Thursday 3/28/02 St.Maarten, Dutch Antilles<br><br> We arose at 6:30 A.M. It was cloudy and delightfully cool out after yesterday’s rainstorms. We watched a few new cruise ships enter their moorings, as we readied for the day. We walked about a mile up the hill to the Divi Resort on Little Bay. This resort is upscale and prosperous looking. We walked though it’s grounds, heading up the hill to the commanding promontory that holds the remains of Ft. Amsterdam. It is the Dutch bastion that had secured Phillipsburg against assault for the last few hundred years. Future American Colonial Governor of New York, Peter Minuet had served here and lost his leg to a well placed canon ball from an attacking marauder.<br><br> The fort stands now mostly in ruins. A broken skeleton of masonry with several rusting iron canons gives remembrance to the active military garrison that was once quartered here. We could look out on a 180 degree arc and appreciate the commanding presence that the fort must have once been.<br><br> The canon caissons are wheel less, some of them of iron construction, some of wood. The initials “J.J.W” emblazoned on one of the rusting armaments, is perhaps reflective of the canon manufacturer in far away 18th century Holland. We walked amidst the brambles and bushes that once had been so busily trod with men serious of purpose and enjoyed the vista of ocean and sky before us. And now, like all things manmade, it was relegated to the dustbin of history. Phillipsburg, and our own resort at Great Bay, sat in miniature across the sparkling bay in the morning sun.<br><br> We left the many ghosts of the fort and stopped by the boutique in Divi to purchase some designer water. We then sat for a time and admired the ocean as it crashed upon Little Bay and the Divi resort shore. It is another island of prosperity and plenty amidst the tropics. The walk back was slow and unhurried. A crew of workmen were digging drainage and electrical conduit ditches along the shoulders of the main road. I felt an empathy for these “Irish workmen of the Caribbean.” (with due respect to me own)<br><br> Breakfast on the ocean terrace was pleasant as usual. Then, poolside to swim, read and relax. This “routine in paradise” was getting pleasant. When it heated up too much, we shifted our gear to the “shaded side” and luxuriated in the cool breeze as we read our books. Life is and can be good when you let it happen.<br><br> Late in the afternoon, we decided to walk again into Phillipsburg. We browsed some shops and stopped by an “internet office” where I checked in and sent some messages homeward. We talked with a young Swede who was visiting the island for a month. His English was flawless. We chatted about his pleasant and scenic homeland. We had visited Sweden a few years back and Mary had stayed there for one Summer in high school, so we had topics of mutual interest.<br><br> The town was awash with bargain seeking cruisers. We wandered into the Supermarche in search of tanning oil and a few toiletries. It was getting hot out. We picked up some designer water and sat dockside watching the flow of cruisers, scurrying back on ship’s tenders, to their floating hotels. It reminded me of the scene in “E.T” when the mother ship sounded its pleating call summoning the awol E.T. back before the ship lifted off. The comparison was appropriate. These folks were mostly of American or Western European origin, coming from lands and customs that might well have been as foreign as outer space to the native islanders. If one of them got “left behind’ they would probably be just as lost as “E.T.”<br><br> On the way back to the hotel, we passed by the Methodist Church. A packed service for islanders, all dressed in three piece suits and lace finery, was in progress. It reminded me of the movie Hawaii. The Europeans there had the similar silly notion of making local people dress up in heavy European clothing under the boiling hot son. I am beginning to wonder more and more, what imitates what, life or art?<br><br> At the hotel, as we sat reading on our balcony, a monster rainstorm drifted through the bay. It rained so hard that the cruise ships ‘disappeared from sight.” We watched it contentedly, enjoying the tableau before us. A glass of wine in the lobby before dinner was relaxing. A Buffet supper on the ocean terrace was pleasant. It seemed like we had always been here. After dinner we talked to a wild woman from Orchard Park. Kelly Davison and her husband had been on a fishing charter and caught a 28-pound Mahi Mahi. The ship’s skipper had offered to filet and prepare it for them tomorrow. This wild woman and her gang were hard chargers who were pounding down the beers with both hands. We smiled at their antics and moved onward headed for the casino where we fed money into the slots for a time before giving up.