sahlmanartblog

We’ve been coming to the island (SXM) for over twenty-five years now. As any long-time or term visitor, we’ve seen the growth, overdevelopment on the Dutch side, land grabs on the French side, devastation from various hurricanes, resilience and comebacks.

When we were newbies, our kids were all under the age of ten. Being more of the “accidental tourist” we only knew the island was French and Dutch. Before that first timeshare trade, we had never even heard of Sint Maarten/Saint Martin. The Flamingo Resort was where that trade took us. We loved it so much we bought in. We were young and clueless. That being said, we see how the island and its people are generous, helpful and patient with less informed visitors.

Since then our children have grown and we’ve graduated to home ownership on the Dutch side, along with a vehicle. Point A to B has been a process that began with love at first sight. Included in that were many lessons along the way. We’ve observed how guests have enjoyed and played while the island has accommodated both the needs and wants of its visitors. Restaurant menus are great example of this. While there are so many countries represented in cuisine the majority reflect the palettes of Americans (I’m American, so I am focusing on them, but it seems as though Canadians fall into the same choices). Pizza, hamburgers, steak, lobster (many not liking the Caribbean version), quesadillas and chicken fingers prevail at so many venues. (Ironic that quesadillas are Mexican fare.) Does anyone even know what Dutch cuisine is? I’ve seen a few places offer a small selection as appetizers along with the usual expectations. Has anyone tried any of them? They’re really good. Even the French have Americanized their menus. Some tourists enjoy bragging about where they’ve eaten the best steak and lobster.

The bad behavior of a few tourists have ruined things for everyone else. On the French side, it is customary rhum shot at the end of a meal. Before Irma some restaurants and beach bars would bring a bottle of MaDouDou and often leave it on the table. We watched a group on the beach drink the whole bottle and then take it with them when they left. It had been hand painted. Most recently, seventeen year-old boys from Canada and America downed a few buckets of beer on the beach. They got into a “my country is better than yours”, in drunken slurs — pissing match.

So when complaints surface on social media, I have lost my patience and not commented in a politically correct manner. The latest one was about the traffic. One commenter basically said they were taking their marbles and not playing here — on the island anymore. My response was to not “let their a$$ hit the door.” Another commenter jumped in and told me I was rude. Now, I do find that ironic coming from an American. The sentiment there lately toward complainers is to “love it or leave it”, yet don’t like that when visiting another country. Many of these tourist complaints drip with the sound of entitlement. “My vacation” — it’s not your country or culture. It isn’t always about the tourist. There are problems inhabitants already have.

This kind of reminds me of the first explorers. Let’s review what they did: claimed the islands for their particular country, used genocide via either physically or culturally, they transported,sold, bought, and used slaves to build their fortunes, fought with other explorers or countries for domination and outright ownership. I’m sure someone with more knowledge can add to and enhance this list. Racism, too, still exists. While many are respectful to islanders, some references we’ve heard make us and some of you —cringe. Respect goes a long way here as in the rest of the Caribbean.

Unfortunately, some Americans have such an inflated view of themselves. Expectations are demands in disguise. They, and other tourists, have forgotten their status here is “guest”. SXM is one of the most hospitable and accommodating island in the Caribbean, yet it is never enough. Those claiming to love the island, should love it all — the good, the bad, the ugly. The giant sand box is not a litter box!

Yes, the island has its problems. Some of them are growing pains and some are greed. Our take away from SXM is that it is a microcosm. The smaller land mass can only take so much stress. Pollution from their energy source, vehicles (yes, ie: traffic), cruise ships, yachts, cigarette butts, chewing gum, styrofoam take out containers, single use items all add up to disrupt the beautiful ecosystem. Locals and tourists could do better. That should be the takeaway to take home. Be polite, show respect for the people and the island itself, do your part and seriously… refrain from complaining when possible. Instead ask yourself what you can do to make SXM a great place to visit for the next generation.

This past December, some our family came to join us for some island fun. Our son and his wife, and their two children made a special effort to get here. The kids took their school work with them as much as the school would accommodate. Our son was able to work remotely, but allowed a promotion to pass him by coming to SXM.

