Prelude

I don’t go to many post-race parties. Usually, I find all the post-mortem chatter tedious. But the party following the Hospice Cup regatta held on a beautiful September Saturday in 2006 on Annapolis’ Severn River waterfront promised to be better-than-usual, with good friends, good food, and good drink, so I was persuaded. By the time Rick and I arrived, the party was starting to swing, but no so much that there were lines at the bar. Properly fueled by Mt. Gay and ginger ale, Rick and I made the rounds.

One of the highlights of this charity event was the live auction. We checked out the auction items and had a good chuckle at the offering of a week’s charter in the Caribbean aboard Donnybrook. Donnybrook is a well-known sailboat in the Chesapeake, and at 72+ feet, it looms large in Annapolis. But it is purpose-built for racing, not comfort (even with a “cruising mode”), and we couldn’t imagine spending big money for a week aboard.

As the evening went on, we ran into friends from our sailing club, Michael and Julie. Michael joked about looking for investors for the Donnybrook week, but we declined. However, as more Mt. Gay was consumed, and the auction went on, we decided to go for it, and by the end of the evening, found ourselves handing over our credit cards to pay for a to-be-determined week somewhere in the Caribbean. The tariff was steep, but it was for a worthy cause and we got our winter sailing trip (which had been in the planning stages) settled in one fell swoop.

Michael took the lead in planning. We had to fit our week in during the Caribbean racing circuit, which left us with few choices. We ended up with a destination of St. Maarten a couple of weeks before the Heineken regatta. Michael visited Donnybrook in Annapolis, and concluded that while we could spend a few nights aboard, given the relative lack of creature comforts, it made sense for us to have a simple land base. After much research, we reserved an apartment in Grand Case called Paradis Caraibes.

Admittedly, I was not thrilled about using St. Maarten as our base. We had honeymooned there in 1989. While enjoying it, we didn’t find the island to fulfill our dreams of what we wanted out of an island vacation, especially since we’ve since found our version(s) of paradise. At the time, we found the crowds of (mostly American) tourists, the traffic, time shares, cruise ships, casinos, franchise restaurants (their mere existence!) to be too much like what we were trying to escape. We didn’t expect any of things to have improved in the ensuing 17 years, but we set our expectations of this trip so that anything beyond a week of rail-down sailing and gourmet dining would be a bonus. We got what we wanted, and then some!

Eye-Opening Experiences

Our arrival at SXM on February 10 did not bode well for our trip. It was everything we disliked in 1989, and it wasn’t helped by a long day of travel from BWI. It started with the passengers from our American Airlines flight pushing and jockeying for position to get on the bus to take us to the terminal, many of them feeling the need to stake out their position at the doors so as to ensure that no one else could get off the bus before them, but neglecting to consider that the rest of us had to get on first. It only got worse in the arrivals hall, in the line for immigration, as the same pushy passengers were multiplied, since several other jets had arrived within minutes.

Once finally through that mass of entitled humanity, and having collected our bags, we grabbed a taxi to Grand Case. The ride through the Maho Bay area, with its glitzy hotels, construction, casinos and all-out commercialism, was not promising. Moreover, though our driver was informative, he groused constantly about the French side; it was clear he was not pleased to have to go all the way to Grand Case. His mood was not improved by the traffic, which was further snarled by a 10K road race on the French side. Our trip took about an hour.

My mood lifted a bit as we crested the hill overlooking Grand Case bay. We spotted the distinctive black mast of Donnybrook at anchor in the bay, and knew we were almost there. It was a bit disconcerting to see this boat, a familiar sight in the Chesapeake, nearly 1,800 miles from “home,” but none of us had ever sailed it in its home waters (a privilege not otherwise available to the likes of us), so there would be no basis for comparison.

When we arrived in Grand Case, we saw a village that had seemingly not changed much since 1989, when we drove in and drove right back out, intimidated by the promise (threat?) of haute cuisine in a rather ramshackle setting. Fortunately, over the years, we have gotten wiser, and our tastes have grown more expansive. Now, my more experienced eyes saw a town maintaining a razor-thin balance. On the one hand are the forces of nature (hurricanes, the corrosive marine environment) and economics (lack of funds) and humanity (island time), which threaten entropy and decay. On the other hand, pushing back with equal force, are the pride and creativity of the inhabitants. The balance struck results in a charming, quirky, and appealing – albeit weathered -- village reminiscent at times of New Orleans (pre-Katrina), San Pedro in Belize, and Key West.

