St. Maarten, May 10, 2014 –Cheri’s & The Flood

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We had 5 days from when we returned from France until we took off for St. Maarten, and during that time Barb & I came to grips with the fact that she couldn't make the trip. Just before we left for France her mom had taken ill and was in the hospital. Barb received many calls on our cruise with updates, and for help making decisions about her mom's choices. Her brother Bob lives nearby and is always a huge help, but Barb was the one with the Power of Attorney and she felt anxious about the position; besides, she loves her mom and wanted to be with her during this time.

We planned this trip to the Caribbean island while we were visiting our friend Ray Listanski at his Florida digs in March. Ray mentioned that his daughter Lisa has a timeshare on St. Maarten and would not be able to use it this May. Barb & I had stopped there once on a cruise, but a week on this gem on the ocean was something we couldn't resist. Back then the only problem was that Lisa's week started May 3^rd and we weren't getting back from France until Cinco de Mayo. Ray initiated the switch, Lisa effectuated the change, and we were scheduled for the 10^th. We booked the flights and rented the car from Ray's poolside happy hour, and lived with the thrill of anticipation for two months. Then the tragic letdown, and concern for Barb's mom. Barb knew there was no way she could be away and still help her mom, which in those interim 5 days became more and more obvious, but she also knew that we couldn't leave Ray holding the bill for a trip that he would probably cancel rather than take alone. So I reluctantly went and had a great time.

Some may laugh at that "reluctantly" and think, "Guys week of nude beach frolick, 'ey?" But Ray was 89 and I am 63, both just old-fart photogs with the Northeast Photography Club, and everyone who knows me knew that I'd be lost without my woman. Still, being adrift with m'man Ray and our cameras on a gorgeous island is the kind of lost that doesn't require a rescue. Speaking of cameras, if you were with us at the end of our Paris trip, you'll know that my new Sony didn't complete the journey in working condition. In fact, it never made it back from the Sony shop in time to ride in my backpack to this Dutch/French island. I still packed my tripod, but this trip was taken in with mostly handheld shots ---with the Canon.

While researching for possible photo ops on the island, I found some wild shots of HUGE jetliners skimming Maho Beach, seemingly close enough for sunbathers to reach up and grab the landing gear. The runway of The Princess Juliana International is right next to the beach. As our plane floated into its landing, I watched the beach goers gawking and pointing their cameras at us and couldn't wait for our shot at the site. We picked up our rental and headed out for what would be over an 1800-mile week with it on this small 39-square-mile paradise.

We took the short ride to the Belair Beach Hotel (our magnificent home for the next 7 days), took a few shots off the balcony, and headed for some provisions ---wine, beer, cereal, milk and bananas, you know, the essentials. Ray's daughter Lisa already had a bunch of goodies ready for us in the suite, but it was going to be a long week; besides, Ray invented the Boy Scout way of being prepared, and there was tomorrow's breakfast on the balcony to consider. Short rides on the island are sometimes only short in distance, but on this excursion we were able to make it back in time for happy hour, 4:20 –just enough time to mix the drinks and prepare the hors d'oeuvres. It was also my first taste (figuratively) of the sugarbirds Ray mentioned whenever talking about past times here with family.

The galleries for this trip, unlike nearly all others, consist of location highlights rather than by day. These galleries can be found here, and here:

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Belair Beach Hotel
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Divi Little Bay
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Fort Amsterdam
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Fort St. Louis
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Maho Beach
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Phillipsburg
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the rest of the island



...and throughout the daily trip posts. Photos were not taken at every stop we made, so a sensible chronological gallery cannot be crafted; but, even though it's now over two-months later, I still have enough memory to blog it chronologically ---just won't always be able to back up my words with proof. Of course, the date is always in the name of the photo as well as many other digital darkroom operations encoded there, and the sequence will be within the chronological blogs, giving the reader a carefree ride-along. To smooth out any bumps, I'll link each photo reference to the actual photo –a practice I should probably continue henceforth.

After our first happy hour at the Belair, we headed out for our first dinner on the island. Ray remembered Cheri's Cafe in Maho Beach from previous trips and insisted without objection that we take in the fine food, which is always accompanied by a great show. Cheri's is open on 3 sides, and the food was good, but the show was unexpectedly comical. There was a wonderfully pleasant band leader who had to be helped to the stage. I've sent a message to Cheri's Cafe on Facebook to find out his name, and they graciously replied. Ramon Wilson. That night they called him The General and said he was the most recorded artist in the Caribbean. Before the show I went up to talk with him as he sat in his high-seat director's chair. Right away you could tell he was a special person. He was a sweet guy, and that's the first time I've ever used that expression about another human being (that tells you something about both of us). I offered my services on bass to give his player the night off, but, alas, he used the left hand of his remarkable keyboardist to color the low-end.

