And, here we are, at the riveting final episode of my three-part vacation cruise that took us from Miami to the Bahamas, Puerto Rico and now, Sint Maarten.
If you read last week’s instalment, you’ll know that in PR I crawled over rocks and clambered out of pools of water in exactly the manner an elite athlete wouldn’t. Much like when long-dormant muscles are awakened by a first day back at the gym, so it was that a sore and tender Vicki emerged from her bed the next day, just about ready to face walking.
You’ll recall that it was three of us on this trip: Me, my best friend Lynne and her niece Sharon. I had been to Sint Maarten at least twice in the past, but this was new territory for the other two. Based on previous experience, my advice was for us to wait for most of the other passengers to disembark, and then go ashore around lunchtime. Our ship was in port until 5pm so we’d have plenty of time. We would walk to the taxi stand and find a driver that could take us around on a private tour for a few hours.
We had noticed in the Bahamas and Puerto Rico that we seemed to have another vessel following our itinerary – Royal Caribbean’s Star of the Seas, a behemoth that launched this year, capable of conveying 10,000 passengers and crew from one port to another. In Sint Maarten, she was pulled up right next to us on the other side of the dock. The difference in size was truly startling; Celebrity Beyond looked like an amuse bouche in comparison. I was glad we’d waited a few hours before disembarking; I wouldn’t have fancied lining up behind that lot to get transportation.
The taxi stand was barely controlled chaos, with people sitting around like pigeons while their one representative tried to get the attention of the dispatcher. There were no discernible queues or filing system; the squeakiest wheel got the grease. I had lots of practice being downright rusty, when necessary, and so I positioned myself right beside him and started making our requests. It took a few repetitions, and a snotty British woman (yes, folks) kept getting in the way, but I finally had his undivided focus. The woman’s husband came up from his comfy perch at one point and said to her, “Let’s go, this man is trying to scam us,” to which I replied, in a cool tone, “No, he isn’t. It’s different in the Caribbean and you just have to go with it.”
I don’t know if my support helped our cause, or if it was just coincidence, but we three got the next taxi in rotation.
Our driver’s name was Fior Woods. “Like Dior, but with an ‘F’,” she said, smiling, as she expertly got us out of the port area and on the road.
We immediately knew we had another winner.
Saint-Martin/Sint Maarten are two fascinating parts of one island. The French part (Saint Martin) is the north, and the Dutch part (Sint Maarten) is the south. There are clear markers on the roads to state when you are moving from one territory to the other. Saint Martin’s currency is the Euro, whereas Sint Maarten’s is the Caribbean guilder, but both will accept US dollars. Calls between Sint Maarten and Saint Martin are considered international, and are charged as such.
Even more interesting is the fact that the entire island is only about 37 square miles. Imagine driving into Bodden Town and suddenly you’re in the Portuguese side of Grand Cayman.
Fior, originally from Dominican Republic, had lived there for decades. She had worked her way up to management in a casino, but when there was no higher position for her to attain, she decided to change careers. She was the perfect tour guide, pointing out places of interest, telling us tales about the island, recommending the best beaches to visit …
Arguably, the most famous beach in Sint Maarten is Maho Beach, known for its close proximity to Princess Juliana International Airport. People gather daily to watch planes on their final approach, as they roar in directly overheard.
“Hey, do you ladies want to go to Maho Beach? Air France should be coming in soon,” Fior said, hand poised over the indicator.
Sure! We were up for that! Lynne in particular, who had the least chance of being beheaded at the scene as she was the shortest of all of us.
The traffic scene was pretty nuts by the beach, with two narrow lanes of buses and cars running the width of it in opposite directions. While Fior navigated the road, I kept checking the arrival time of Air France.
“You girls jump out and I’ll park,” she said, dropping us off. Bless her.
By the time Sharon had made it onto the sand and Lynne and I were sitting on the low wall, fending off a slew of wandering hair braiders, we could see a light in the distance, growing ever closer. The crowd on the beach started pointing and there was the odd whoop of excitement.
Well, it was definitely a worthwhile experience. To see the plane that close, coming over the beach like some prehistoric bird, was something to behold. If you go to Sint Maarten, make sure to put it on your bucket list.
One particular excursion we decided not to try was the Flying Dutchman Zipline. Promoted as the world’s steepest, it apparently offers a thrilling ride from the top of Sentril Hill through a 1,050-foot drop. Now, I’m no weenie – I’ve done bungee jumps in my time – but at my present weight and with the thunderclouds gathering, I did not want to end up going viral on YouTube for snapping the zipline, followed by careening wildly out of control towards the hillside with a lightning strike softening the blow.
Thankfully, my decision was made for me as the heavens opened and we were inundated by genuine tropical rain.
“What a shame, we can’t go now. Ah well, maybe next time,” I said, silently breathing a sigh of relief. My wussiness could remain a secret.
Not long after, we crossed over into Saint Martin. Clearly the weather hadn’t got the memo about the two separate countries, as it poured just as hard on the French side as it had the Dutch. We ended up finding the same restaurant at which my mother and I had enjoyed lunch a number of years ago, and had a great meal of mussels and escargot there whilst witnessing the poor market vendors in the square trying to secure their goods before they blew away.
Fior was ready for us as soon as we finished, leaving us just enough time to make the pilgrimage to That Yoda Guy – a shop I always visit when I’m in Philipsburg, Sint Maarten. Among all the T-shirt, jewellery and local crafts stores along Front Street is a completely unique homage to makeup artist Nick Maley’s work on films such as ‘The Empire Strikes Back’, ‘Krull’ and ‘Lifeforce’. Nick and his wife still run the place, which sells prints of his work and has a small museum featuring lots of movie memorabilia. Nick became known as ‘that Yoda guy’ for his work on the well-known character, and he is very happy to share stories of his time working on the films, much to the delight of fans.
Every time I go there, I wonder if he’s still around, but there he was – sitting in his chair, creating some new artwork on paper – as we walked in the door.
We went through the museum, Sharon bought a ‘Highlander’ piece, Nick pretended to remember me from six years ago, we got a picture with him, and then it was time to get back to Fior so we could return to the ship.
Of course, the rain that had abated for a while came back in full force as we pulled up to the port. We’d left our umbrellas in the cabins, so there was nothing for it but to run (shuffle quickly) to the embarkation ramp, but not before hugging Fior goodbye. She had been so marvellous, and such a character.
If you go to Sint Maarten, definitely look her up. Just ask for Fior … like Dior, but with an ‘F’.