Pulling in front of our apartment, we found Julie (she and Michael had arrived several days before) in the lobby with our landlady, and we gratefully climbed up stairs to the most pleasant of surprises: the front of our 2nd and 3rd floor apartment was all sliding doors and windows, giving out to a drop-dead view of the creamy sand beach, turquoise water, and green hills of Grand Case bay. The sound of the waves would lull us to sleep every night we spent there; the rest was lagniappe. OK… expectations exceeded!

We took a little while to settle in. The apartment would be a bit of a squeeze for two couples on a more conventional vacation, but for us it was not much more than a place to crash between sails. The upstairs loft area has a king bed and a bath (no door), with a spectacular view. The lower level has a bath, a small kitchen area, and a living area furnished with two futons. Rick and I swapped upstairs for downstairs with Michael and Julie midweek, so that we could at least share a bed with our partners for a few nights. Paradis Caraibes would be idea for a couple, with as many as 2 kids. It worked for us, but might not work for other pairs of couples. It was clean, efficient, airy and superbly located at the south end of the beach.

Though we had modest expectations about St. Martin, we had high expectations for Grand Case dining, and those were never at risk. That first night, after a few glasses of wine, we hit the street (traffic can be a bit hairy for pedestrians) and decided to stop at the first restaurant that caught our fancy. That was Le Tastevin. I will note that despite our education, travels and knowledge of other languages, none of us spoke creditable French beyond basic phrases and a little bit of what I call “menu French.” This was not a problem in the least, and service was friendly and professional. Three of use chose the 3-course prix fixe menu (€45), while the fourth went a la carte. The lobster bisque was fabulous, dark with roux and seafood essence and loaded with lobster, a meal in itself. Michael had foie gras, which was large enough to share (thanks!) and sheer decadence. Entrees of fish and pork were similarly satisfying. A dessert trio of cremes brulee (chocolate, pistachio and sublime violet) capped things off. It would be a challenge to equal our dining experience at Le Tastevin, but we were game to try!

Sailing Away

Sunday, we began our sailing adventure. All four of us are experienced sailors. Rick and I own a Sabre 38 and Michael and Julie a Sabre 402, and we spend the better part of May through October weekends sailing the Chesapeake Bay, with many nights at anchor. Rick and I also have been chartering – mostly bareboat with a few crewed trips -- in the Caribbean for nearly 15 years, with sails in the Abacos, BVI, Belize, St. Vincent and the Grenadines, and Grenada on our resume. But sailing aboard Donnybrook would be another matter altogether.

Donnybrook is a Santa Cruz 70, custom-modified to have added an additional 2+ feet of length overall. She is normally set up for serious racing, with such features as two wheels, a carbon fiber mast, coffee grinder winches, and sophisticated instrumentation. She lacks such cruising amenities as a windlass, autopilot, and generous water tankage. In racing mode, she flies Kevlar or carbon fiber sails, has a minimalist, stripped out interior, and requires many hands to crew her. In “cruising” mode, the serious sails are replaced with more conventional Dacron, and the interior is fitted with a few more cushions in the berths, as opposed to bare pipe berths.

Even in tamer cruising mode, we simply lacked the experience and hands to sail such a machine on our own. Luckily, the professional crew of the boat, Captain Guy and First Mate Eric, were terrific. Guy is man of action and few words, an experienced sailor who’s been with Donnybrook for five years; he has a sly sense of humor and an encyclopedic knowledge of movies – especially some of the trashier ones I tend to like (he can quote “Captain Ron” quite convincingly). Eric is more animated, but has a great rapport with Guy and clearly knows the boat’s routines. He had the additional duties of serving as dinghy captain and cook, as our charter included breakfast and lunch; with all of those wonderful French baguettes available to him, whatever he served up for lunch was a treat.

Our first sail was a circumnavigation of St. Martin. This was our chance to learn the routines of the boat (like hoisting anchor without a windlass) and how to use the equipment. My only prior experience with a coffee grinder winch was during a contest sponsored by Lewmar (Rick and I won the mixed doubles), on land at a Sabre regatta; that is nothing compared to the real thing, under the heavy loads generated by the huge sails carried by Donnybrook, heeling at 20 degrees. One of these winches can take off a fingernail – or hand – if the appropriate care isn’t taken. Rick, Julie and Michael readily took the helm (I hate being in charge of a vessel, and would much rather take orders than steer, so since I was on vacation, I politely declined taking the wheel). For the most part, Guy and Eric let us handle the routine sailing, though Guy took charge of navigation and they both took over when things got hairy.