<br><br> It was 76 degrees out at 9 P.M. The full moon was shining over the bay and we did not want the night to end. We sat and talked for a time and then reluctantly repaired to our room to read and surrender to the sandman.<br><br><br>Good Friday, 3/29/01 St.Maarten, Dutch Antilles.<br><br> We arose later this morning and set out by 7:15 A.M. for a return visit to Ft. Amsterdam, on the rise above the bay. It was Good Friday and the traffic, the workman and everyone else had disappeared. We enjoyed walking in the morning sun. Divi and Fort Amsterdam were as equally deserted, as they had been the day before. I guess no one really knows the full impact of 9/11 on commercial tourism yet. We watched the funny looking Pelicans and ante-deluvean frigate birds coarse high above us in the cloud-peppered, cerulean sky. They looked graceful, gliding on the thermal currents. We enjoyed the silence as we watched them descend to the water searching for small surface fish for breakfast.<br><br> This time, we noted the date 2/14/22 engraved on one of the canons. We wondered what century it pertained to, 18th, 19th? The view today was just as beautiful. We tried to envision what it was like with a fleet of enemy ships rounding the headland and coming under fire from the semi circle of canon run out and fired by sweating Dutch soldiers. The acrid smell of gunpowder would be hanging in the humid air. The lethal grape shot, from the enemy ships, must have caromed off the masonry with deadly effect, the hapless gunners cut down in mid stride, like Peter Stuyvestant. And now, all lay quiet in the morning sun. We stopped for designer water, at Divi, and then ambled back to the hotel for a breakfast of vegetarian omelets on the ocean terrace. It was a routine we were happily getting used to.<br><br> After getting settled at the pool, we walked along the beach into Phillipsburg, noting the beach bars and restaurants that were all so uncharacteristically quiet. There was only one cruise ship in port today. Most of the floating monsters were homeport bound with their complement of shopped out and sunburned passengers.<br><br> The shops were all closed in Phillipsburg. We ambled about noting the large number of locals who had gathered in front of the Burger King to swap stories and socialize. I wondered at some far distant island descendant, making historical reference to some Concordia or other that been negotiated in the “Grand forum of the burger king” on St.Maarten. Maybe the Roman Senate was just another fast food joint of its time that had been “gilded by history” into something grander than what it was. That is part of the trouble with the tropics, you get to day dreaming about all sorts of things that have no bearing on absolutely anything.<br><br> The walk back along the beach was just as pleasant. We swam in the pool for a few hours getting bolder with the sun daily. Lunch on the terrace (Grouper and salad) was pleasant as the day heated up. Finally, we retreated to the room in mid afternoon to chat with Mr. Nelson and read for a time. ( 1st to die- J.Patterson)<br><br> At 5:00 P.M. another thunderstorm crashed across the bay. We watched and delighted in the arc of the rainbow that spread across the bay. The colorful arc was green on the bottom, yellow on top and red in the middle where the colors merged. It shimmered in the after-rain sun and then faded in the mist. We showered and readied for our last evening at Great Bay. In the Chrysalis room, we joined the Browns for a glass of wine and then met up with Tim and Liz Snow, of Montreal. We joined them for dinner in the third floor formal dining room. Fruit cocktail, Caesar salad, an elegant swordfish dinner, pecan pie, with a few bottles of cote du Rhone and some great coffee, made for a wonderful meal. We were “manning the pump.” The hotel had put on some island dancers and music for our entertainment.<br>We clapped politely and smiled. Everyone has his or her rice bowl to earn.<br><br> The Casino attracted us one last time and we played the slots actually winning for a change. I settled up our bill at the lobby desk, to avoid the mass confusion of tomorrow. We returned to our room to start packing and readying for departure tomorrow.