Explorations and Farewells

We decided to spend the next day going round the island. There is a main road that runs the entire circumference. Once on it, one becomes aware of a great truth about Saint Martin/Sint Maarten: there are too many vehicles. This ring road is perpetually filled with cars and trucks moving in both directions, a sort of perpetual motion machine. As soon as one takes an exit, another is there to take its place. The flow of traffic remains unbroken, unending.

We set off to the west and visited the tourist mecca of Orient Beach and environs. Mile after mile of sandy beach is lined by resorts distinguishable from each other only by the colour of their chaises and brollies. We walked a mile or so along the beach, watching parasailers, swimmers, and wind surfers out in the howling gale. Sailboats tore along in the offing.

We then proceeded south and west to Philipsburg, the commercial centre of Sint Maarten, where the cruise ships come in. Crass and garish pretty much describe it. That said, if there’s anything you need to buy, you can probably find it in this city. We decided not to dismount, but continued on the ring road through the town, past the great salt pond, to veer northward and up the coast to Cole Bay, Simpson Bay (the big lagoon) and Marigot. We grabbed lunch in the last and climbed the hill to Fort Louis which sits high above the town, with great views out over the harbour and lagoon. The wind, she blew. The flag atop the fort was straight out, taut as a drum.

We had hoped to cruise over to Saba with our guests but, alas, the wind had made that impossible. The next day, we drove them out past the airport to the Sunset Bar and Grill for a burger before their flight. We were very sorry to see them go.

[photos when Internet permits]

Getting Wheels in St. Martin/Sint Maarten

We spent an energetic morning, prowling the street of Grand Case, trying to find a car rental place. We finally found one, but it showed no signs of life. Grand Case has a small airport but, of course, it never occurred to us to go there. We decided to take a bus bound for Marigot. Frisha thought we were highly adventurous to do so, but the buses on St. Martin proved to be far more civilized than those we have experienced on other islands. For 2 euros apiece (about a fifteenth of the cost of a taxi), we were deposited right by the centre of Marigot—an easy walk to the marina and, we hoped, car rental information.

No such luck. The chappy waved a hand in the general direction of Europe and suggested we’d find something up there. I proposed visiting a hotel and asking the concierge. There we found a flyer for a car rental place based, naturally, in Grand Case. “But wait!” I cried. On the back of the folder were maps for the company’s two locations, one not far off in Marigot. We started to walk. We walked and walked and eventually turned into an unlikely looking street combining post-industrial with neo-concrete architecture in an alluring fashion. Frisha and Whit stood on the main road and looked down this thoroughfare with deep scepticism. WW and I marched forward and found…a hotel. WW entered while I called the doubters to join us.

Inside, the nice lady told us the car rental place had closed at this location and is based only at the Grand Case airport. Sigh. However, she was willing to call them up and see what could be done. After much toing and froing, she told us it would be half an hour. Fine. It was beer o’clock and there was a nice little bar by a pool in a garden. WW and Whit ordered beer, I asked for white wine. Sorry, no wine. Seriously?? This is France. Ah well.

Eventually we had a car. We drove it up a very steep road for a long way, past homes of the fabulously wealthy with views of the fabulously wealthy, then we parked at the bottom of a very steep and stony trail. Up we hiked, higher and higher, until we reached the top of Pic Paradis. An array of radio and microwave antennae greeted us, but also truly spectacular views down to Orient Beach on the east of the island and to Philipsburg in the southwest. We felt fabulously wealthy.

That night we had a superb meal at the Auberge Gourmand in Grand Case, one of a number of outstanding restaurants in the little town that vie to produce extraordinarily fine food.

The wind continued to roar.

[Photos will be posted when Internet allows...]

Another Fish Story

The next leg of our trip took us from Barbuda up to St. Barts, another pretty full day of sailing. Once again, Frisha went into fish-killing mode. This time, however, we hooked a nice big mahi-mahi/dorado/dolphin fish. As WW tried to haul it in, however, the leader broke at the lure and it made its getaway. Nothing daunted, a new lure was attached and the hunt continued.

A little over halfway to St. Barts, another strike! This time, WW took the gaff hook and managed to wrestle a new, even larger dorado aboard.

The one that didn't get away, incoming.

Gaffing dinner aboard.

WW guesstimates this fishy at about 15 pounds.

We spent the night anchored off Gustavia, St. Barts. The fish had been cleaned and cut into enormous pieces that could barely be squashed into the fridge. WW delivered one chunk of fish to a Grenadian Rastaman floating in his nearby boat…and very grateful he was for it. I immediately began the process of turning the enormous head into a fumet. Astonishingly, it was fish for dinner.

A very big fish head for a very big fumet.

On the morrow, we headed in to Gustavia for a little potter about. There is an absolutely fabulous bakery there which we visited and from which we purchased some of the best bread the Caribbean has on offer. Then we returned to Django and went to our favourite mooring place, Ile Fourche, north of St. Barts. Dinner was...fish.

The wind was getting pretty wild by this time. We love this sheltered little bay, but it had a hard time on this occasion with winds gusting up to 30 knots all night long. It moaned and howled and caused poor Django to pull back and forth on her mooring lines.

Next day, we headed off to St. Martin, a short distance north, but decided to go into Tintamarre, a little island off its east coast. A lovely spot with a shallow bay, beautiful small white-sand beach and moorings tucked into its north side.

We dined (on curried chicken, thank heaven) there as we had decided to spend the night. A mistake. The wind continued to howl and moan and built the seas up on the south side of the island, from whence they spread to either end and wrapped around to meet in the middle on the north side…right where we were. Before we hustled away in the morning, Frisha and Whit went out in the kayaks to explore the reef on the west end of the island. While they were away, WW and I watched four sea turtles noodle around our boat.

Once crew and craft were back aboard, we set off along the north coast of St. Martin to Anse Marcel. A narrow sinuous channel leads from the bay into a marina. It is so narrow that boats must sound airhorns to warn boats coming from the other end of their presence. At the marina, we were able to clear in, buy ice and refill our water tanks. Then we moved a few miles along the coast to the epicurean centre of the island: Grand Case.

Sunset at Grand Case.

[Timestamped photos are kindness of Frisha.]