St. Maarten, Dutch Antilles

ST. MAARTEN – Easter

Fri. 3/22- Williamsville, N.Y.

We arose early. It was 15 degrees outside and
four new inches of snow had fallen. Aye yei yei! I hit
work very early . The morning was filled with “exit
preparations.” A four-hour phone conference with the
NYSERDA people, on energy efficient purchasing, saved me
a ride to Albany and occupied most of the day.

I left marching orders for the next two
weeks and set out for home at 2:00 P.M. After a quick
closing up of the palace, Precious and I loaded up the
chariot and set out along 290 E. to 190 N., crossing over
the Lewiston/Queenston bridge into Canada.($3.50 CDN)

The Queen Elizabeth way was crowded with
traffic as we approached metro Toronto. We followed the
401 North and exited onto Dixon Rd. N. to find the
Carlingsview Inn, where we would be staying for the
evening. ($105 CDN) We checked in and then drove our car
to the “long term lot.” The hotel allowed guests to
store their vehicles for up to two weeks. A shuttle
returned us to the Carlingsview where we settled into
their “Greek Restaurant” for dinner. A glass of merlot,
some Greek salad and an excellent Calamari platter made for a
pleasurable repast. We were tiring from the
already long day and turned in by 9:30 P.M., fully aware
that we had a 2:45 A.M. wake up call coming.

Sat. 3/25 Toronto, Canada

We arose at 2:30 A.M., cleaned up, had
coffee in the room and readied for the 3:15 shuttle to
terminal #3 at Pearson International airport. Check out
was quick and we emerged into the cold night air for the
15-minute ride to the airport.

We checked our bags into the “Air Transat”
station and were assigned seats on the 6:25 A.M. air
transat flight # 660 direct for St. Maarten’s Queen
Juliana airport. The security checkpoint was uneventful
and we stopped by a coffee shop for liquid adrenalin and
muffins. The airport was already awash with travelers at
4:00 A.M.

We walked for a time, running into several
people from Western New York who were headed to various
other Caribbean destinations. Boarding the huge “airbus”
was easy enough. All 350 of us settled in for the ride.
I read “tell no one” by Harlen Coben for the next four
hours. The flight was pleasant and uneventful. We
arrived at Queen Juliana airport on St.Maarten at 11:30
a.m. local time (one hour before E.S.T) It was hot and
very humid out. The baggage carousel was a mob scene in
the small airport. We waited patiently and finally
fished our luggage from the morass of packaged clothing.
A few buses ferried the lot of us over to nearby “Great
Bay Hotel” on Great Bay, just outside of Phillipsburg,
the Dutch Capital. It had been named after an early
Scottish governor, for some reason not explained to us.

The hotel lobby was tropical and attractive,
even with the swarm of clamoring guests. We opted for a
few rum punches while the throng clamored. The view out
onto the Caribbean was pleasing. An impossibly bright
cerulean sky and a light turquoise ocean framed the pool
area, lined around with swaying palm trees. It was like
viewing a living post card. We talked to people from
Lackawanna, Cheektowaga, Fort Erie and Buffalo while we
waited to get checked in. That ended any plans we had
for anonymous, riotous living in a foreign land. We met
and talked with Diane and Tom Wicher for a few minutes.
They were just off a 7-day Windjammer cruise and staying
at great Bay for two nights. Diane and I work together
at the Rath Bldg in Erie County. The world keeps getting
smaller and smaller.

After checking into room #217, we had lunch on
the second floor, ocean-patio restaurant. Fresh salads,
soup and fish made for a relaxing noon meal as we
watched the activities around us. The Great Bay hotel is
an “all inclusive.” A six-story wing of “ocean front”
rooms meets in a vee with a smaller and newer three
story “Miramar wing.” At the junction of the vee is a
three-story lobby, dining & casino complex and an ocean
front pool and patio restaurant. It is user friendly and
always bustling with activity. The beach in front of the
hotel is large and the ocean fairly calm in the bay.
Phillipsburg is a ten-minute walk, either down the beach
or along a fairly safe street into town.

After lunch, we walked the beach into
Phillipsburg. We could see across the bay, the huge
cruise ship docking facilities at Point Blanche. Some
days, as many at six of the huge sea going behemoths
make it into port. The beach is tidal, with a
pronounced 45-degree slant that makes walking difficult.

The harbor area of Phillipsburg focuses around an extended,
cross- shaped dock area for ship’s tenders, separate
from the huge Ponte Blanche facility. A small “Whatley
Square” forms a “U” shape onto the harbor dock. A
courthouse, several shops and a Burger King make up the
pedestrian square. Cabbies, hangers on and other lay
abouts gather in front of the Burger King daily to socialize
and figure out how to hustle the tourists.

