Chapter 9
Wednesday July 27th
Today, after a continental breakfast at L’Hoste, we drove to Marigot to shop at the marketplace that fills the harbor area on Wednesdays. After parking our car, we notice someone with a large, professional video camera is following us as we walk the sidewalk to the booths. I am asked to take a photograph, using the subject’s camera, and the deed of kindness is taped for the cruise ship video journal of the day’s excursion to St. Martin; no doubt on sale for the passengers to purchase as a memoir. The Marigot market greets us with a kaleidoscope of color. Locals from the island sell their wares of clothing, spices, hats, jewelry, trinkets; too many items to list even in a trip report of biblical proportions. There is barely room to walk among the stalls set up back-to-back, the isles in-between packed with island vacationers and cruise ship passengers. We go down our list of family members and look for souvenirs that will bring a smile to their faces and - fit in our two carry-on bags. The mid-morning heat begins to take a toll and we stop to have a cool drink of sparkling water in the air-conditioned West Indies Mall. After recovering, we walk down a street and find a local Impressionist artist’s storefront. His paintings are very interesting, but expensive. Island scenes and flowers dominate his canvases of bright color and splashes of paint.
Our appetites began to grow and we found a street corner restaurant with an outdoor, brick tiled patio where black cast iron tables sit in the shade beneath red canvas umbrellas. La Vie en Rose must be reminiscent of a Paris café; I’ve never been there, but this is what I imagine it would be like. At the tables sit diners dressed in casual clothes suited for a day’s stroll in the Marigot sun. Across from our table a young girl, in her early 20s, sits with her mother. She is wearing a fashionable straw hat with a large brim and gazes out at the street watching cars drive by and people walk to the marketplace. She sips white wine and nibbles at cheese and bread from her lunch plate. She appears to be French, and my eye says she would be very photogenic - a good subject for a future painting (I dabble in impressionist painting when I find the time). Marilyn feels if I asked to take her photograph she would probably be very flattered, but I never get around to it. Besides, I wonder if her mother might think “what am I, chopped pâté?” It turns out that they are not French, but definitely from the states. I did take a photo of the patio, but alas, the pole of her table’s umbrella hides her face.
Our waitress, a pretty girl, with dark hair pulled back, wearing a white sleeveless top and tight black slacks that compliment her slim figure, comes to our table and introduces herself with what sounds like an American accent. “You’re not French”, I remark. “Yes, I am, but I spent a lot of time in the States”, so much for my ability to discern nationalities. We order a light lunch of hot sandwiches, French fries and diet cokes followed by a dish of ice cream, one of the restaurants specialties. You can purchase cones or dishes of the cold, refreshing dessert from a window facing the sidewalk to the side.
The sky is bright and blue, with gorgeous, full, puffy, white clouds. We drive back to L’Hoste and store away our gifts put on our suits, after lathering on suntan lotion, and make our way to the beach for the rest of the day. Later in the afternoon, I watch as a bank of clouds draws closer from the horizon. In the distance, grey curtains of cascading rain run from cloud to sea under towering billows of dark clouds. “We have 15 minutes before that reaches us”, I say to Marilyn. “Do you want to leave and make it back before we’re drenched?” “Yes, let’s go.” So we pull together our dark blue towels and beach bag and head down toward Pedros and further toward L’Hoste. In 15 minutes we are there and the rain hits, hard, cool and wet. “Timing!” I say. It feels refreshing but we are dripping as we enter our room, fortunate that the shower lies right inside the door and to the left.
We drive back to Marigot that evening and walk past Maude at La Main a la Pate, pausing to say hello. She greets us and I reminded her we were bound for a different restaurant this evening. She smiled and says she will see us again and we nod in agreement. We ambled around the marina, walking past Le France, Tropicana and down to La Peteite Auberge des Iles. I’ve read wonderful reviews of the latter, but we decided not to stay as a very large dog was parked among the tables…which would not have been to our liking for an evenings dining.
Tropicana was our choice. The headwaiter greeted us and asked where we’d like to sit. Tables line a railing with a great view of the Marina water. We choose one that sat two and ordered sparkling water while peering through the menu. A Chardonnay would accompany two entrees of fish. The species, we are told, are found deeper in the sea than most and were not as readily found on menus. I wanted to see how their escargot compared to La Main a la Pate and we opted to share a salad and bread. Our first choices came and while we dined we took in our newfound vantage point on the marina. It was night and the lights of the restaurants reflected off the mirroring waters. A cooling breeze began to stir, a tell tale sign of an oncoming shower. The rain began to fall, lightly at first, and then increased to a tempo that required we move inside. Our table is situated in a room still open to the air outside but we welcomed the fans that stirred a breeze.