One evening we went to Grand Case after a relaxing day on Orient Beach. We had hoped to catch a sunset and a light snack before heading back to the Dutch side where we all were staying at the time. We enjoyed the little shops and the pier, but clouds got in the way of the usually spectacular sunsets. The kids enjoyed spending time with their great grandmother while the rest of us ladies shopped. We then headed to Calmos Cafe for a bite to eat.

Calmos has made a wonderful comeback since Irma. It was always a great spot to sit and watch the sun go down over the bay and dinghies shuttle groups in from their boats for dinner. The menu has great staples to choose from and the dinner specials are delicious. There is something for everybody and their appetites. We opted for tapas and desert. The girls especially loved the gnocchi with ricotta cheese — true comfort food!

Our son’s family got up first to check out the C’est La Vie T-Shirt Shop and wait for the rest of us. He was waiting by the roadside, on the path that leads into the cafe. When we reached them our son was agitated. It seems another guest leaving had to walk between them. As the couple was next to them the man lets one really rip! Without saying a word, the man continued to walk away as though nothing happened. Our son called after him but was ignored.

What a disgusting incident!

More recently, about a month after the family left the island, Bill and I had lunch at the Perch. They have picnic tables with some umbrella protection from the sun. The food there is good and reasonable. We were sitting across from each other and the couple behind Bill, the same. The man had his back toward us. We were enjoying our meal when the old man farts so loud we wondered if he sharted! Mind you, this is in the clothing optional section of the beach. The man had nothing on his bottom. Only a sarong separated him and his bottom from the actual picnic bench surface. We were completely grossed out while the couple sat there — as though nothing had happened.

Was there a difference between the two men? There may have been. The older gentleman was disgusting by being gross and unthinking. The man who walked by our son may have done it intentionally. To me that is despicable. Did I mention our kids are Korean?

While they were visiting I observed how they and other Asians on the island are treated by visitors and locals. What I witnessed was disturbing. Some store keepers treated our kids differently. Was I imagining the slights? Then it happened to some local Asians and I had to wonder.

Many of us laughed at Monty Python’s Holy Grail antics. One of the most memorable parts was the French taunting.

French Soldier:

“I don’t want to talk to you no more, you empty-headed animal food trough wiper!

I fart in your general direction!

Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!”

We laughed at the silly insults the French soldier dished out thinking it harmless fun … or was it?

There is a quiet place, far above the noise.

It’s like sailing away from shore.

The perspective is a reminder that I’m a creature too.

Senses awaken, if allowed.

Drink in the sights, the sounds and breathe in the fresh air.

It is cooler this high up.

The pace is slower too.

I’m enveloped with lush green tones punctuated with color.

Flowers and vines show off blooms of orange, yellow, pink, purple, blue and white.

The gardens hug stone walls and decorate staircases.

Hummingbirds zoom by in search of nectar.

The sugarbirds complain when they come into their tree.

A wall fountain splashes into a sea of greenery.

A hummingbird has popped into its stream of water to take a shower.

The water that trickles down the wall serves as a drinking source. In between drinks and showers, the bird perches nearby to preen itself. He performs this ritual until satisfied of his cleanliness.

There are a variety of butterflies and bees that gladly help with pollination of the flora.

A prehistoric iguana nonchalantly walks across the patio and climbs up an unusual looking palm tree.

A loud grunting sound catches my attention and I investigate its source. A pair of tortoises are behind a lean-to getting it on.

At night the tree frogs sing happily hidden in the tropical vegetation. They love the rainforest environment, and continue their songs well into the early morning.

The monkeys have traveled through the backyard shaking tree branches as they jump along the canopy. There are more on the ground as they move through their morning routine. One makes eye contact with me and I could swear his eyes were blue. They’ve been drawn to a neighboring yard with a large open lawn. Families gather there to play while the dads scout the perimeter hunting for food and keeping a watchful eye on the troop. The mama is teaching the little ones to stand on their back legs and jump. The little one gives it a try when mom is not looking. When playtime is over, the dad alerts the group to move on. The whole mountainside seems to be moving as they disappear into the dense underbrush.

It is time for breakfast now as the other guests make their way to the kitchen. Our hosts have prepared a lovely spread with local St. Martin jellies, baguettes, meats and cheeses, hard boiled eggs, fresh fruit, homemade yogurt, French pastries, choice of coffee, tea or juice, and milk for cereal.