We walked back to the Great Bay Hotel along
the beach and settled in by the pool to swim and
relax. “Guvavaberry Coladas” a pink frozen “umbrella
drink,” drew our attention. We sampled them, enjoying
them immensely. We met and talked with Jack and Charleen
Brown from, South Buffalo. Jack also works with me at
the Rath County Office Building. I guess we were going
to be paragons of virtue on this outing. As the golden
afternoon drew to a close, we repaired to our room to
shower and prep for dinner.

As evening dawned, we walked through the
open and airy foyer of the hotel enjoying the warm night
air and the beautiful visage of ocean and night sky
before us. I signed up for an hour of internet access at
the desk to help stem the vandals at work from
depredations in my absence. Poolside, we enjoyed a glass
of Merlot and talked to an older RCMP Constable and his
wife, from the Kitchener area of the Niagara Peninsula
in Canada. It is these chance encounters with people
from everywhere that make travel so enjoyable.

Dinner tonight was a very good buffet in the
second floor dining room. Salads, pasta with clams and a
host of other attractions were enjoyable. Bring on the
bicycle pump, we were going to be much inflated
physically in the next two week. After dinner, we talked
with the Wichers again and visited the small casino to
make our contributions. In the Casino, we ran into
Buffalo Parking Violations Director Lenny Sciolino and
wife Linda. We agreed to meet later in the week for
dinner.

We had one last glass of Merlot while
looking out over the moonlit bay in the warm tropical
air, before retiring. It had been a long and pleasant
day and we were ready for the arms of Morpheus.

Sunday 3/24 St. Maarten, Dutch Antilles.

We were up at 6:30 A.M. It was already sunny
and warm. Another 4-masted windjammer had moored in the
bay and rode the swells with a fleet of sloops. We
headed into Phillipsburg for an early walk. A passle of
goats were munching contentedly on the grass in a
drainage sluice. The islander’s houses, that we saw,
were ramshackle affairs. Several roosters were still
crowing their morning alarm and even one monkey peered
out at us from his small hut. The islanders were
friendly when you greeted them. A big smile and a “good
morning” were ready for you if you asked for it. What I
did detect, upon reflection, was that the islanders have
been relegated to a permanent sub culture on their own
island. Most of the tourist appeared to be afraid to
make contact with them. In any case, we went out of our
way to correct this inequity on any small basis that we
could. Not every American is ugly.

The street names still reflected their Dutch
origin. Schmidsteed, Stillesteed and other nomenclature
remembered a time when Phillipsburg had been a Ducth
village. As we neared the center of town, the jewelers,
boutiques, restaurants and other merchants crowded out
the small residences. The Methodist Church and the
local “Oranje School” are the most prominent gathering
places for natives. Phillipsburg even has a McDonald’s
and a Burger King. We admired some of the quainter
architecture as we browsed the town. From behind us, on
the central square, emerged a “Palm Sunday Parade” down
Front St. A large number of islanders marched, like a
St. Patrick’s Day group dressed in their finest. Here
and there you could spot a tow headed Dutchman, but most
were of the uniform coffee color of the St. Maarten
islanders. All of the smiling and happy marchers were
decked out in Sunday best and headed for Palm Sunday
services at the St. Martin of Tours Catholic church on
Front Street. We watched them walk by, enjoying this bit
of island culture not listed in any of the guidebooks.

“Old Street” is a gated and secure alley
of expensive jewelers and upscale merchants. We window
shopped the pricey stores and then continued on our
walk, passing the St.Martins home for the aged. Across
the street, the colorful “Guavaberry Emporium” hawked
its native product in bright pastels and bursts of
yellow and purple. The small marina, apart from the
Pointe Blanch cruise ship docks, held a few quaint
restaurants and more tee shirt and notions kiosks. When
the ships were in port, this town becomes awash in
shoppers, all eagerly scurrying from boutique to
boutique in search of the fabled “ duty free bargain.”

Unlike many of the Caribbean islands
we encountered, not a single panhandler along our line
of march accosted us, a testament to the relative
prosperity of the island’s economy. We walked back along
Front St., passing the island’s cemetery. It is similar
to that which you find in New Orleans, with above ground
biers of stone and concrete.

At the Great Bay Hotel, we had a
delicious breakfast of fresh fruits on the ocean
terrace. We talked again with Lenny and Linda Sciolino,
from Buffalo. Then we swam and sat poolside in the warm
morning sun. Life is good sometimes. Mary attended a
10:00 A.M. orientation meeting to see what excursions
and events were offered for the week. She signed us up
for a Monday morning Island tour and for an excursion to
St. Bart’s on Wednesday. I took a break from the searing
sun to send e-mails to the office and a few message
replies. The sun was getting to us, so we walked over to
the “quiet side of the complex” and sat under a shaded
awning reading for a few hours. (Demolition Angel-
R.Craic) The waves were crashing on the rocks beneath
us, the sun was shining and the warm breeze from the bay
caressed us as we relaxed on the terrace.
Across the bay, a huge container vessel traversed the
harbor to the cargo complex next to the Pointe Blanche
passenger terminal. The jet skis were flitting across
Great Bay, like dragonflies on a pond in late summer. A
painter would fall in love with the place in a minute.
Every hour of the day brought a new shade of color to
the sky, sea, mountains and flora. I thought of the
American Painter Winslow Homer. He would have loved the
place and painted here forever.