At one point, as the winds died down and Donnybrook was making a mere 4-5 knots, Guy offered to crank up the motor. We all chuckled a bit, since 4-5 knots on the Chesapeake, on our relatively small sailboats, is good progress – especially in the summer when winds are notoriously fickle. But 4-5 knots on a machine like Donnybrook is sloooooow going. Since speed is a function of waterline, Donnybrook’s having twice the waterline of our boats means it’s capable of generating twice the speed. Indeed, as the week wore on, we saw speeds in excess of 12 knots even with the heavy cruising sails (something which our boats can only generate with hurricane force winds while surfing down waves – just before they submarine…), and got to be blasé about cruising at 8 knots. Speed got to be intoxicating.

Speed and comfort, however, do not necessarily go hand-in-hand. So, when we were going upwind, heeling at steep angles, it could be an effort just stand or sit. Usually, for comfort, one sits on the high side. But at one point, when we were beating north along the west coast of Anguilla, zooming along at 12 knots with a reef in the mainsail, I got tired of climbing up to the high side, just to watch the 6 foot waves rise up behind us. I just plopped my butt on the cockpit sole on the low side and closed my eyes. (After all these years, I can still get seasick, and the trip back from Anguilla got me as close to sick as I’d been in years.) These are not the gentle seas of the Drake in the BVI, or the Sea of Abaco; in the winter, the wind can kick up boisterous conditions. This can make for great – but not easy – sailing.

After the St. Martin circumnavigation, we made a two-day circumnavigation of Anguilla (stopping overnight in Road Bay/Sandy Ground), a day trip to Tintamarre, a two-day trip to and from St. Barth, and on the last day, a long trip to Simpson Bay on the Dutch side. On the last day, expecting lighter winds and a downwind sail, we arrived aboard Donnybrook to find spinnaker sheets rigged up. As exciting as it had been to sail aboard Donnybrook all week, the ultimate treat was to fly her familiar black spinnaker with a green shamrock, using spinnaker pole and strut. A fitting end to our sailing “fantasy camp.”

Ports of Call

Anguilla -- Using Grand Case as our base, visiting Anguilla – visible from our windows and just 5 miles to the west – was a natural. Of course, sailing there was a much more complicated operation than just hopping across the Anguilla Channel; the only tenable anchorages are on the west side of the island, and we also needed to clear customs and immigration. It was lunchtime – a late lunch at that – before we arrived at Road Bay, and mid-afternoon before Guy had cleared us in. By then, we weren’t especially motivated to do anything beyond hanging out ashore, and Sandy Ground was perfect for us.

Arriving at the dinghy dock, squired by Dinghy Captain Eric, we soon planted ourselves in front of the likeliest beach bar – Sunsets in this case (Johnno’s is closed on Mondays). Sandy Ground’s beach front is not at all the glamorous Anguilla of Cap Juluca and Cuisinart; rather, it’s a working harbor for fishing and lobster boats, the port of entry, and the place where the charter sailboats come. The mellow vibe was perfect for our afternoon, even when we got waylaid by the voluble Ragamuffin Jimmy at Sunsets’ bar. White sand, blue water, and a mango daiquiri are an appealing combination, especially when hearing of the threat of ugly February weather back home.

Julie and I walked the beach, checking out the scenery, as well as visiting the restaurants to check out the menus. We were persuaded by the owner of Sunsets to return there for dinner; I was totally won over by the presence of goat stew on the menu. Even if one doesn’t want to eat curried goat for dinner, having it on the menu demonstrates a real commitment to local cuisine. And so, after happy hour aboard our ship, drinking wine we brought from St. Martin, we returned to Sunsets for a great meal of local food – fish soup, local butterfish (superb) and for me, that tempting and tasty goat stew.

Alas, that night, sleep was a non-starter for me. Drawing 12 feet with a bulb keel, Donnybrook is a natural racer, especially when sailing upwind; but this also limits how close she can anchor to shore. The further out one anchors, the greater susceptibility to swell and rolling. We had that going, as well as strange noises that sounded oddly like sizzling, crackling bacon – the noise turned out to be generated by shrimp feasting on the algae growing on Donnybrook’s bottom.

Rather than cabbing to other beaches for a quick visit on Tuesday morning, the hardcore sailors among us decided to complete the circumnavigation of Anguilla we’d started on Monday. This was by far our most challenging day of sailing, but we were delighted, variously, by the speeds we clocked and by the flying fish skittering across the wavetops like fairies.

Tintamarre – After the long two days of journeying to and from Anguilla, on Wednesday we took a short day trip to the uninhabited island of Tintamarre off the northern tip of St. Martin for a day of serious beach time. Since it was a trip of roughly 5 miles, we just motored.