The escargot was served in a pastry shell and was quite good; I decided I preferred those served at La Main a la Pate as they swam in little cups of butter and garlic. However, our meal of fish was unbelievably good and presented elegantly. Though the rain stopped we decided to remain at our table and have our dessert with cappuccinos. We are creatures of habit, if you haven’t already determined that, and chose the house warm chocolate cake, again to see how it stacked up against our restaurant of choice on the marina. It was very good, but again we decided it a close second to our usual dessert at La Main. In the end, we felt the entrée much better than anything we had at La Main to that point, but the other parts of our meal came in second. All in all I would highly recommend Tropicana as we had a very enjoyable evening.
Thursday July 28th
We met Jeff and Linda on the beach on several occasions over the past few days and took up lounges near each other. The four of us decided to dine together in Grand Case at Pressoir. Parking was directly across the street and as a very slight rain shower was falling we scurried through the front doors. Inside the rooms were painted an appealing red-pink coral color; the walls glowing with warm light and decorated with artwork that caught the eye with beautiful tint and interesting subject. We sat down and immediately I noticed that a couple we had met on the Tiko Tiko cruise were dining at a nearby table. We said “hello” and shared a few comments. They were halfway through their meal and seemed to be having a very romantic evening together.
Jeff ordered a very good Bordeaux, and I was saddened when the bottle was finally emptied. Our meals varied: shrimp, veal, steak; all of which became the best meal to that juncture in our island vacation. We had a good time talking with our friends, about our experiences on the island, life interests and what we looked forward to doing for the remainder of our stay on St. Martin. We were all too full for dessert, split the check and made our way back to Orient Village.
Friday July 29th
A full beach day was followed by a memorable evening, again with Jeff and Linda, back at our favorite marina bistro, La Main a la Pate.
Maude was very pleased to see us and, remembering the shoulder massage a few nights ago, preceded to give me another, short-lived but welcomed. The atmosphere was even more festive than usual. One of the waiters, who had a very amusing personality and a wide grin, was very cheerful as he anticipating leaving for vacation in a few days. He would be going back to France, and after six months on the island, could not wait to depart; thus, he was behaving as if he were on caffeine high.
We sat out toward the water, as usual, and we could tell Jeff and Linda were enjoying the ambience and the friendly antics of our wait staff. I do not remember what we had this evening for dinner, except for our dessert, which was again the warm chocolate cake, but I will never forget what was in store for us, coming in from the east. As I have mentioned, I do enjoy rain. We have taken some 15 cruises over the years and I would at times remark to Marilyn that I would like to be on a cruise ship in a storm; something that only a person who never gets seasick would request. Cruises are usually unremarkable weather wise, and much of the time the seas are so calm you wouldn’t even know you were on a ship. I got my storm in 1996 on the Sea Princess during a Western Caribbean cruise. Seas were between 20 and 30 feet at times and it stormed all but one of the seven days. Our favorite evening location was toward the bow, or front of the ship, in a lounge which sat some 10 stories or so above the sea. The storm was so severe one evening that we could see waves breaking against the windows that faced outward toward the bow. This evening in St. Martin, a tropical depression would engage us with an intensity I’ve not ever experienced.
We shared wine and bread with Jeff and Linda and I noticed our waiter and Maude looking toward the sky in the east, as it began to flash distant lightning. They thought it best to move our table a bit inward so we would not get rained upon by what they realized would be an inevitable shower. The restaurant was very full of patrons, and those of us at front looked out into the marina water at the ever-increasing evidence of raindrops.
As our main dishes were served, the heavens opened as if a dam had split above our heads. I’d never seen rain of this intensity. The wind blew strong and lightning and thunder bellowed so loud that we winced at every crash. Others about the room were obviously enjoying this, as was I, but soon leaks began to develop in the awning above. We were also getting sprayed as the currents of air caught the rain casting it inward toward our table. Maude and several of the waiters assisted those of us who were in the front and seated us in safer areas deeper inside the restaurant. There, the candles on our tables cast a beautiful glow and it was business as usual for the staff. And then, it began to rain with greater ferocity!