We wandered down to the beach and
waded into the surf. The rollers were powerful enough to
knock us over and we laughed and played like kids at
beaches the world over. An outside shower washed the
salt and sand from us as we headed to the room to change
and have lunch on the ocean terrace. Our room sparkled
from the maid’s attention. For a $1 daily tip, they will
virtually scour the place for you.

Lunch was relaxing, looking out over
the ocean. Mixed salads, with rice and vegetables were
of good quality. After lunch, we swam for a time and
then settled in to read our books under the shaded
awning. A “guavaberry colada” during the mid afternoon
was refreshing. Poolside, the staff was conducting an
arm wrestling contest. It reminded me of the old movies
depicting group recreational activities, in the
Catskills, during the 1950’s. Ugh!

By late afternoon, we had had enough
of the heat. We repaired to our room to read and cool
off in the air conditioning. The cabana boys were making
a racket as they recovered, washed and stored their
small fleet of jet skis from the beach. It looked like
the concessionaire paid off the extra help at night, in
Heinekens. After a time, the boys got a little noisy.

At 7:00 P.M., the sun had set and
the moonlight shining over the bay was picturesque.
There were lights strung in the rigging of the two
windjammers at anchor in the bay. We stopped by
the “Chrysalis Room” (bar) for a glass of merlot before
dinner. There, we met and talked with a very nice couple
from Montreal, Tim and Liz Snow. We chatted for a time
and then headed into the formal dinner seating at 9:00
P.M. Melon, potage St. Germain (split pea soup), red
snapper, napoleon éclairs for dessert were washed down
with a decent “Cote du Rhone and good coffee. It was a
delicious repast. I could already feel my waist
expanding.

After dinner we walked the grounds
enjoying the cool breeze and the gorgeous surroundings,
before heading to the room to read and lapse into
conversation with Morpheus. It had been a wonderful Palm
Sunday on St. Maarten.

Monday, March 25 St. Maarten, Dutch Antilles.

We arose early and prepped for the day. It was
sunny and warm out at 7 A.M. Breakfast on the ocean
terrace is a pleasant ritual that we could repeat
forever. We watched two of the mega- ships maneuver into
anchorage at Pointe Blanche. The other sloop’s masts
rolled back and forth to an almost silent musical rhythm
as the sea swells rocked them gently at anchor.

The 9:30 A.M. island tour was to be conducted
on a huge air-conditioned bus. I continually marvel at
the driver’s ability to negotiate the narrow and clogged
roads. He said, in wry humor, that the “biggest vehicle
had the right of way” and I think he meant it.

Our first stop was on a hilltop over looking
Great Bay. The Paradise View restaurant, some clothing
kiosks and a scenic over look, including the “love
rock,” enable one to look far out onto the Caribbean,
including St. Bart’s and some of the smaller islands.
This great expanse of turquoise blue sea and cerulean
sky dotted with fluffy white clouds became a favorite
vista on which we could serenely gaze forever. The ocean
views on the island understandably dictated the price of
the land. Just opposite the paradise restaurant, a
hillside lot for a lovely villa had just sold for
$500,000, and that was just for the lot with a view.
Aye, caramba! In general, the higher the altitude, the
better and more luxurious is the quality of housing on
the island. I think it exemplifies a similar American
concept of “doo doo running downhill.”

Along the road, we came to a smallish sign that
read “Bienvenue Partie Francaise.” It is the unmanned
border that separates the small island into the Dutch
and French territories. St.Maarten / St.Martin has
managed to stay at peace with each other since its first
European settlers arrive in 1648. The original natives
of course had been either slaughtered or shipped into
slavery. Large numbers of African slaves had been
imported over the years to work the sugar cane
plantations and the salt recovery facilities that
comprised the main sources of commerce on the island.

The driver cheerfully pointed out to us
the “island traffic police.” It is a local joke. The
goats and sheep of the island are prone to wander onto
the roadways causing an immediate jam of traffic, thus
slowing everyone down. The natives used it as a double
entendre to poke fun at the police establishment. It is
tongue in cheek plantation humor. To the casual eye, the
goats and sheep look alike. But, the goats have their
tails turned up and the sheep have them turned down. Why
that is, or how the islanders worked in even more
scatological humor, at the expense of the local
gendarmes, we were mercifully spared.

We swung around the one main road that circles
the small island, passing the magnificent expanse of
Orient Bay, one of the finer beaches on the island.
The “French Cul de sac” or “Anse Marsel,” is a small one-
way offshoot that leads into a pricey resort area. We
then passed through another side-shunting of Grand Case.
Here you will find some twenty excellent restaurants
that draw hundreds of tourists nightly. The narrow road
gave us passage, with a clearance of inches, from
surrounding vehicles and pedestrians. Grand Case is one
of the original settlements on the island. The hillside
building lots along the road way here are as equally
expensive as on the Dutch side. In one development, the
lower lots started at $83,000, the mid hill lots at
$123,000 and the upper lots were “negotiable.”

