Gone Dutch...

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36c, Fine

Boarding the flight to St Maarten from New York I immediately knew I wouldn’t be your typical tourist on the island. All the other passengers were well to do elderly couples kitted out in the latest fashions from (insert name of fashionable elderly store here) and ready to sip Pina Coladas on the beach. Fair enough, I just hoped I’d fit in somewhere on the island because it was obvious that without Marg there would be no sunset cocktails and candle lit dinners.
My first taste of the Caribbean was the ride to Sint Maarten’s Dutch capital Philipsburg - a rather un-Dutch kind of place that was packed to the brim with Gucci stores, duty free outlets, the latest electrical goods from Japan and everything a travelling US tourist would want in less than 60mins on a quick cruise ship stop. It wasn’t very Caribbean at all and reminded me why tourism sucks sometimes. My guide book said Philipsburg was normally home to “3 or 4 cruise ships per day”, and it was spot on. The place was packed but come 5pm everyone had disappeared - the tourists shuttled back on the boat and the locals wandered home.
The taxi driver explained the problems of Sint Maarten and warned me against being careless at night, “it’s not like the rest of the Caribbean here, bandits rob people and taxi drivers will try and rip you off.. but the beaches are nice”. I’m not someone that can enjoy a holiday without experiencing the local culture and in Sint Maarten I found that hard to do.
Philipsburg was dead at night and when I wandered around I had the distinct feeling that I was being watched. Locals I met were very disinterested in any type of conversation, more so when they realised I wasn’t teeming with money like everybody else. I soaked up the atmosphere in Philipsburg the best I could and found a nice ‘aussie’ restaurant tucked away in a palm soaked courtyard. There was nothing really aussie about it, which surprised me - no tacky ‘wallaby’ burgers like I’d come to expect in the US and no Kangaroos anyway. I guessed maybe an Australian did own it and just wanted to show some national pride, it was like a café you’d find anywhere on the beach in Australia.

That was about the highlight of my time in Philipsburg. I stayed there for three days but caught buses around the island to occupy my time. Plane nerds (like myself) and non-plane nerds alike were drawn to Maho Beach, which is located at the end of Princess Juliana airport’s runway - a major arrival and departure point for jumbo jets headed to Europe and North America. Nothing special about that, what was spectacular was the proximity of the beach to the runway. Planes come in and land less than 5 metres away from where you stand and take-off in the same direction, with their wake turbulence capable of throwing objects (including humans) on the beach into the ocean. I stood on the beach at the end of the runway and watched a massive 757 come in to land. It literally looks like it’s going to hit you and you feel like you could jump up and touch the wheels. In reality it’s 5 to 10 metres above you and an amazing sight. I tried to stand in the same location when a plane was about to take off before an American warned me “dude.. you stand there and you’ll end up in the ocean on your head”. I thought he was being paranoid, but I moved away and was shocked to see other people running and screaming. The wind gusts blow sand into the beach and cause ‘mini hurricanes’ in the water.

I spent the afternoon at the legendary Sunset Beach Bar which overlooks the end of the runway. It’s a great place for a cheap beer but even better for the view. I considered buying a shirt that said ‘I got blown at Sunset Beach’ and had a picture of a plane, but even that was a little bit tacky for me. I wondered how many people took advantage of the ‘topless girls drink free’ sign, hopefully not many considering the majority of the tourists I’d seen were middle aged!
If the Dutch side was over crowded and non-Dutch than the French side (called St Martin) was decidedly down to earth and very French. The capital of Marigot was historic and authentic compared to Philipsburg, I was a little disappointed I hadn’t chosen to stay here instead. I had a quick look around before catching the bus (mini buses that travel all over the island) back to the Dutch side. My nights were spent enjoying the guest house veranda, which looked out onto the city. The local nightlife seemed a little non-welcoming to visitors so I chose to stay at the guest house and avoid the over priced tourist bars. I’m sure staying in a hotel complex in Sint Maarten would be fine if you just wanted to enjoy the beach and avoid any interaction with locals. But for me a holiday is more than that and I’m sure I would have felt the same if I had been staying in a resort with Marg. It all felt a little over exaggerated and tacky. I didn’t fit in and I felt very lonely in Sint Maarten (owwwww), I’d safely assume I was the only independent traveller on the island.
My last day was spent exploring (well… not too much!) the famous Orient Beach in French St Martin. Well known for being one of the world’s largest naturalist beaches (nudie beach for us aussies), I’d joked to Marg about taking my gear off and going ‘au natural’. Hey.. I was up for new experiences right?!?! I knew full well that wasn’t going to happen but I still wanted to check out the non- nudie side of a beach. Surprisingly the ‘largest naturalist beach in the world’ occupies a very small section of Orient Beach and there was no sign of naked people when I arrived. In between swims I sat at a beach side bar and chatted to the bartender about all things St Martin and Sint Maarten. He said the naturalist beached used to purely French but now it was mostly American and the ‘vibe’ had changed a little bit. Didn’t worry me - I was happy drinking $2 Heinekens on the beach! I went for a wander up the crowded beach and without noticing crossed the ‘line’ (an old jetty) which marked the ‘au natural boundary’. A Canadian family in front of me looked a little started and said ‘wow.. they’re all naked further ahead’ before sheepishly turning around. I pretended to be walking with them and went the opposite direction as well. I didn’t want to confirm with my own eyes that the rest of the beach was middle aged as well! The area around Orient Beach was what you’d expect of the Caribbean - extraordinarily beautiful and similar to what I thought the French Riviera would be like (guess I’ll find out in Nice soon).

I only spent three days in St Maarten but felt decidedly ‘out of place’. I was glad to be moving on to Guadeloupe, where tourism is a little more low key. Unfortunately for me I woke up late and had a kind taxi driver offered to take me to airport for $5. I should have known better but I was in a rush and accepted. Turns out he ‘meant to say’ it would be $25 (a major rip off in anyone’s language) and became very agitated when I wanted to give him $5. I threw him $20 and walked angrily away from the mini van. I was disappointed that I’d been mistaken for a walking wallet and more annoyed with myself for being stung. The overly friendly taxi driver was exactly that. Guess most middle aged well-to-do couples wouldn’t notice being ripped off a few dollars - but I did. I never got the chance to check out the ultra-swish islands of St Barths and Saba. One day…

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