We feel relaxed and rested as we watch the sun cross the sky — lighting up the mountain range on her way. The ocean turns brilliant shades of turquoise both by the airport and from Marigot’s marina and down — toward Baie Rouge.

Saba floats in the distance. The mountains have become a grayscale with the foreground a deep teal color. Planes silently land and takeoff. Masts of sailboats over in Marigot turn bright white as the sun touches them.

A bank of clouds threatens the sunset. The sun has cast a bright yellow-orange hue across the horizon. As the sun escaped the cloud’s grasp, it grew into a huge fireball of gold. To make sure she had the last word, she left with a bright green flash. Guests had gathered to toast her setting and she gave a brilliant show. Not to be outdone by the sun, or the stars shone brightly in tinted shades of color. There were even a couple of shooting stars.

My secret garden is a not so secret place. I may have to leave it but it never leaves me.

There are some experiences we hope to avoid on SXM. Why, there are experiences we all hope to never have anywhere! Moments that are life changing that make us feel completely helpless and out of control are rarely chosen, especially regarding health. After our family visited, the week unfolded into such a scenario.

It wasn’t a busy week but we planned on meeting up with friends along the way. We were worried about mom since she seemed to have gotten sick towards the end of their trip. We had soup most of the week hoping to stay ahead of cold symptoms. As the week wore on though, I felt as though I was going downhill. A slight cough, nasal congestion made me self diagnose a sinus infection that was beginning to affect the lungs. The middle of the week walking up the stairs had me pausing to recover. By the end of the week a few steps or any amount of exertion had me wondering where my next breath was coming from. It was time to seek help.

What a weekend to need help! First, it was Saturday with the clinic open half the day. We stood in line for forty-five minutes waiting for it to open. I was already sixth in line. What an array of people patiently waiting and honoring the queue. Just before the doors opened an older women joined. As the doors opened, it was clear she didn’t care about the line. The younger women two ahead of me had in actuality been holding a spot for her entire family. Her husband and three young daughters were all sick. Once inside we each had to show our IDs to register. The older woman was poised to make her move. She even pretended not to hear me when pointing out the obvious the rest of the room understood. I motioned for Bill to stand next to me for support and his can’t miss him “standing there-ness”. She finally acknowledged the line and its order.

Once everyone was checked in and seated, the woman whips out her phone and has a conversation with her son complaining about her girls trip. “I’m sitting at the clinic, with all these PEOPLE… they all were coughing… so and so gave it to me, I’m sure, now I have this terrible cough….this is the worst vacation I ever had…..” like she was the only one in the room the conversation was full volume. Her second call may have been to a husband. It sounded as though escape arrangements were being made. She did more listening until blurting out “what about me!” That phrase certainly seemed to be her motto to live by. She was so loud the receptionist finally had to reprimand her, no phone calls. The other woman paid at the window with a fist full of prescriptions and the youngest in her arms completely miserable.

So many thoughts running through my mind as it’s now my turn to see the doctor. I’m sure steroids and walking pneumonia are what he’s going to do and say, but instead he writes a letter to give to the ER at the Dutch hospital. Terror passes through me as he asks if I have someone with me. Bill is escorted in and instructed. Letter in hand, we are sent on to our next unwanted adventure.

Long story short, after a six hour stay in the ER, I was admitted overnight for observation. Blood draws, and other tests warranted the move. I have to wonder if observation is to cover their own butts.

I have an elderly woman from a neighboring island for a room mate. She tells us stories about her family and other inhabitants and the local island drama. She has a visit from her SXM family members and imparts words of wisdom to the great grandchildren. She has a heavy island accent and is difficult to understand at times. Lost in translation, I work to keep the conversation going. She’s telling me about another occupant before me and how she wonders what happened to her. It’s as if she disappeared. “What happened?“ She asks, “did she run away?” Then she explains how they want her to stand and try to walk. She doesn’t like the idea.

Later on she’s complaining about the rail being up trapping her in the bed. I try and joke by saying they’re worried she’ll run away. She laughs. I’m thinking all is good. Meds have made me sleepy but she’s wide awake and chatting me up. Did I mention her proclivity to burping? Whether she’s had a drink, a bite to eat or nothing at all –BURP.

CHATTING, CHATTING, BURP, BURP, BURPING

BUZZ BUZZ……the mosquitoes in the room begin to dive bomb.