The bus then wallowed into the French capital,
Marigot. The huge chariot bulled its way past streets
crowded with shops and busy with commerce. We were let
off on the waterfront, near the ferry docks. A series of
open-air concessions hustled the colorful batik scarves
and sundresses and the ever-present tee shirts. We
shopped for a time, admiring the blue and red coral
necklaces and other jewelry, before stopping
for “designer water” at one of the small kiosks.
Everyone here spoke French. If you don’t have any
language skills, it could prove troublesome here. We
browsed the streets and shops in a quick survey,
determined to return for a much more leisurely visit
later in our stay on the island.

The bus lumbered on down the road, returning to
the Dutch side and Great Bay. We had some wonderful
salads and Mahi-mahi for lunch on the ocean terrace,
admiring the living tableau of ocean before us. After
lunch, I sent a few more messages into the ether of
cyber space and then we settled in by the pool to swim
and read our book. The routine was getting comfortable.

It had to be in the 90’s, so we didn’t last too
long. We browsed the hotel shop for post cards,
international stamps ($1) and bought a fifth of
Stolichnya. We repaired to the room to cool
off, read and have a conversation with Ozzie Nelson.(nap)

It was still hot out at 6:30 P.M. as we met poolside
for the “manager’s cocktail party.” We didn’t get the
concept. What were they going to give us at an all-
inclusive resort, more free drinks and more free food?
It turned out to be sort of lame. We again met up with
Tim and Liz Snow and chatted with them poolside before
joining them for a buffet dinner on the ocean terrace.
We enjoyed their company and conversation for the
evening.

By 10:00 P.M., we were tiring from the day and
headed off to the room to read and retire. We went
reluctantly. The weather was so beautiful and the
surroundings so attractive, that you hated to turn in
for the night. But, alas, we were not 25 anymore and
needed our sleep. Reading “A darkness More than night” –
M.Connelly

Tuesday- March 26 St.Maarten, Dutch Antilles

We arose early. It was cloudy and warm at 7
A.M. We set off walking through Phillipsburg and
continued beyond to the Cruise Ship docking facility at
Pointe Blanche. It appeared to be all of fairly new
construction. The facility was gated and guarded, so we
could only observe from outside. Four huge ships were
berthed at present, with legions of buses ready to take
their aging cargos sightseeing around the island.

Later when the hordes walked in and out we
could easily slip by, knowing that “we all looked alike”
to the guards. Beyond the cruise ship dock lay another
huge “container ship” dock area. Here is where virtually
every consumable item is shipped into the island from
mainland ports, thus adding to its cost. Very few items
are either produced or grown on St. Martin. The fish of
course come with the place.

From the roadway we spotted several nimble
footed goats, munching on bushes and walking on the
severely sloped hillside. Their agility was amazing, as
they wandered through the burnt out shrubbery. A light
sprinkle cooled us off as we walked back through town.
In the islands it always rains for a few minutes every
day. You continue on what you are doing and dry off in
the sunshine. Near the marina, we were accosted by
a “time share monster” who was hawking visits to the
Oyster Bay complex. We just “yeahed her” until she gave
us literature and moved on. If you argue with these
peddlers, sometimes they just become more obnoxious.

Most of the shops were still closed this
early hour as we walked back through town. At the Oranje
school, the children were just coming to class. Each was
dressed in an immaculate plaid jumper and white blouse
or white shirt and dark trousers for the boys. They
looked and sounded like school kids the world over. We
stopped by the Burger kind for coffee and wandered out
on the dock in the main square. The first few passengers
from the mega ships were just coming in on ship’s
tenders. We sat for a time and watched the activities of
the port. All ports are an endlessly fascinating series
of stories and events that are fun to observe.

We tried to obtain some Euros at one of the
Dutch Banks but they made a production of it, so we
passed. Watching the buildings tradesmen and other
skilled workers, we noticed that they were all French,
even on the Dutch side. The islanders were treated like
the old Irish in America, “give them a shovel or a
broom.” It was another indication to me of a subtle
caste system on the island.

Back at Great Bay, we enjoyed breakfast on
the terrace and then settled in by the pool to swim,
read and relax. In the course of the morning we talked
again with Tim and Liz Snow and enjoyed their company.
We ran into Linda Sciolino who told us of their
adventures yesterday in Marigot. We had seen them nearby
when our bus was leaving Marigot. Apparently a cab
driver had been extremely ticked off that their bus was
blocking a dockside roadway. In a fit of desperate road
rage, he boarded their bus, and proceeded to drive it
forward taking out all of the decorative steel roadside
pilings and causing a ruckus.

The Gendarmes were called
and another bus had to come and take them back to Great
Bay. I guess it doesn’t pay to irritate some people. We
made plans to meet with them later that evening for
dinner in Phillipsburg.

