Aside from our less than optimal crossing from the BVIs, we arrived safely, if beaten, in St. Maarten, (aka St Martin, Sint Maarten), half of which is Dutch and the other half French. The unsubstantiated legend is that a Frenchman with a bottle of wine and a Dutchman with a bottle of gin faced off in civilized and gentlemanly fashion and walked the island, each declaring for their country the portion that they traversed. The Frenchman claimed the bigger piece as he was less intoxicated at the end of the challenge. The French side is dirtier, disorganized and expensive, with the best Pattiseries (bakeries) and cheese in the Caribbean. The Dutch side is cleaner, shows more evidence of government regulation, and cheaper.
There are four languages spoken here; Dutch, French, English and Pidgeon. There are three kinds of currency; Euros, Gilders and the US dollar. Exchange varies wildly from place to place. Bill found he could buy a cold beer for $1 US in the Chinese grocery. Really.
We were anchored in the land locked Lagoon, which is huge – at least 9 square kilometers. It is accessed by two bridges, one on the French side and the other on the Dutch - that are raised twice a day to allow entrance and egress, in single file. We came in on the French side where it is narrow and harrowing: a pucker-factor parade, with boats on both sides waiting in Mexican standoff style to enter and exit. Immediately upon entering, the waves calmed down and we were no longer buffeted by the enormous swells and distressing wakes of the ferries. Once inside we found good holding off a point of land called Witch’s Tit. God’s truth.
The first thing that came to our attention was the amazing number of large wrecks - left over from a major hurricane in the 90’s to rust and rot. They could only have come in through the much larger Dutch bridge.
The second thing we noticed was that the water quality isn't up to Caribbean standards. There are literally hundreds of boats anchored, moored and docked here, ranging in size from mega yachts and huge sailboats with 250 foot masts to dinghies and derelicts, many of which are occupied full time by people who live and/or work here. With so few and such narrow openings to the ocean, the water doesn't get circulated well. There are no pump out boats or stations. Yuk.
The French side grocery stores are a hoot with all the imported cheeses and sausage, the croissants and baguettes, and scores of unfamiliar items. The Dutch side grocery stores are larger, filled with everything you can find in a large Safeway or Publix. Both Bill and I enjoy these excursions, although packing 10 bags of groceries back to the dinghy and getting everything to the boat intact is often a challenge.
Our cruising season, so far, has not been fraught with boat problems - touch wood. We engaged the German couple on the next boat to make a shade canopy for the cockpit, something I’ve been hankering for since we started. He is a shipwright; she is a seamstress. To ward off the sunset heat wave, we have been putting up an ugly blue tarp with flapper-stoppers, and looking like the Beverley Hill Billies, but the new covers make look quite spiffy – and shaded! Now that we are this close to the equator, and the weather is HOT! HOT! HOT! and shade is more of a necessity than a desire.
We’ve encountered some interesting characters in our travels. We met (at a bar, but you knew that) a couple from Norway who were taking their home built 71 foot sloop back home for the two months of summer that they get. Sounds like Alberta. He built the keel, with it’s 12 foot draft out of iron he took from the Tripitz, a German battle ship from WWII. Another couple from the UK will make the crossing back home shortly as well. I have to give it to the women on these boats; 3 to 4 weeks - or more -offshore is NOT my cup of tea. We are delighted to cross paths with several boats we met last year and enjoy many sundowner hours together.
The wind pipes up to over 30 knots every five minutes or so and then dies down to nothing. Weird.
I can’t say enough about the great food here. I hardly cook at all as the fabulous restaurants beckon us daily. New cruising friends Ian and Jacqui on Black Thorn Lady from the UK have become agreeable dining partners – they enjoy the same style and variety we do, so its really fun to share meals with them. Ian is ex-military, a sailing instructor with the kind of ability to fix engines I wish I had. That came in handy when one of our motors crapped out and he was able to refurbish the starter motor.