The beach facing St. Martin is a beauty, with no commercial concessions to mar it. However, we would hardly be alone in enjoying it, as a catamaran outing on Golden Eagle had deposited 40 bodies ashore, all of whom seemed to clump together. We made our base far from that crowd, and Rick and I crossed the interior of the island to visit the windward beach. The windward beach was not much for swimming, and only a short section of it is sandy before it gives way to mounds of coral rubble. But I have a special fondness for windward beaches because of all the interesting things that get washed up on them – from shells and sea urchins to all manner of jetsam and flotsam.

After our windward exploration, we returned to our spot to find that the newly-arrived guests from Tiko Tiko had planted their yellow umbrellas just about on top of us, despite plenty of otherwise empty beach available to them. I don’t understand this herd mentality, and I prefer to avoid it, but we were too mellow to bother moving. We whiled away the balance of the morning snorkeling, reading, swimming and strolling before radio-ing Eric to pick us up and give us lunch. A short motor back took us home to Grand Case, where we spent the rest of the afternoon on the beach in front of our apartment. Life is good.

St. Barth – Just like we got a small taste of Anguilla on Monday and Tuesday, Thursday and Friday gave us a taste of St. Barth. We arrived in the early afternoon, having jockeyed for space among the hundreds of boats anchored in the outer harbor, and had lunch aboard while Guy handled the entry formalities. St. Barth from this vantage point is an extremely pretty sight, having the prosperous and tidy town of Gustavia, with its red-tiled roofs, anchoring the harbor. The steep green hillsides are studded with villas. The inner harbor is busy with beautiful boats and buzzing tenders. I half-expected Steve Martin and Michael Caine, in their roles in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, or Meg Ryan and Kevin Kline from French Kiss to make their appearances, because Gustavia makes me think of the French Riviera of the movies.

We dodged rain showers as we explored the town. The part of Gustavia closest to the harbour is all about luxury shopping. All the biggest, most glamorous names are represented here, and many of the shoppers look so impossibly chic for the conditions that they could have been beamed in from Paris. I, admittedly, looked a little ragged; I had a bit of dinghy butt, was seriously windblown and a little sunburned, had no make-up on, and hadn’t checked a mirror since leaving Grand Case. Nevertheless, the shopkeepers were uniformly welcoming (especially compared to Marigot), and I’d come prepared to drop some Euros (which I did).

As Parrotheads, Rick and I felt honor-bound to have a drink at Le Select. The timing of that coincided neatly with a downpour, so we took shelter under a roof. We can now tick another one off of Jimmy Buffett’s list of Top 10 waterfront bars.

Later, after happy hour fueled by orange-ginger rhum we’d brought from St. Martin, we had dinner at La Route des Boucaniers on the Gustavia waterfront. Guy and Eric joined us for a pleasant evening of sushi appetizers and curried chicken and fish. I guess I’d been reading French menus for so many days that I almost didn’t notice that the one I’d been given didn’t have English translations; I could almost read it, but gave in when I realized that everyone else’s menu was written in English. I also got a kick out of the restaurant’s drink menu, which recommended drinks based on the diner’s astrological sign. The one recommended for me was a caipirinha, which is my current drink-of-the-moment at home, Rick having given me two muddlers (for smashing up limes, one for the house and one for the boat) for Christmas this year.

Alas, it was another sleepless night for me, since the outer harbor is a noisy and roll-y anchorage. Fortunately, the sail back on Friday was easy reaching and running back to Grand Case.

Simpson Bay, St. Maarten – Our first day’s circumnavigation of St. Martin gave us a look at what the island offered beyond Grand Case – which had proven pleasantly fulfilling for us. Wall-to-wall beach umbrellas on Orient Bay didn’t appeal. Cruise ship docks and contrived America’s Cup racing in Great Bay didn’t beckon. But visiting the Sunset Beach Bar called out to us. Since Guy and Eric needed to get Donnybrook back to Simpson Bay Lagoon by Tuesday, we thought we’d help them get the boat down there, say our goodbyes, and then take advantage of the proximity to the airport and head to Sunset Beach Bar.

Sunset Beach Bar sits at one end of pretty Maho Bay beach. It has all the makings of a quintessential Caribbean beach bar, of which Rick and I are connoisseurs. That, alone, would have been appealing enough. But the added … shall we say … gimmick . . . of SSBB is that the beach sits at the head of the runway at SXM. The bar has the flight arrival times for the biggest incoming jets posted on a surfboard, and the tower transmissions playing over speakers. Watching the big jets come – and go – is the sport here, and when they land, they appear alarmingly close. When they leave, the jet wash whips up a small sandstorm right behind the engines, and not a few risk-taking folks place themselves willingly in its way. Very cool. And the burgers and drinks aren’t bad either.