The pool, a lunch on the terrace of crab
soup and salad and finally some more time on the beach
occupied the rest of our day. Mary frolicked in the
Ocean while I watched for sharks and pirates. Jet skis
were gliding by, kids on banana boats were being towed
by power craft. It all kept the eyes busy with, a framing
back drop of huge cruise ships and some elegantly
rigged, lateen-sailed pleasure craft. It was another
beautiful afternoon in paradise.

By 5:00 P.M., we headed in to shower and
dress for dinner with the Sciolinos. We met them in the
Lobby with their friends Sam and Sue, from Buffalo of
course. Lenny also had included two Buffalo Teachers,
Chris and Carol, one of whom lived in our condo complex
in Williamsville. Oy vey, the world gets smaller. We
decided to walk into Phillipsburg in the warm night air.
The eight of us wandered across Front Street safely and
found “Antoine’s.” It is a nice French restaurant, right
on the beach. We settled in with three bottles of a
decent French red, and ordered several different types
of everything. Mary and I had the “prix fixe” meal of
salad, red snapper, sorbet and coffee. Everything was of
good quality and elegantly presented. The owner and
maitre ‘d was both charming and helpful. My French came
back to me fairly readily and we bantered a bit. We both
knew my accent was impossible but he tolerated it with
good grace. Although we thought him the quintessential
Frenchman, both of his parents were indeed Italian
nationals who had emigrated to Normandy after the Second
World War. Appearance is always deceiving. In any case,
we had a delightful dinner with lively conversation with
all manner of topics bantered about. It was fun for all
of us. The tab was a reasonable, not bad
for a gourmet dinner on a Caribbean Isle.

The night air was warm and muggy as we walked
back amidst the roosters, monkey and goats along the
way. We stopped by the hotel Chrysallis lounge for a
nightcap and talked amidst the eight of us. Outside, the
heavens opened and a torrent of rain let loose. We had
timed it well. We were tired from another long day of
fun and relaxation at the beach, so we begged off,
returned to the room and read for a time before
surrendering to the sand man.

Wed. March 27th St.Maarten, Dutch Antilles

We were up early at 6:30 A.M.. It was cloudy
and warm out. Across the bay, three new cruise ships had
docked at Pointe Blanche. Phillipsburg would rock and
roll today. We prepped for the day and breakfasted
lightly on the ocean terrace. We were headed for St.
Bart’s this morning and the ferry ride over can test
your ability to hold down food. ($88 each for the
excursion)

A huge air-conditioned bus picked up a gang
of us at the hotel including Jack and Charlene Brown,
with whom we would spend most of the day. The ride was
brief and we soon found ourselves on the ferry dock in
Marigot, standing in line to pay the balance of our
fares. A brief but heavy downpour caught us in the open
and we laughed at the cool rain as it poured over us.

The Ferry was double decked and good
sized, with open compartments and benches topside. We
sat topside to enjoy the pleasant view of Marigot and
St.Maartens on the 90-minute ride across the straight.
The sea was listed as calm, but the rollers were in the
four to five foot category. Their rhythmic rise and fall
made several of our passengers utilize the barf bags on
the boat. I felt sorry for one poor girl hanging over
the rail, green-faced and retching. If you are prone to
motion sickness, you might want to consider Dramamine on
these passages.

As we approached St. Bart’s, several large
outcroppings of rock sprung jagged and lunar-like from
the ocean, guarding the entrance into Gustavia harbor.
The town is named after a Swedish King Gustav dating
from a time when the Swedes had once claimed possession
of the island for 93 years. I would not want to make
this entrance at night.

We arrived in Gustavia at 11:00 A.M. and were
immediately scooped up by a cabbie with a 12 passenger
SRO van. (standing room only) St. Bart’s is a small
island, some 20 miles square and inhabited by some 7,000
souls. It has been a French territory for the last 123
years. Its language and customs are decidedly French.
The aforementioned cabbie took us on a whirlwind 45 tour
of this little island pointing out former homes of Liz
Claiborne and Rudolph Nureyev. He had all the verbal
range and authentic charm of day old bread. We let our
eyes do the touring. The roads were impossibly steep and
winding and made the narrow roads of St. Martin’s seem
like super highways. I would not want to chance driving
here during tourist season.

“Lorien Cemeterie” passed by on our right. It
has the same raised concrete biers as St.Martins. But,
the custom here is to decorate the graves of loved ones
with “perpetual floral arrangements.” (plastic flowers)
As tacky as it sounds, they are rather beautiful
garlands of faux Bougainvillea and other colorful
tropical garlands strewn across the graves. It actually
looked rather pleasant and restful in the morning sun.

The greenery here on St. Bart’s is much
lusher, due to its windward location in the Antilles.
The rain must fall much more frequently here on
St.Bart’s. I noticed too that they “grew rocks” just
like in Ireland. What I mean is that the soil is so
strewn with rocks, that former generations had taken to
making rock fences, rock boundary markers and every
other utilization possible to clear the rocky soil of
its stony impediments.

