[Linked Image]<br> <br>The whole trip report runs to 54 pages. If there is interest, feel free to contact me at JXMartin@ATT.net.<br><br>Sat. 3/25/01 Toronto, Canada<br><br> We arose at 2:30 A.M., cleaned up, had coffee in the room and readied for the 3:15 shuttle to terminal #3 at Pearson International airport. Check out was quick and we emerged into the cold night air for the 15-minute ride to the airport.<br><br> We checked our bags into the “Air Transat” station and were assigned seats on the 6:25 A.M. air transat flight # 660 direct for St. Maarten’s Queen Juliana airport. The security checkpoint was uneventful and we stopped by a coffee shop for adrenalin and muffins. The airport was already awash with travelers at 4:00 A.M.<br><br> We walked for a time running into several people from Western New York who were headed to various other Caribbean destinations. Boarding the huge “airbus” was easy enough. All 350 of us settled in for the ride. I read “tell no one” by Harlen Caben for the next four hours. The flight was pleasant and uneventful. We arrived at Queen Juliana airport on St.Maarten at 11:30 a.m. local time (one hour before E.S.T) It was hot and very humid out. The baggage carousel was a mob scene in the small airport. We waited patiently and finally fished our luggage from the morass of packaged clothing. A few buses ferried the lot of us over to nearby “Great Bay Hotel” on Great Bay, just outside of Phillipsburg, the Dutch Capital. It had been named after an early Scottish governor, for some reason not explained to us.<br><br> The hotel lobby was tropical and attractive, even with the swarm of clamoring guests. We opted for a few rum punches while the throng clamored. The view out onto the Caribbean was pleasing. An impossibly bright cerulean sky and a light turquoise ocean framed the pool area, lined around with swaying palm trees. It was like viewing a living post card. We talked to people from Lackawanna, Cheektowaga, Fort Erie and Buffalo while we waited to get checked in. That ended any plans we had for anonymous, riotous living in a foreign land. We met and talked with Diane and Tom Wicher for a few minutes. They were just off a 7-day Windjammer cruise and staying at great Bay for two nights. Diane and I work together at the Rath Bldg in Erie County. The world keeps getting smaller and smaller. <br><br> After checking into room #217, we had lunch on the second floor, ocean patio restaurant. Fresh salads, soup and fish made for a relaxing noon meal as we watched the activities around us. The Great Bay hotel is an “all inclusive.” A six-story wing of “ocean front” rooms meets in a vee with a smaller and newer three story “Miramar wing.” At the junction of the vee is a three-story lobby, dining & casino complex and an ocean front pool and patio restaurant. It is user friendly and always abustle with activity. The beach in front of the hotel is large and the ocean fairly calm in the bay. Phillipsburg is a ten-minute walk either down the beach or along a fairly safe street into town.<br><br> After lunch, we walked the beach into Phillipsburg. We could see across the bay, the huge cruise ship docking facilities at Point Blanche. Some days, as many at six of the huge sea going behemoths make it into port. The beach was tidal, with a pronounced 45-degree slant that makes walking difficult. <br><br> The harbor area focused around an extended cross- shaped dock area for ship’s tenders, separate from the huge Ponte Blanche facility. A small “Whatley Square” forms a “U” shape onto the harbor dock. A courthouse, several shops and a Burger king make up the pedestrian square. Cabbies, hangers on and others gather in front of the Burger King to socialize.<br><br> We walked back to the Great bay Hotel along the beach and settled in by the pool to swim and relax. “Guvavaberry Coladas” a pink frozen “umbrella drink,” drew our attention. We sampled them, enjoying them immensely. We met and talked with Jack and Charleen Brown from, South Buffalo. Jack also works with me at the Rath County Office Building. I guess we were going to be paragons of virtue on this outing. As the golden afternoon drew to a close, we repaired to our room to shower and prep for dinner. <br><br> As evening dawned, we walked through the open and airy foyer of the hotel enjoying the warm night air and the beautiful visage of ocean and night sky before us. I signed up for an hour of internet access at the desk to help stem the vandals at work from depredations in my absence. Poolside we enjoyed a glass of Merlot and talked to an older RCMP Constable and his wife, from the Kitchener area of the Niagara Peninsula in Canada. It is these chance encounters with people from everywhere that make travel so enjoyable.<br><br> Dinner tonight was a very good buffet in the second floor dining room. Salads, pasta with clams and a host of other attractions were enjoyable. Bring on the bicycle pump, we were going to be much inflated physically in the next two week. After dinner, we talked with the Wichers again and visited the small casino to make our contributions. In the Casino, we ran into Buffalo Parking Violations Director Lenny Sciolino and wife Linda. We agreed to meet later in the week for dinner.<br><br> We had one last glass of Merlot while looking out over the moonlit bay in the warm tropical air, before retiring. It had been a long and pleasant day and we were ready for the arms of Morpheus.<br><br>Sunday 3/24/02 St. Maarten, Dutch Antilles.