My enjoyment was beginning to “wane in the rain”, and I remembered that earlier that day I had told my daughter at home I would call her around 9pm. I thought we would be back at L’Hoste by then. It was 8:45pm and I realized we were not going anywhere. Lightning cracked leaving little time between flashes and the thunder that followed. Each billowing rumble was indiscernibly blended together into one loud roar, and I noticed several women around the room holding their ears, some covering their eyes.
Behind my shoulder, Jeff saw two brilliant ribbons of lighting strike in the distance, smacking the water with a red flash. We continued to eat our meal while Maude and the others moved more tables of people back with us. These tables were further in from the marina walkway than we had been, but the move was motivated more by leaks in the roof rather than the splashing in of rain. Our experience was becoming both exciting and a bit frightening as the tempest continued. The view outward into the marina was clouded by the torrent of rain that now fell making a racket on the roof above that was only surpassed by the booming thunder.
A party of 12 was sitting a bit further back than we were, celebrating the 21st birthday of a pretty blonde with a very charming yet squeaky voice. She was having so much fun and seemed oblivious to the storm around us. We continued through our meal and Marilyn said, “Look at that!” The restaurant next door, only separated from us by a narrow walkway, was covered in a flowing inch of water that streamed in from the outside. We felt fortunate that our feet were dry, though I was getting hit occasionally by rain splashing over the roof, downward to the walkway. The roof is covered by a tarp that sits above the permanent structure and protects and widens the seating area inside by a few feet. However, the gutters of the building then run inside above the tables of seated guest; and they were proving no match for this storm. Clogged with leaves and now beginning to overflow, our waiter, the one soon to be leaving for France, took notice and stood on a chair to clean out the collection of leaves, dirt… and a three inch roach that I saw cling to his finger. He saw it and was startled, as he swiftly shook it off onto the floor. “What a show”, I thought.
I remembered the call to my daughter and again realized that we were not going to be able to leave. The rain was one thing, I don’t mind getting wet, but only a fool would venture out into this lightning storm that was not letting up. I mentioned my dilemma to Jeff and Linda and Jeff immediately offered me his cell phone. I declined, saying that it would cost too much, but he kindly assured me that it was o.k. I dialed my daughter’s number and when she answered I could barely hear her over the noise of the storm. “We’re caught in a Tropical depression”, I semi-shouted and then a blast of lightning and an instantaneous crack of thunder ripped loudly in the air outside. “Are you safe?”, I heard her cry out through the phone. “Yes, were stuck in a restaurant. You’d like it!”, I said. “I don’t think so!”, she remarked. “We’re ok, but won’t be back in our room for awhile. “Here, talk to Mommy”, I said, passing the phone to Marilyn. Another burst of lightning, another bang of thunder; Marilyn said “hello”, but the connection was dead. “She probably thinks we’re goners”, I said. "If we get back soon, I’ll give her a call, she’ll be up!"
The birthday party nearby continued on. Maude brought out the coffee flavored rum and lined up shot glasses for all 14 around the table. “We will, we will rock you!” had greater significance tonight. “I like this stuff”, the blonde celebrant squeaked gleefully. “Can I have another?” Another is obligatory at La Main. It was dessert time for us and, again, we ordered the warm chocolate cake. It tasted even better tonight in the humid, rain cooled atmosphere. I wondered what we were going to do about getting back to Orient Village. Would the roads be clear or flooded? As I thought, the storm began to give evidence of subsiding a bit and by the time we received our check it had lightened enough so we could walk back to the car. The perfect storm, ending just on time!
As we drove down the street, we pointed out Louis’ guesthouse sign, which elicited a chuckle from Jeff; and as we turned onto the Marigot road that heads back toward Orient Village we looked down the side streets into Marigot and could see that there was perhaps 2 – 3 feet of water flooding the town. Our drive back was unhindered, though we did encounter a few areas where water had gathered and was deep in the roadway. We dropped Jeff and Linda off at Alameda and then parked at L’Hoste. The brick walkways through the grounds were passable, but flooding was evident everywhere we looked. We waded through 5 inches of water as we neared the stairway leading up to our room. Once there, I called my daughter to assure her we made it home safely. She was relieved and I was warmed inside by her determination to stay up until we called in safe.
Another tropical wave would hit the island tomorrow night, of greater consequence to residents on the Dutch side, and one which caused us to stay near by our hotel.
To be continued…….
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