Mr. glamour tour dropped us off at a small
commercial strip near the Plage St.Jean. Part of the
tour includes a lunch at the “Creole Restaurant.” The
Browns and we stopped in this open air, covered patio
and sat down for lunch. Designer water, Mahi- Mahi and
salad, with good coffee and a glass of merlot, were
wonderful. Fresh Ice cream topped off this pleasant
noonday repast on St. Bart’s.

We browsed a few stores nearby, but as is the
custom in these parts, all of the commercial shops
closed down between 1 & 3 P.M. for the French version
of “siesta.” Not terribly disappointed that I didn’t
have to look at another thousand tee shirts or items of
jewelry, we walked down the road to the plage St. Jean.
The Eden Roc hotel is located here. It is the first and
most famous hostelry on St. Bart's, opening in the early
1950’s when the island had been a truly exotic
destination. It was hot and in the 90’s, with high
humidity. We walked up and down this delightful beach
enjoying the bright white sand, pleasant surf and each
other’s company. We always take time on these visits to
reflect on how fortunate we are to travel to places like
this and have each other alive and well.

The beach and the sand bunnies occupied my line
of sight for a time, but the heat soon drove us into a
beach bar named “The Pelican.” We had a glass of
designer water and enjoyed the beach tableau. The Browns
joined us after a time and we chatted amiably about
nothing in particular except how nice it was to be here.
Another brief torrent of rain exploded from the skies.
We sat under the straw umbrella and enjoyed the rain
falling upon the beach and the water. The piccolo mostri
(little monsters) swam in the surf, unaware perhaps that
it even was raining.

At 3:00 P.M. approached, we reluctantly
gathered up our gear to meet Mr. Personality in front of
the Creole, for the ride back to Gustavia. It was only
10 minutes drive and we again took in the sights, crazy
drivers and narrow roads. In Gustavia, we wandered
through the few seaside streets browsing the pricey
shops and enjoying the French nomenclature of the
signage. A stroll through the marina left us in awe of
the huge private power yachts that lay at anchor.
Several were from the Grand Caymans, including one
beauty named the “True Blue.” Another Ketch, newly and
elegantly rigged, hailed from Greenwich, Connecticut.
She is christened “Ticonderoga.” These sleek craft
looked like the money that they must represent. You have
to try not to gawk, like a hillbilly, when you see such
material ostentation so casually on display.

We sat for a time at a quaint and open-aired
seaside café, enjoying café au lait. The waitress, who
was not selected for a Mensa membership, charged us twice
for the coffee. Not wanting to be embarrassed, I figured
$26 for coffee? It must be expensive stuff! Precious, of
course, tackled the management and we were correctly
charge $6. Another brief rainstorm opened over us as we
sat and we again enjoyed watching the rainfall on the
sea.

By 4:00 P.M., we were dockside and ready for
the return trip to St.Martins. We enjoyed the view of
Gustavia and surrounding hills on the passage outward,
sliding through the jagged stone and menacing portals
that guard the harbor’s entrance. This time, the skipper
ferried us around the other side of St.Martin. Some
vagaries of current made it easier to go that way I
guess. We sat rocking back and forth on the swelling
sea. Only a few of our passengers “made it to the rail”
on the way back. Two girls must have had an
interesting “five hundred dollar lunch”on St. Bart’s.
One was clearly shitfaced. We watched the sea and the
sky as we circumnavigated St. Martin and were grateful
when Marigot hove into view. Ft. Louis, high on the
promontory overlooking Margot, reminded us of the many
naval battles that had raged through the Caribbean in
the 1700’s and 1800’s, between France, Spain, England
Holland and assorted flotillas of Buccaneers.

It was closing on six P.M. and the light was
fast fading as eight of us boarded a large bus for the
journey back to Phillipsburg. The driver told us that we
had to drop off two passengers at le Meridien resort in
the “French Cul De sac” on the way back. Thus began the
tale of the “lard ass bus.” To get to the Le Meridien
resort in the French Cul de sac, you had to follow a
narrow road high up over a pass and then down to the
beach. We made it there all right, but coming back, it
started to rain. The rain made the newly paved asphalt
slick as a baby’s bottom. The lumbering bus tried and
tried, like the “choo choo that could,” but its wheels
began to spin and smoke on the slick pavement. We were
getting a little apprehensive in that the road is
narrow, the drop off precipitous and we were sliding
backwards. The driver, clearly a cool customer, noted
the heft of several of us “beefier ‘passengers.” He
politely asked all of us to sit in the back of the bus
so that our added weight would give the bus more
traction on the slick surface. Sure enough, the added
weight of the “lard ass passengers” gave the bus the
traction it needed to make it up and over the pass. It
was getting to be a long day.

