Shoreside Fun on St. Maarten

It’s a thin strip of sand wedged in between the teal Caribbean Sea on one side and a narrow road, fence and the end of a runway on the other. And conditions are perfect — for a lot of things. The weather is the finest it’s been in a week: hot sun in a cloudless sky and just enough breeze to lull you off your guard and make you think that you are, in fact, not getting scorched. As are many hundreds of others, drawn out by the proximity of sun, sand, beach bars and commercial aviation.

Among the throngs are an enormous percentage of Europeans, and that’s both good and bad. Good, given the miniscule (and often topless) bikinis worn by the females of the species; bad, given the European lack of familiarity with the notion of individual space: while sitting on the beach reading, I was surrounded — literally — by an extended family of French folks. One, seemingly the elder statesman of the bunch, just put his towel ON my foot before slidiing it three inches to my left and then settling in with a cigarette and a puddle of suntan lotion. If I understood French better, I could easily be adopted by the family, and one of the beach vendors just told me about the deal on gems and jewelry in Phillipsburg I could put to use for my lovely women. Whatever.

The Euros also bring with them their unique fashion sense. In addition to the aforementioned and much-appreciated tiny bikinis (sue me), there’s also the comedy of a man in designer denim-and-leather cut-off shorts (I am not making this up), Jackie O sunglasss and a tramp stamp. There are, of course, far too many men with large paunches hanging over their tiny Speedo-type suits, and even one guy who’s 300 pounds if he’s an ounce bodysurfing in gym shorts. Some of the finest people-watching in the world here.

And then there are the airliners. As they come in for landing on the adjacent runway, they pass by at maybe 30 to 50 feet overhead. It’s amazing to watch something that big actually flying. Thus far we’ve seen Cessna Caravans and DeHavilland Twin Otters, along with 737s, 757s and Airbuses, but here comes the big boy: Air France’s four-engine jumbo. Wow! WAY impressive, even if you’re not an airplane nerd like I am.

On take off, the real fun ensues. Jets taxi into position and bring their engines up to full power on the displaced threshold, perhaps a plane length and change from the fence beside the road. As the jets spool up, the wash throws everything behind them — pebbles and trash on the runway, sand on the beach, water on the surface of the sea and even tourists holding on to the fence for dear life — into the ocean. It’s equal parts comedy and, quite often, tragedy. There are undoubtedly some Darwin Award winners in the group holding on to the fence; search YouTube for “St. Martin airport” and see what you find.

And before you ask: yes, this Darwin Award winner went out there in the wash behind an American Airlines 757. Hey…when in Rome, right?

Ocean Fun, Uncategorized

And at the Other End of the Spectrum…

…was our wonderful motorsail from Antigua to St. Maarten. What was so surprising is that given my condition for the trip — slightly hungover following a wee bit of indulgence at the post-race party for the Caribbean 600 — I should have been miserable and hanging over the rail. Instead, the trip was so glorious that I was once again ready to chuck everything and sail for the horizon once and for all.

We left Falmouth Bay around 11:45am Saturday morning. Montserrat lay to the southwest, its volcano shrouded in a cap cloud. We changed course at the southwest corner of Antigua and made for the northwest. The sun set around 6:15pm (Marlies and Boogie claimed to see the green flash; I missed it) and I stayed on deck for a couple-of-hour watch.

And what a watch it was. Jupiter appeared atop our mast moments after the sun sank below the horizon. And as the sky darkened, more and more stars appeared in the clear sky from horizon to horizon, 360 degrees around the boat: Orion, Aldebaran, Polaris, the Big Dipper. Scorpio dangled above the southeast horizon, looking more like its namesake than any other constellation in the sky. And over time, the Milky Way glowed brighter, like a joyful flag dancing in a light breeze. The almost-full moon glowed in the sky and on the water off our starboard quarter, climbing slowly over our stern as we made our way north.

Below the heavens, the lights of St. Kitts, Statia and Saba crawled past on the western edge, while the lights of St. Barth climbed higher on our starboard bow. And by the time I woke Boogie at 9pm for the final hour-plus run into St. Maarten, we were in the calm waters of the lee of St. Barth, cruising along past dark hills serrating the glowing sky.

We dropped the hook in Simpson Bay and I turned in for the night. A slightly rolly evening gave way to another tropical morning and we entered Simpson Bay Lagoon with the 9:30am bridge opening on Sunday morning. Now we’re in the Simpson Bay Marina, which is fast filling up with race boats — many of whom we saw in Antigua — arriving for this weekend’s Heineken Regatta. I raced in last year’s event on the boat Boogie and Marlies were operating then; this year’s boat is here for some work and does not race. I’m hoping to get on with another boat for the races and then it’s back to the States come Sunday. The strangely up-and-down time away, currently up, continues.

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Worlds Rarely Seen

Antigua is a small island. And despite the fact that you can drive around the entirety of the island in a couple of hours, it actually holds entire worlds that many people likely don’t realize exist.

For instance, there’s the world of yachties. Blond-coiffed and tan, typically young and sporting baggy shorts and flip-flops, they’re easily mistaken for surfers. But they tend not to congregate in places known for having big waves. Rather, they can be found around marinas and bays, congregating among themselves and speaking a language known only to initiates, a language that includes words and phrases from the English language but having completely different meanings…words such as “Cowes” and “Race Week” and “crossing” and “Med” and all sorts of arcane navigation and racing terms. It’s a unique and homogenous subculture, entry to which requires either youth and energy or age and money. Like many subcultures, yachties are entertaining but somewhat closed off to the general public, and their social mores appear to be a cross between prim, upper-crust behavior combined with periodic binges into rugby parties. Given its small size, however, it’s unlikely that any real sociological research into yachties will ever take place. And that’s probably a good thing.

And if you have any doubts about how the one percent have fared in the recent economic downturn, come to Antigua and wander around the docks. You will be, to put it quite simply, stunned. Stupified, even.

Antigua is the Monaco of the Caribbean for the sailing set (the luxury powerboat set tends to congregate in nearby St. Maarten) and here you will find several dozen behemoths in the hundred-foot-plus range, including famous vessels such as The Maltese Falcon and Athena. And they’re only two of the superyachts currently on the dock here in Antigua. It’s a bit surreal to pull up in an extravagant, ornate 70-foot yacht and feel like you’re an ugly stepchild. Or to walk the docks and realize there are three dozen superyachts who have components — small things like a cleat, a line or a gangplank that likely cost more than what one would consider a “normal” yacht, let alone bigger items such as a sail, a mast or an engine that cost more than an upper-class family’s home. So if you’re not in the world of the one percent, you can rest easy: they’re doing just fine.

These are just two of the oh-so-foreign worlds on display in Antigua. There are other worlds here, of course, ranging from small country villages inhabited by families with kids running around barefoot to resorts for well-to-do North Americans and Euros, but you’re likely familiar with them already. It’s those other, far-out worlds hiding away in places like Antigua that are eye-popping scenes for normal Earthlings. It has been an experience.

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