One Sunday we attended a tourist draw at the Princess Julianna Airport. The touchdown point is a mere 50 feet from the beach and the security fence has been lowered down to roughly 4 feet as the wheels of the planes barely clear it. People on the beach deliberately stand in the flight path and get the bejeezus scared out of them by how close they are to the bottom of a 747. The big planes arrive and exit on Sunday so it has become a weekly event. Even more astonishing is the departure of these huge beasts. They start from the touchdown point and run up the engines, causing the sand on the beach to sandblast everything and everyone in it’s path. People intentionally hang onto the security fence hoping to get lifted off their feet by the jet blast. Hats, umbrellas, drinks all fly everywhere. It’s a hoot to watch, but we looked on from the periphery (yes, it was a bar) as I had no intention of getting a sand enema. See YouTube videos for Maho Bay St. Martin Airport and you’ll see what I mean.
The night before our intended departure, we had a farewell happy hour on our boat with 8 other people. Troy off Storyville, brought his guitar and serenaded us with his sweet Texas voice. Everyone brought food and their own drink and a very good time was had by all.
But, in the spirit of ‘no good time goes unpaid for’, we awoke the next morning to a dead generator and diminishing battery power. Seems the collective 2000 pounds of people had sunk the back of the boat down below an intake that siphoned salt water back into the generator. Get this: we’re on a boat, in the ocean for crying out loud and we’ve got important equipment onboard that doesn’t like getting wet. Jeez.
Big problem? Yes, likely, if it weren’t for our hero Ian! We stopped by their boat on the way to check out marina prices – no power means docking at a marina – and he insisted on checking it out before we spent a fortune getting a diesel mechanic to help us. It took him over two hours of hot greasy work – with Bill's help of course, to put things right. Saved us a bundle and put us back on our sailing plans. We took them out for dinner to the Rancho steak house and enjoyed a fabulous steak dinner and a couple of bottles of good red. They are people that I hope will stay in contact forever.
We finally left St. Martin on Monday, April 14th after a protracted discussion over the weather – depending on how you interpreted it, this was our best opportunity to make a 70 KM run to Antigua after a brief hop to St. Barths. We wanted to be in Antigua for the Classic Boat Regatta.
The sail to St. Barth’s was comfortable and the island was again, interesting and different from the others we’ve seen so far. St. Bartholemew (aka St. Barths, aka St. Bart’s) is considered part of France, like a bedroom community with a really long commute. French is the first language and the anchoring/mooring practices are very European – hundreds of boats tightly wedged together. Not what we are used to at all. But we managed to find a spot and dinghied into the main port of Gustavia and enjoyed the clean, well managed town. They even recycle! Every major couturier, purse and bag maker and watchmaker in the world is sold there. I fell in love with a carry-on bag from Longchamps until I saw the 1600 Euros price tag. Bill ordered a diet Coke at the restaurant where we had breakfast and blanched at the bill – 5 Euros, or roughly $7 for a can of pop! He had to ask for a glass and some ice.
Once again it is such fun to wander through the grocery stores wondering what that vegetable is or what’s in that box. I did buy a christophine and cook it – quite good! We came across one store named “American Gourmet” which claimed to have foodstuffs from every country in the world, but nothing from Canada. Hunh. I could have bought a box of crackers for $12.95 Euros ($17) or a bag of chips for 15 EU. Or a gorgeous heirloom tomato for 7 EU. Didn’t happen. This is the place the world’s ‘beautiful’ people come to holiday, and they must also be the world’s most wealthy. It is clean, beautiful and EXPENSIVE!
We left there Thursday April 18 at 3:00a.m. – yes, the middle of the night, in the pitch black because to make the 70+ miles and arrive in daylight, it would have taken over 14 hours. Once again, the jacklines were attached, and all the usual safety and comfort preparations were made for nighttime travel, one of my least favorite things. Ranks right up there with a colonoscopy or a root canal. Or a root canal while having a colonoscopy. With no anesthetic and a fire hose.