By 7:30 P.M. we arrived back in Phillipsburg.
It was raining and we were tiring. We showered and
changed and made ready for dinner. We were joining the
Brown’s for a drink in the Chrysallis room and then
dinner afterwards. The bar was noisy and they were
preparing for Karaoke. Ugh! We exited with our glass of
merlot and joined the procession for the 9 :00 P.M.
seating of dinner. Tomato juice, green salad, minestrone
soup, red snapper and apple pie alamode, accompanied
with great coffee and cote du rhone, made for another
memorable repast. The bicycle pump was in over drive. We
were tiring from the day and shortly after dinner, bid
our adieu’s to the Browns to return to our room to read,
write my up my notes and fall in with Morpheus. It had
been another interesting day in paradise.

Thursday 3/28 St.Maarten, Dutch Antilles

We arose at 6:30 A.M. It was cloudy and
delightfully cool out after yesterday’s rainstorms. We
watched a few new cruise ships enter their moorings, as
we readied for the day. We walked about a mile up the
hill to the Divi Resort on Little Bay. This resort is
upscale and prosperous looking. We walked though it’s
grounds, heading up the hill to the commanding
promontory that holds the remains of Ft. Amsterdam. It
is the Dutch bastion that had secured Phillipsburg
against assault for the last few hundred years. Future
American Colonial Governor of New York, Peter Minuet had
served here and lost his leg to a well placed canon ball
from an attacking marauder.

The fort stands now mostly in ruins. A
broken skeleton of masonry with several rusting iron
canons gives remembrance to the active military garrison
that was once quartered here. We could look out on a 180
degree arc and appreciate the commanding presence that
the fort must have once been.

The canon caissons were wheel less, some of
them of iron construction, some of wood. The
initials “J.J.W” emblazoned on one of the rusting
armaments, is perhaps reflective of the canon
manufacturer in far away 18th century Holland. We walked
amidst the brambles and bushes that once had been so
busily trod with men serious of purpose and enjoyed the
vista of ocean and sky before us. And now, like all
things manmade, it was relegated to the dustbin of
history. Phillipsburg, and our own resort at Great Bay,
sat in miniature across the sparkling bay in the morning
sun.

We left the many ghosts of the fort and
stopped by the boutique in Divi to purchase some
designer water. We then sat for a time and admired the
ocean as it crashed upon Little Bay and the Divi resort
shore. It is another island of prosperity and plenty
amidst the tropics. The walk back was slow and
unhurried. A crew of workmen were digging drainage and
electrical conduit ditches along the shoulders of the
main road. I felt an empathy for these “Irish workmen of
the Caribbean.”

Breakfast on the ocean terrace was pleasant
as usual. Then, poolside to swim, read and relax.
This “routine in paradise” was getting pleasant. When it
heated up too much, we shifted our gear to the “shaded
side” and luxuriated in the cool breeze as we read our
books. Life is and can be good when you let it happen.

Late in the afternoon, we decided to walk
again into Phillipsburg. We browsed some shops and
stopped by an “internet office” where I checked in and
sent some messages homeward. We talked with a young
Swede who was visiting the island for a month. His
English was flawless. We chatted about his pleasant and
scenic homeland. We had visited Sweden a few years back
and Mary had stayed there for one Summer in high school,
so we had topics of mutual interest.

The town was awash with bargain seeking
cruisers. We wandered into the Supermarche in search of
tanning oil and a few toiletries. It was getting hot
out. We picked up some designer water and sat dockside
watching the flow of cruisers, scurrying back on ship’s
tenders, to their floating hotels. It reminded me of the
scene in “E.T” when the mother ship sounded its pleating
call summoning the awol E.T. back before the ship lifted
off. The comparison was appropriate. These folks were
mostly of American or Western European origin, coming
from lands and customs that might well have been as
foreign as outer space to the native islanders. If one
of them got “left behind’ they would probably be just as
lost as “E.T.”

On the way back to the hotel, we passed
by the Methodist Church. A packed service for islanders,
all dressed in three piece and lace finery, was in
progress. It reminded me of the movie Hawaii. The
Europeans there had the similar silly notion of making
local people dress up in heavy European clothing under
the boiling hot son. I am beginning to wonder more and
more, what imitates what, life or art?

At the hotel, as we sat reading on our
balcony, a monster rainstorm drifted through the bay. It
rained so hard that the cruise ships ‘disappeared from
sight.” We watched it contentedly, enjoying the tableau
before us. A glass of wine in the lobby before dinner
was relaxing. A Buffet supper on the ocean terrace was
pleasant. It seemed like we had always been here. After
dinner we talked to a wild woman from Orchard Park.
Kelly Davison and here husband had been on a fishing
charter and caught a 28-pound Mahi Mahi. The ship’s
skipper had offered to filet and prepare it for them
tomorrow. This wild woman and her gang were hard
chargers who were pounding down the beers with both
hands. We smiled at their antics and moved onward headed
for the casino where we fed money into the slots for a
time before giving up.