<br><br> We were up at 6:30 A.M. It was already sunny and warm. Another 4-masted windjammer had moored in the bay and rode the swells with a fleet of sloops. We headed into Phillipsburg for an early walk. A passle of goats were munching contentedly on the grass in a drainage sluice. The islander’s houses, that we saw, were ramshackle affairs. Several roosters were still crowing their morning alarm and even one monkey peered out at us from his small hut. The islanders were friendly when you greeted them. A big smile and a “good morning” were ready for you if you asked for it. What I did detect, upon reflection, was that the islanders have been assigned to a permanent culture on their own island. Most of the tourist appeared to be afraid to make contact with them. In any case, we went out of our way to correct this inequity on any small basis that we could. Not every American is ugly.<br><br> The street names still reflected their Dutch origin. Schmidsteed, Stillesteed and other nomenclature remembered a time when Phillipsburg had been a Ducth village. As we neared the center of town, the jewelers, boutiques, restaurants and other merchants crowded out the small residences. The Methodist Church and the local “Oranje School” are the most prominent gathering places for natives. Phillipsburg even has a McDonald’s and a Burger King. We admired some of the quainter architecture as we browsed the town. From behind us, on the central square, emerged a “Palm Sunday Parade” down Front St. A large number of islanders marched, like a St. Patrick’s Day group dressed in their finest. Here and there you could spot a tow headed Dutchman, but most were of the uniform coffee color of the St. Maarten islanders. All of the smiling and happy marchers were decked out in Sunday best and headed for Palm Sunday services at the St. Martin of Tours Catholic church on Front Street. We watched them walk by, enjoying this bit of island culture not listed in any of the guidebooks.<br><br> “Old Street” is a gated and secure alley of expensive jewelers and upscale merchants. We window shopped the pricey stores and then continued on our walk, passing the St.Martins home for the aged. Across the street, the colorful “Guavaberry Emporium” hawked its native product in bright pastels and bursts of yellow and purple. The small marina, apart from the Pointe Blanch cruise ship docks, held a few quaint restaurants and more tee shirt and notions kiosks. When the ships were in port, this town becomes awash in shoppers, all eagerly scurrying from boutique to boutique in search of the fabled “ duty free bargain.”<br><br> Unlike many of the Caribbean islands we encountered, not a single panhandler along our line of march accosted us, a testament to the relative prosperity of the island’s economy. We walked back along Front St., passing the island’s cemetery. It is similar to that which you find in New Orleans, with above ground biers of stone and concrete.<br><br> At the Great Bay Hotel, we had a delicious breakfast of fresh fruits on the ocean terrace. We talked again with Lenny and Linda Sciolino, from Buffalo. Then we swam and sat poolside in the warm morning sun. Life is good sometimes. Mary attended a 10:00 A.M. orientation meeting to see what excursions and events were offered for the week. She signed us up for a Monday morning Island tour and for an excursion to St. Bart’s on Wednesday. I took a break from the searing sun to send e-mails to the office and a few message replies. The sun was getting to us, so we walked over to the “quiet side of the complex” and sat under a shaded awning reading for a few hours. (Demolition Angel-R.Craic) The waves were crashing on the rocks beneath us, the sun was shining and the warm breeze from the bay caressed us as we relaxed on the terrace.<br>Across the bay, a huge container vessel traversed the harbor to the cargo complex next to the Pointe Blanche passenger terminal. The jet skis were flitting across Great Bay, like dragonflies on a pond in late summer. A painter would fall in love with the place in a minute. Every hour of the day brought a new shade of color to the sky, sea, mountains and flora. I thought of the American Painter Winslow Homer. He would have loved the place and painted here forever.<br><br> We wandered down to the beach and waded into the surf. The rollers were powerful enough to knock us over and we laughed and played like kids at beaches the world over. An outside shower washed the salt and sand from us as we headed to the room to change and have lunch on the ocean terrace. Our room sparkled from the maid’s attention. For a $1 daily tip, they will virtually scour the place for you.<br><br> Lunch was relaxing, looking out over the ocean. Mixed salads, with rice and vegetables were of good quality. After lunch, we swam for a time and then settled in to read our books under the shaded awning. A “guavaberry colada” during the mid afternoon was refreshing. Poolside, the staff was conducting an arm wrestling contest. It reminded me of the old movies depicting group recreational activities, in the Catskills, during the 1950’s. Ugh! <br><br> By late afternoon, we had had enough of the heat. We repaired to our room to read and cool off in the air conditioning. The cabana boys were making a racket as they recovered, washed and stored their small fleet of jet skis from the beach. It looked like the concessionaire paid off the extra help at night, in Heinekens. After a time, they got a little noisy.<br><br> At 7:00 P.M., the sun had set and the moonlight shining over the bay was picturesque. There were lights strung in the rigging of the two windjammers at anchor in the bay. We stopped by the “Chrysalis Room” (bar) for a glass of merlot before dinner. There, we met and talked with a very nice couple from Montreal, Tim and Liz Snow. We chatted for a time and then headed into the formal dinner seating at 9:00 P.M. Melon, potage St. Germain (split pea soup), red snapper, napoleon éclairs for dessert were washed down with a decent “Cote du Rhone and good coffee. It was a delicious repast. I could already feel my waist expanding.