And again, the weather forecasts were dismally wrong. The predicted 2 meter seas were more like 4 meters, the ENE winds that would have enabled us to sail failed to produce even the slightest northerly and we pounded straight into the wind for six solid hours before we diverted to St. Kitts, a much more comfortable point of sail. In fact, we topped 11 knots fairly regularly and averaged over 8.5. But by then the damage was done. We had had over 4 inches of saltwater washing over us in the cockpit, a new and totally disagreeable experience. The suction from the wave action actually pulled the stateroom hatches up and soaked one bed. I was a basket case. It’s going to take some real convincing for me to ‘get back on that horse’ again. Begging, pleading AND bribery will be involved. Possibly handcuffs, if he's smart.
Our generator problems were not over. After the dust settled on the last fix, both Bill and Ian were flummoxed and somewhat concerned by a curious leftover part, a copper ring that looked like it might be useful or important. But they could find no place for it and the genny was working, so an uneasy acceptance that things were fine settled in. Not so. Upon setting the anchor in the harbor at Basseterre, we fired it up and it ran, but only for a few minutes. Then it wouldn’t run at all. Dammit.
We were able to get one of the few precious slips available at the Point Zante Marina and get a wonderful mechanic to find and repair the problem. We have found the people here to be exceptionally friendly and helpful. We’ve decided to stay here until we leave for Florida and put the boat on the hard here. I can’t wait to explore this beautiful place. After all, it is LAND.
New Bill-isms:
After spending, say, a whole minute, maybe two, trying to get an app working for him, a frustrated Bill yells, “They’ve (Microsoft, or some other software company) dumbed this thing down so much that I can’t work it. Charlene, can you come here and help me?!!”.
Uh huh, I’m gonna come running for that kind of call.
Do I look like Forest Gump?
Bill harnessed with life vest, EPIRB and tether.
Bill's not dead yet, but if he keeps taking these kind of pictures, he's gonna get closer to it.
Cocoanut seller on Orient beach.
Colorful vendor of souvenirs on Orient Beach.
Street festival barbecue. GOOOOOD ribs!
Maho Beach bar attractions.
Farewell to friends happy hour aboard the RSVP.
This is a gas delivery boat seen in St. Barths. I thought it was unusual.
Orient beach stretches for miles and is a main shore excursion for the cruise ship passengers.
Usual suspects at the street party in Grand Case. Note the number of beer bottle empties. The restaurant actually ran out of beer. Don't they know cruisers?
Iguana on the dinghies. Hopped from boat to boat and finally into the water as Bill chased it to get a better picture.
John and Manuella measuring the boat for the canvas cover. They did a superior job!
We rented a car and took this picture of the Lagoon from high up the hill. If you look really hard, you can see the RSVP.
Lowered fence at the Princess Julianna Airport on Maho Bay. Note the two lane road that separates the runway from the beach. Never happen in Canada or the U.S.
Phillipsberg beach. Pristine tourist attraction.
Insel Air landing.
RSVP in a sea of boats in the Lagoon on St. Martin.
Ribs and 5 side dishes, $10. Cruisers know how to find the best food at the best prices.
Sandstorm kicked up by departing plane.
And these people deliberately stand there to experience it!
Shopping on the French side. Fun!
I threw this one in to show you the rocks we had to miss when we departed at 3:00a.m. in the pitch black from St. Barths. You gotta believe in your chart plotter!
A view of the inner harbour of St. Barths. Best cared for island in the Caribbean.
Hotel De Ville, or City Hall, St. Barths
Street performers in Grand Case. Those girls were gorgeous!
Witch's Tit, St. Martin. Do you see it?
Wrecks left to rot away. This lagoon is such a priceless piece of real estate, that were it located in Canada, it would be a national treasure, and garbage like this would be removed.
Some kind of tourist gimmick called the Yellow Submarine in Gustavia port. Weird, eh?
Really, this sign is posted right on the beach.