My answers are but grunts at this point when a nurse appears. She tells chatty Cathy “the lady want to sleep”. Well roomie’s opinion is that “she a grown woman, she can tell me herself”. I’m in a fricking hospital bed and I should be concerned about being a grown ass woman and tell her myself.

Quiet finally until every shift change to check vitals. By morning I’m finally in a deep sleep. Oh well. It’s time for my roomie’s wash up and linen change. Mosquitoes are active. It took me a while to realize she’s now telling the nurses about me! The white lady causing mischief. The innocent joking turned into some kind of drama. Luckily these nurses have heard her talk all week, I was able to add to the drama of her small existence. When her visitors came, she had perfected the torrid tale of the bad white lady. The lady visiting comforted her with, “that’s why I keep my brown self, to myself.”

Tick tock, I see visitors walking down the hall. Bill appears and it is the only Christmas present I could ever want,… freedom! This white mischief maker gets to go home….BURP.

Where are good spirals when you need one?

In twenty-six years we have yet to get to the iconic spiral staircase in Cupecoy. That was the first spiral I thought of to photograph here on the island. There are so many spirals in nature. Google has some great images. That’s a rabbit hole to contemplate. Spirals seem to make up the very fabric of the universe. Great minds have written out and drawn out their version, explaining its importance.

Articles abound on the internet describing the spiral as the ‘golden ratio’. As a photographer, painter and designer — the principle has been simplified. Good composition places a focal point at approximately one third of the image, page or canvas.

So without running over to Cupecoy, the challenge was to find an alternative image of a spiral. Shells came to mind. The limitations are based on what’s available at a given location. I found a few but felt they weren’t quite photo-worthy. I came across a couple of other staircases that fit the bill.

What spirals have you photographed here on the island?

Forget all of life’s cares. Sailing around Saint Martin resets the view for a day. Sail days are our favorite days. Leaving from Philipsburg, the interior mountains rise up lush green this time of year. We pass the day’s cruise ships as we exit Great Bay for the open sea. Visibility is so clear. All the neighboring islands, including Nevis/ St. Kitts, dot the horizon line. Not a cloud in the sky as we glide through calm waters.

All the new buildings on the Dutch side create a new skyline. I’m painfully reminded how traffic on the island has become a nightmare, yet they continue to carve up the mountains fitting in more and more structures.

A plane takes off. Up ahead there’s a flurry of action as some birds dive bomb a school of fish. A fight ensues and the catch plunges back into the water. They continue to fish until the boat gets too close and breaks up the feeding frenzy. Beyond Cupecoy lies Long Bay and La Samana — our first stop. The warm water invites a swim and snorkel.

Heading north in the channel, the waters are still unusually calm. The coast changes from beach to cliffs. Baie Rouge stretches out in between the tall rock. La Belle Creole innocently stands proud with the iconic tower rising from the center of the ruined resort. She was a victim of hurricane Luis in 1995. The land is for sale. Urban legends has it; a curse on the site — originally a Carib or Arawak burial ground. Point Blanche (before it was accessible by roads) and this small knob of an island by La Belle Creole were both where lepers were sent.

Saba is still visible across the lagoon. Already, the French side contrasts the Dutch with more open spaces. Many tourists choose the French side because of the nature. After Marigot and Friar’s Bay, Happy Bay will be our second stop of the trip. The beach has changed again with steep drops in places. We head for the beach and take a quick snapshot of the dragon statues left behind from March’s SXM Festival. The festival showcases talented DJs and an assortment of art installations at various locations around the island. Back on the ship, snacks await. One of the guests helps another boater retrieve his vessel. The dislodged anchor has freed the boat and is in peril of ramming a nearby catamaran. The crew springs into action. One jumps onto the small boat using his body to keep them separated. The other has put out a bumper. The owner was finally reunited with his boat and none were injured.

We continue on past Penis Point, Grand Case, Creole Rock, Anse Marcel, Petite Caye, Pinel Island and finally cross over to Tintamarre. The bay is busy with boats and catamarans. It is Sunday Funday. A couple of sea turtles are popping their heads up at the far end by the tall orange cliff.

