loss and stranding, we were summarily awarded our first 'Ti-punch ~ a small shot glass christened with brown sugar, filled with vieux rhum, and topped with a wedge of lime: the perfect antidote to our airport arrival. When we entered our room, yet another duet of 'Ti-punches waited upon a flower strewn tray. Swinging the doors of the balcony open we happily surveyed the central park of Martinique below in the perfumed air and had our first glimpse of our hotel's namesake: none other than Empress Josephine, whose family plantation in Martinique led her to lobby her husband Napoleon to continue the slave trade against the growing wisdom of the times. Surviving the justice of the French Revolution, she was belatedly beheaded as a statue in 1991.
The room (#32) was, in fact, very similar to the master bedroom at the Habitacion Clément, a plantation planned in 1868 which we later toured: rich mahogany carved 4 poster bed, white embroidered quilt, damask palm fan throw pillows, elegant lamps. This was the true vieux Martinique. The bathroom was sparkling white tile with a glass shower whose floor was seamless with that of the room. A fine large writing desk made a good home for laptops, cameras, books and maps. Yes, there was WiFi.
But the best part of the room was the balcony: fully 6 feet deep and 20 feet long curving around one of the boat deck corners of the "bateau". The teak chairs and table, we finally realized, provided the ideal spot for viewing Caraval the next week, which (heathens that we are) was a pleasant discovery for us. The room we occupied was unavailable for Mardi Gras: a Japanese reporter living in New York City had reserved it. He was covering Carnaval for the Japanese public, again, this year. So we reserved the second best choice, room 11 one floor down and on the opposite corner.
It should be noted that l'Impératrice has some of the best cuisine on the island. We chanced upon the weekly Thursday Creole brunch. The food was uniquely delighting for us ~ our first taste of many of the ubiquitous dishes on the island: accras, boudin de poissons, poulet de colombo, but there were many others we never tasted again, clearly created by the loving hands of the Creole chef Robert. But even better was the luncheon crowd: the finely dressed black Martinican women on a work day lunch, the bekes families (white colonials) celebrating birthdays, the delightfully mixed race couples, or the table of ladies ~ all apparently old money women of property or class, bekes except for one young beautiful Martiniquan woman, who, remarkably, had difficulty commanding attention at the table.
But the best attribute of the hotel was Elise the manager. She was unfailingly persistent and patient and politic through our pursuit of lost luggage; helpful in all requests for restaurants, maps, phone calls; and dressed to the nines on Carnaval! Her command of English is an added bonus. We felt safe, cared for and warmly welcomed.
For any trip to Martinique, we suggest starting with 2-3 days at L'Impératrice. You can jog the park in the morning and swim in the remarkably clean beach by the harbor. The Schoelcher library constructed at the Tuilleries in Paris and moved board by board to the island is a visual treasure. The craft market, restaurants (Cave au Vin, especially) that rival any in France, buildings blossoming under your eyes (EU investment is huge here), and small scale of the town, make it a gem of discovery to travel entirely on foot. Next trip (!) we will spend 4 days in Ste.-Anne at the spectacular beaches and dive sites, 4 days in St. Pierre in 35EU rooms towering over the ocean at Le Fromagere, 2 days at Mt. Pelée in the lovely chalets, 2 days exploring the Atlantic side at Le Fregate Bleu. Call it a second honeymoon, call it a cheap trip to Paris, call it La vie en Bleu.
This review is the subjective opinion of a TripAdvisor member and not of TripAdvisor LLC