It was 76 degrees out at 9 P.M. The full
moon was shining over the bay and we did not want the
night to end. We sat and talked for a time and then
reluctantly repaired to our room to read and surrender
to the sandman.

Good Friday, 3/29 St.Maarten, Dutch Antilles.

We arose later this morning and set out by
7:15 A.M. for a return visit to Ft. Amsterdam, on the
rise above the bay. It was Good Friday and the traffic,
the workman and everyone else had disappeared. We
enjoyed walking in the morning sun. Divi and Fort
Amsterdam were as equally deserted, as they had been the
day before. I guess no one really knows the full impact
of 9/11 on commercial tourism yet. We watched the funny
looking Pelicans and ante-deluvean frigate birds coarse
high above us in the cloud-peppered, cerulean sky. They
looked graceful, gliding on the thermal currents. We
enjoyed the silence as we watched them descend to the
water searching for small surface fish for breakfast.

This time, we noted the date 2/14/22
engraved on one of the canons. We wondered what century
it pertained to, 18th, 19th? The view today was just as
beautiful. We tried to envision what it was like with a
fleet of enemy ships rounding the headland and coming
under fire from the semi circle of canon run out and
fired by sweating Dutch soldiers. The acrid smell of
gunpowder would be hanging in the humid air. The lethal
grape shot, from the enemy ships, must have caromed off
the masonry with deadly effect, the hapless gunners cut
down in mid stride, like Peter Minuet. And now, all
lay quiet in the morning sun. We stopped for designer
water, at Divi, and then ambled back to the hotel for a
breakfast of vegetarian omelets on the ocean terrace. It
was a routine we were happily getting used to.

After getting settled at the pool, we
walked along the beach into Phillipsburg, noting the
beach bars and restaurants that were all so
uncharacteristically quiet. There was only one cruise
ship in port today. Most of the floating monsters were
homeport bound with their complement of shopped out and
sunburned passengers.

The shops were all closed in
Phillipsburg. We ambled about noting the large number of
locals who had gathered in front of the Burger King to
swap stories and socialize. I wondered at some far
distant island descendant, making historical reference
to some Concordia or other that been negotiated in
the “Grand forum of the burger king” on St.Maarten.
Maybe the Roman Senate was just another fast food joint
of its time that had been “gilded by history” into
something grander than what it was. That is part of the
trouble with the tropics, you get to day dreaming about
all sorts of things that have no bearing on absolutely
anything.

The walk back along the beach was just
as pleasant. We swam in the pool for a few hours getting
bolder with the sun daily. Lunch on the terrace (Grouper
and salad) was pleasant as the day heated up. Finally,
we retreated to the room in mid afternoon to chat with
Mr. Nelson and read for a time. ( 1st to die-
J.Patterson)

At 5:00 P.M. another thunderstorm
crashed across the bay. We watched and delighted in the
arc of the rainbow that spread across the bay. The
colorful arc was green on the bottom, yellow on top and
red in the middle where the colors merged. It shimmered
in the after-rain sun and then faded in the mist. We
showered and readied for our last evening at Great Bay.
In the Chrysalis room, we joined the Browns for a glass
of wine and then met up with Tim and Liz Snow, of
Montreal. We joined them for dinner in the third floor
formal dining room. Fruit cocktail, Caesar salad, an
elegant swordfish dinner, pecan pie, with a few bottles
of cote du Rhone and some great coffee, made for a
wonderful meal. We were “manning the pump.” The hotel
had put on some island dancers and music for our
entertainment, but they were lame. Even the cruise ships
do better than that. We clapped politely and smiled.
Everyone has his or her rice bowl to earn.

The Casino attracted us one last time and
we played the slots actually winning for a change. I
settled up our bill at the lobby desk, to avoid the mass
confusion of tomorrow. We returned to our room to start
packing and readying for departure tomorrow.

In Israel, a suicide bomber had just killed
nineteen innocents in an act of calculated madness. It
was the real world intruding on paradise.

Saturday. 3/30 St.Maarten, Dutch Antilles

We were up early this morning at 5:30
A.M. Another 4 masted windjammer was moored at anchor in
the bay. We watched the huge Carnival cruise ship
arrive, as she made a slow and stately entrance into
port at 6:15. It was cloudy and warm out.

We had coffee by the pool and set out early
for our last walk into Phillipsburg. We were checking
out this morning to move up to Orient Bay. The monkey
peeked out at us from his shed and the roosters were
crowing to beat the band. The shops were all closed at
this early hour, so we walked again through town to the
main square and the small Marina. On the beach, we
collected a few shells, as we walked back towards the
hotel. There was always something going on in the harbor
for the eyes to drink in. It had been a good week here
on Great Bay, but we were ready to move on.

Breakfast, at 8 :00 A.M. was already crowded
with those unfortunates who must head for the far frozen
north today. We met and talked with several people whom
we had spent time with over the last week, wishing them
a safe journey. We returned to our room to pack and get
ready to check out. I ordered a cab for 11:30 A.M to
ferry us up to orient bay on the French side.