Here we swim to shore and head to the eastern side to take a photo of St. Barths. Once back on the boat, lunch is served. The afternoon’s lighting is beginning to be more golden. With sails up and engine off, we pass Orient Bay, La Galion, Coralita Beach, Oyster Pond, Dawn Bay, Guana Bay, and Point Blanche to complete the circle around the island. Dessert was served as we had another chance to see the neighboring islands. Great Bay was bathed in golden light as the sun began to set.

We can’t wait to go again. Sailing around St. Martin never gets old — there may be a theme.

One of the things I have always loved about yoga, is that the practice of asana makes the body strong which enhances stilling the mind for meditation. Many traditions center around meditation. The Bible, too, says to ‘be still’ and …’if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think on/about such things.’

Pinel island was the perfect setting to feed the body, mind and soul. Bathed in moonlight, students followed our guru’s instructions toward a guided meditation. The fullness of the moon is part of the waxing and waning cycle of letting go and embracing the new. Time to reflect on what things we are holding on to that aren’t serving us on a growth journey. Stopping to consciously observe and decide to make a change regularly sounds like a good idea. We take out the trash when it is full. We change the sheets, our clothes — why not our minds? When the new moon comes it is time to embrace the new, change, grow.

The quiet of Pinel at night is in sharp contrast with the bustle of daily guests enjoying the beach. Children and adults laugh and play in the calm water. The beach bars provide great food and libations. At night the beach is open, lounges stacked and put away. Along the paths the grass gently rustles as the breeze strokes and bends the tall grasses. Away from the main beach the ocean rolls into the rocky coast. Tonight the moon’s brightness reflects a Rio Oro, river of gold, across the ripples toward the horizon. Tonight the moon has risen so early it almost caught the sunset. The sky turned cool colors of violet and periwinkle as a backdrop to expressive billowy clouds. The sun already disappeared behind the majestic island mountains.

Back on the beach a circle of yogis watched a small fire as class began. The glow was low, encouraging each one into their own evening’s journey. The class always closes in savasana, corpse pose. The ideal of the posture is to be fully alert and relaxed simultaneously. It’s more difficult than it sounds — as many have fallen asleep during the pose. Another important part the pose offers proprioception. The muscles commit to memory the movements of the class.

Audrey, our teacher, attended to each student with adjustments, a singing bowl with vibrations that filled the body and cards with positive affirmations. The boat ride back was serene as everyone took in the moon’s light and the bay’s currents escorted us back to shore in the Cul de Sac, open to possibilities.

It has been seven months since we were last here in beautiful Sint Maarten/Saint Martin. The countdown to departure involves more than packing. There is paperwork to take care of, organizing the house, and running down the food caches in the refrigerator which is a calculated process. Ownership on the island includes remembering to bring along smaller items the unit may need. Things that are less expensive off island. More clothes will be left behind, making future trips more streamlined.

The familiar views from the airplane window excite and reassure us we’re almost home. Landing offers a warm welcome of the tropical climate — like a gentle hug. It feels like forever and just a second ago simultaneously, since we were here last. So much remembered. So much forgotten. All the smells, sights and sounds rush in to greet and remind us. The soul desperately tries to catch up with the body confirming that — yes, we are back again.

Travel day ends with a yellow and orange sunset. As the stars begin to dot the evening sky the tree frogs chirp and sing letting their presence be known. The moon is the thinnest of slivers. It is often referred to as the finger nail of God. The rest of the moon suggests its true shape as with an eclipse. It is time for bed and much needed sleep.

A new morning brings sunshine, a passing shower and a double rainbow. In the distance, a ghostly cruise ship emerges from from a foggy rain curtain in shades of gray, as it makes its way to Philipsburg. The clouds also pass and blue skies return. It has been twenty-six years, yet the childlike awe and excitement complete the picture.

No, none of it ever gets old.

The wind is in my hair as we drive toward the sleepy village of Grand Case. The French radio station plays American pop music in the background. After passing the airport, the road seems to narrow before ending in a T. Straight ahead, a dirt driveway between buildings offers us a first glimpse of the bay. There are still too many houses and buildings in disrepair since hurricane Irma over five years ago. The afternoon sun warms the skeletal remains of roofless structures.