<br><br> After dinner we walked the grounds enjoying the cool breeze and the gorgeous surroundings, before heading to the room to read and lapse into conversation with Morpheus. It had been a wonderful Palm Sunday on St. Maarten.<br><br>Monday, March 25,2002 St. Maarten, Dutch Antilles. <br><br> We arose early and prepped for the day. It was sunny and warm out at 7 A.M. Breakfast on the ocean terrace is a pleasant ritual that we could repeat forever. We watched two of the mega- ships maneuver into anchorage at Pointe Blanche. The other sloop’s masts rolled back and forth to an almost silent musical rhythm as the sea swells rocked them gently at anchor.<br><br> The 9:30 A.M. island tour was to be conducted on a huge air-conditioned bus. I continually marvel at the driver’s ability to negotiate the narrow and clogged roads. He said, in wry humor, that the “biggest vehicle had the right of way” and I think he meant it.<br><br> Our first stop was on a hilltop over looking Great Bay. The Paradise View restaurant, some clothing kiosks and a scenic over look, including the “love rock,” enable one to look far out onto the Caribbean, including St. Bart’s and some of the smaller islands. This great expanse of turquoise blue sea and cerulean sky dotted with fluffy white clouds became a favorite vista on which we could serenely gaze forever. The ocean views on the island understandably dictated the price of the land. Just opposite the paradise restaurant, a hillside lot for a lovely villa had just sold for $500,000, and that was just for the lot with a view. Aye, caramba! In general, the higher the altitude, the better and more luxurious is the quality of housing on the island. I think it exemplifies a similar American concept of “doo doo running downhill.”<br><br> Along the road, we came to a smallish sign that read “Bienvenue Partie Francaise.” It is the unmanned border that separates the small island into the Dutch and French territories. St.Maarten / St.Martin has managed to stay at peace with each other since its first European settlers arrive in 1648. The original natives of course had been either slaughtered or shipped into slavery. Large numbers of African slaves had been imported over the years to work the sugar cane plantations and the salt recovery facilities that comprised the main sources of commerce on the island.<br><br> The driver cheerfully pointed out to us the “island traffic police.” It is a local joke. The goats and sheep of the island are prone to wander onto the roadways causing an immediate jam of traffic, thus slowing everyone down. The natives used it as a double entendre to poke fun at the police establishment. It is tongue in cheek plantation humor. To the casual eye, the goats and sheep look alike. But, the goats have their tails turned up and the sheep have them turned down. <br><br><br> We swung around the one main road that circles the small island, passing the magnificent expanse of Orient Bay, one of the finer beaches on the island. The “French Cul de sac” or “Anse Marcel,” is a small one- way offshoot that leads into a pricey resort area. We then passed through another side-shunting of Grand Case. Here you will find some twenty excellent restaurants that draw thousands of tourists nightly. The narrow road gave us passage, with a clearance of inches, from surrounding vehicles and pedestrians. Grand Case is one of the original settlements on the island. The hillside building lots along the road way here are as equally expensive as on the Dutch side. In one development, the lower lots started at $83,000, the mid hill lots at $123,000 and the upper lots were “negotiable.” <br><br> The bus then wallowed into the French capital, Marigot. The huge chariot bulled its way past streets crowded with shops and busy with commerce. We were let off on the waterfront, near the ferry docks. A series of open-air concessions hustled the colorful batik scarves and sundresses and the ever-present tee shirts. We shopped for a time, admiring the blue and red coral necklaces and other jewelry, before stopping for “designer water” at one of the small kiosks. Everyone here spoke French. If you don’t have any language skills, it could prove troublesome here. We browsed the streets and shops in a quick survey, determined to return for a much more leisurely visit later in our stay on the island.<br><br> The bus lumbered on down the road, returning to the Dutch side and Great Bay. We had some wonderful salads and Mahi-mahi for lunch on the ocean terrace, admiring the living tableau of ocean before us. After lunch, I sent a few more messages into the ether of cyber space and then we settled in by the pool to swim and read our book. The routine was getting comfortable.<br><br> It had to be in the 90’s, so we didn’t last too long. We browsed the hotel shop for post cards, international stamps ($1) and bought a fifth of Stolichnya for $6.50. We repaired to the room to cool off, read and have a conversation with Ozzie Nelson.<br><br> It was still hot out at 6:30 as we met poolside for the “manager’s cocktail party.” We didn’t get the concept. What were they going to give us at an all-inclusive resort, more free drinks and more free food? It turned out to be sort of lame. We again met up with Tim and Liz Snow and chatted with them poolside before joining them for a buffet dinner on the ocean terrace. We enjoyed their company and conversation for the evening. <br><br> By 10:00 P.M., we were tiring from the day and headed off to the room to read and retire. We went reluctantly. The weather was so beautiful and the surroundings so attractive, that you hated to turn in for the night. But, alas, we were not 25 anymore and needed our sleep. Reading “A darkness More than night” –M.Connelly<br><br>