Big Fish … and Small Fry

In 17+ years of marriage, Rick and I have made over 30 visits to the Caribbean. He’d long been curious to visit St. Barth, but I’d demurred, feeling a bit out of my league -- not being rich or young or beautiful or chic enough. However, once we’d arranged to arrive aboard a beautiful black-hulled 72’ sailboat, I felt like I could fit in well enough to plausibly call on St. Barth.

However, having done just that, I learned two things. First, it doesn’t matter who or what you are; if you want to visit St. Barth, just do it. Secondly, and repeatedly, we learned that a 72’ sailboat isn’t a whole lot in these waters. While Donnybrook cuts a large swath in the Chesapeake and Annapolis, eclipsed from time to time by the likes of the Trump Princess or its ilk, down in St. Martin and St. Barth, Donnybrook is small. Never in my life have I seen such an assemblage of BFBs (Big F-ing Boats). On our arrival in Grand Case, Donnybrook was the largest sailboat in the harbor; by the next day, she anchored in the shadow of a 150’ sailboat, looking for all the world like the bigger one’s tender.

The quayside in Gustavia was lined with ranks of 100’+ poweryachts, lit up like glamorous hotels and guarded by menacing guys with crossed arms protecting the Cayman Island and Marshall Island-registered behemoths. Guy kept a list of the world’s 100 largest private yachts with him, and as the days passed, he clicked one after another off the list, all the while clicking pictures of them. From classically beautiful Ranger (a reproduction of its namesake J class America’s Cup yacht) to chokingly extravagant Le Grand Bleu, which has sitting on its deck a sailboat nearly as large as Donnybrook (in addition to a motorboat and helicopter). Millions of dollars are just a drop in the sea here.

In heartening contrast, however, we saw in both Anguilla and St. Barth small fleets of Optimist-type boats. They are tiny little tubs used to teach youngsters how to sail. Following a dinghy with instructors, they look like little ducklings following Mama Duck, and like 4-year-old soccer players, tend to gather in small packs, following the ball. They are sweet to watch, and give hope to a future for our avocation that doesn’t require spending millions of dollars and hiring ex-Navy SEALS for security.

Valentine’s Day … and Other Notable Dinners

Valentine’s Day fell conveniently in the middle of our week, and while Maryland was battered by an ugly ice and snow storm (and my office closed), Rick and I got a chance to re-visit La Vie en Rose, where we’d had a memorable dinner on our honeymoon.

We made an early start for Marigot, catching a bus in Grand Case and using the afternoon to get in some quality shopping time. As mentioned above, the shopkeepers were not particularly friendly, despite our being dressed better than our typical cruddy sailor garb. But the prices for some of the French cosmetics brands I use – even after exchange rates and foreign exchange surcharges – were good enough for me to spend a few Euros (even though I typically make a practice of not rewarding haughty or indifferent service). We strolled around a bit, and enjoyed some drinks at a sidewalk bar, and noticed how different and more developed and crowded Marigot had become over the years. Nevertheless, it possesses a Caribbean-Mediterranean appeal.

Promptly (and probably unfashionably) at 7, we entered La Vie en Rose, to be greeted with the strains of the eponymous song. At Rick’s request, we’d scored a balcony table, no small feat on Valentine’s Day as compared to the August Saturday we’d first visited. The food – frog legs, mussel soup, stuffed veal– was exemplary, and service was friendly and accommodating. To cap off the meal, I was handed a long-stemmed red rose, which all ladies receive. Sometimes, when you go back to a place that has special memories, the reprise is disappointing. This was not the case here; if anything, our own life’s experiences since that long-ago honeymoon dinner enhanced our experience here.

La Vie en Rose was the pinnacle of our honeymoon dining experience, but a week of Grand Case dinners this time around put La Vie en Rose right in the middle of the pack. We chose to splurge, both calorically and fiscally, and we were not disappointed, even though we arrived in Grand Case without a particular plan for eating, choosing instead to read the menus and choose whatever struck our fancy. From L’Escapade to La California to L’Auberge Gourmande, not a single false note was struck, from appetizers to after-dinner rhum. Luckily, grinding winches obviated some of our extravagances, but it’s not often we get the opportunity to dine so splendidly in such pleasantly casual (and often beachfront) settings.

Closing Thoughts

Despite the changes wrought over the course of nearly 18 years – many of which I would not consider favorably -- we’ve come away with much more positive experience of St. Martin than our first visit in 1989. It moves up from our “Not Likely” list to the “To Be Considered” list. With the power of research, the benefit of life experience, and the management of expectations, we got what we hoped for from our vacation, and much more. I don’t know when we’ll return, but I can safely say that the blush is back on the rose.

Fair winds!