Enough about me. The real story is in the unintentional comedy. The General sat back with the keyboard player, the amazing Ronnie Warren, who stood with hundreds of keys to play on his stacked-and-synced instruments. After a few wonderful examples of Ramon's talented voice getting the crowd excited, he brought out the band --or the rest of the band, Sweet Chocolate. The only 2 others guys in the band were frontmen with mics, one was the entertainer who sang, and the other was a singer. The former had several costume changes throughout the night, and many of them were likely from a Caribbean clown store. He, too, was a wonderful character, and his main job was to involve the crowd and keep people happy. And he was very good at it.

The show started and so did the rain. After a few costume changes and some great renditions of unusual songs sang in close harmony, the true singer of the group went in the back to change his costume. By the time he was introduced as Frank Sinatra (which I knew he was going to sing great), the rain had picked up to a steady deluge, and we could hear and feel it from the 3 open sides of Cheri's. There was no elevated stage; it was merely the back part of the dance floor. After the big introduction, the music is cued and the ol' blue-eyes imitator entered stage left through swinging doors, cordless mic in hand and a serious look on his face. He stepped on the slippery surface just as he brought the mic to lips and puckered up for the first verse of My Way. And away he went. Feet flying in all different directions as he tried to run in place to avoid soiling his Sinatra suit. He looked like a cartoon character drawn to the wrong musical score. He ended up with one hand flat on the floor (the other still clutching the mic) holding up his body that stretched in a straight incline to his shaky feet. Two bouncer types came to his aid from a group of employees who watched in uncontrollable laughter. He immediately made it clear that he was taking his embarrassment to the back room, and they escorted him while holding back their tears. Meanwhile, the crafty clown of the group was off to the dry side of the stage splitting his sides as he literally rolled on the floor. You could tell the audience wasn't sure if this was part of the act, and the singer's apparent seriousness and embarrassment was staged. Some, myself included, sensing his desire to be anywhere else, were a little reluctant to laugh at his entrance, but the laughing cries coming from the crafty clown were quite contagious. The bit lasted a good ten minutes. Finally, the clown grabbed his mic and talked to the crowd, seemingly trying to ignore the overwhelming humor, while a couple of the more sympathetic employees swabbed the stage with mops. He sang another song or two, and on one of them we could hear harmony, but not see the other singer. It was Frank; he was still in back with his cordless mic. Then, the only frontman left on stage tried to have the crowd get Sinatra back for an encore. They told him they swept the floor dry, and he came to the swinging doors to consider the plunge. After a little more crowd persuasion he agreed to try it if his two escorts held him up. You guessed it. All three of them spun and twisted and ran in place until they each brought the other to the floor and the whole house down with them. Empathy for Sinatra's situation disappeared, and laughter reigned the rest of the evening.

The show must have went on, but all I can remember is the wonderful time we all had. Whenever we mentioned Cheri's on the island, the response was always the same: a knowing smile or outright laughter, followed by total agreement with our assessment that it's the best experience on the island, and then they usually added an anecdote of their own. It was time to hit the head and head for our car. Ray sat to take in the last few tunes while I searched for the restroom. It was "over there" said the bartender pointing to the far rainy corner of the room. I had to cross an outside space normally crowed with more spectators but for the rain, and wade through ankle-deep rushing water from the torrential downpour, all the while still laughing and thinking what a great place, what a great band, and please don't slip.

Ray & I laughed most of the way down the long block to our car, and made half-hearted attempts to stay out of the rain by hugging the walls on Rhine Road. Drenched, we finally headed for the Belair to get dry, get some sleep, and do this again tomorrow.

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P.S. For anyone concerned about my drinking and driving, I had one drink with food at happy hour; after an hour and a half, we went to Cheri's where I had one beer with my meal. As for Ray, I can't say.

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Photos

Shot off our balcony
You can see the storm coming our way

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Sugar Birds
The Sugar Birds teamed up with the very talented Ari of Amen Photography for a little Valentine photo shoot! The set was decked out with treasures from Blessings in a Bucket . And ready to showcase some darling little loves! I can’t wait to see the magic Ari captured with her camera! I’ll post the proofs as soon as I have them in my hot little hands!