We can’t wait to park the car and start walking the blocked off Boulevard. To our right the shaded restaurants, shops, and apartments hide views of the water. Many boats and catamarans are anchored there. Once we reach the bridge we are greeted with a large enough opening to see them. Off to the right, Creole Rock marks the northern border of the bay. Anguilla stretches along the horizon, dotted with white houses. The gentle rise and fall of the mostly flat island complements St. Martin’s mountains. The left end of the bay has a pronounced rock outcropping commonly referred to as “Penis Point”. The sun is setting to the right of it, sinking into the water this time of year. It is March, the halfway mark of sunsets. These views are best accessed at the waterfront bars, restaurants, and the slowly collapsing pier. Unfortunately this year the beach was almost non-existent, crashing against foundations in some places. Yet the sun’s golden casting calls to be observed and appreciated. All the imperfections are now beautified in gilded tones.

Another Tuesday preparing for what began as Harmony Night—is now called Mardi de Grand Case. There’s a festive vibe in the air as many vendors set up their wares in stalls along the Boulevard. Shops, too, arrange inviting displays near their entrances. Young and old, local and tourists fill the street. Friends bump into one another and exchange pleasantries. It’s fun to peruse the different crafters. There’s jewelry, clothing, accessories beside street foods and cottage businesses with all kinds of edible treats. MaDouDou and SXM’s own craft beers are a available with the emergence of healthy juices, homemade ice-cream and pop-up Lolos. There’s live music, DJs and bands depending on the week. If you’re in luck, local specialties like spice rubs, sauces, and the seasonal sorrel juice can be had. The list has grown since those early days and some vendors only come for part of the time. Open air markets are always a fun adventure. Even the kids enjoy fishing for plastic floating duckies!

The sun bathes the tops of the buildings, especially on the interior side, before finally yielding to the night. The pier is crowded as people photograph their loved ones and hope for that amazing sunset shot. Lolos call out to passers-by with their delicious Creole cuisine that includes grilled lobster. Slowly, the lights come up as more people come out for dinner. Anticipation builds as the time gets closer to the evenings highlight — the parade. Each week a drum corps group backs up girls in feathery carnival costumes. Each week featuring different colors. There may also be stilted entertainers and lighted hula hoop dancers. They dance down the street and often visit restaurants along the route. Security guards escort the parade to keep the sometimes not so polite throng from blocking their passage. The girls oblige the many cameras and phones with beautiful smiles and gracious posing. The positive mood lingers into the night—as the parade winds down parents gather their children and head home, while restaurants and bars bustle with customers.

The morning reveals the almost desolate Boulevard as the sun begins its path on the opposite side. Cars speed by barely avoiding the few walkers. The early light gives warm kisses as the sun rises in the sky. The stillness, though, is in sharp contrast to the previous evening’s party. For now, Grand Case has returned to being the sleepy little fishing village. In the background the waves can be heard rolling in. It is hard not to be touched by its charm, beauty, and people. It is the people who live there, after all, that make it even more special.

Bill was about to pop the cork while the Rhino tour this afternoon had nothing to celebrate. The usual round-up when they all tie together to go swim/snorkel was interrupted — when the guide’s anchor came loose. The entire group was carried by the strong winds diagonally across the bay to the shore.

The guides worked quickly to untether each of the rhinos. Once free, they started up their motors and made their way out into the bay. A handful were not so lucky. Their propellers got stuck in the sand. The guide was able to lift a few of them up and push the crafts away from shore. He then put the motor back in the water, started it and rushed to free the next one. By now, he is soaked after half swimming and wading in the surf. The two remaining beached tourists had to dismount in order the get their rhino propellers in stuck. The four affected passengers stood on the beach while the guides regrouped — literally.

They re-anchored and re-tethered before handing out snorkeling equipment for those who wanted it. The four, still standing on the beach, waited. Two empty rhinos were tethered with the others. Some of the group opted for a swim while a few snorkeled. Some even swam to shore.

What would the beached tourists do?

Everyone has been called to swim back to the tethered tour. Two very reluctant women have run out of options. The beach is clear, the complaining loud. Hand me the popcorn, I mean champagne! The tour guide just pulled the complainer up out of the water and onto her rhino. We are only buoyant while in the water. That guide deserves a drink for the day he has had. We resisted the urge to applaud.

These tours are warned that Happy Bay draws a clothing optional crowd. Participants were hoping for a show, but it turns out they became the entertainment.

P.S. I wonder how the complainer handled her inconvenience once back on dry land.