<br><br> In Israel, a suicide bomber had just killed nineteen innocents in an act of calculated madness. It was the real world intruding on paradise. <br><br>Saturday. 3/30/01 St.Maarten, Dutch Antilles<br><br> We were up early this morning at 5:30 A.M. Another 4 masted windjammer was moored at anchor in the bay. We watched the huge Carnival cruise ship arrive, as she made a slow and stately entrance into port at 6:15. It was cloudy and warm out.<br><br> We had coffee by the pool and set out early for our last walk into Phillipsburg. We were checking out this morning to move up to Orient Bay. The monkey peeked out at us from his shed and the roosters were crowing to beat the band. The shops were all closed at this early hour, so we walked again through town to the main square and the small Marina. On the beach, we collected a few shells, as we walked back towards the hotel. There was always something going on in the harbor for the eyes to drink in. It had been a good week here on Great Bay, but we were ready to move on.<br><br> Breakfast, at 8 :00 A.M. was already crowded with those unfortunates who must head for the far frozen north today. We met and talked with several people whom we had spent time with over the last week, wishing them a safe journey. We returned to our room to pack and get ready to check out. I ordered a cab for 11:30 A.M to ferry us up to orient bay on the French side.<br><br> Nathaniel Wyatt, a prosperous, native islander ferried us around the island’s narrow roads, in his immaculately kept six passenger cab.($25) He lamented the driving habits of some of the islanders, calling them “Haitians.” According to the natives, no one in Haiti owns an automobile and therefore has no conception of any “rules of the road.” So, those who emigrate to St.Maarten and drive a cab for a living become swash-buckling road warriors who do pretty much what they please when driving, much to the consternation of the other drivers.<br><br> Thirty minutes later, we were standing in the airy and attractive lobby of the Hotel Mont Vernon, in the French cul de sac, on Orient Bay. The hotel is built into the hillside, on several levels, starting with the lobby and dining complex on the top of the rise. Then, 12 three story complexes of rooms, named after different Caribbean islands, stagger down the hillside to the pool, and beach level complexes. The entire hotel had just undergone a seven-month refurbishment. The fresh paint and green-colored, copper, roofs sparkled attractively in the tropical sun.<br><br> We checked in and were assigned chambre # 3211 in the Aruba building. Conrad, the porter, ferried our bags to the room level with a small truck, as Mary and I descended two sets of steps to reach the room. It is large and attractive, with a deep balcony that looks out upon the ocean and rocky promontory below us. The visage was natural and quite beautiful. We unpacked and settled in. Thus ensconced, we decided to reconnoiter the complex. <br><br> Off the main lobby is a bar area. Through it, sits a dining complex for both breakfast and dinner.(petit de jeune & Diner) A small notions shop is just off the lobby. We stopped in to pick up some snacks, a bottle of wine and some designer water.<br><br> Next, we walked down several more sets of steps to the poolside complex. Three contiguous pools, of progressive depths, are surrounded by a huge, hard-wood deck. It is flanked on the beach-side by a pool bar and lunch area. The rest of the large area is surrounded, on the periphery, by a shaded roof, with chairs underneath to escape from the fierce tropical sun. The beachfront area is immediately below and adjacent to the pool. We settled in for lunch, poolside at “Le Sloop” and ordered, in our best French, sandwiches and French fries, with iced tea from Zina, the pleasant island waitress. The food was both fresh and tasteful. ($23) After lunch, Mr. Nelson called us, so we returned to the room for a wonderful mid-afternoon nap.<br><br> Later that afternoon, we ventured down to the beach. The rollers here are powerful as they crash upon the white-sand shore. The beach is wide and flatter here than at Great Bay. We set out for the 2-mile walk up and down this famous beach. The Mont Vernon end of the bay has much rougher surf and is less crowded. As you walk further along, the Tiki, Kontiki, Waikiki, and other beach resorts get more crowded. Each has its own distinctive colors for beach umbrella and chairs. You can see collections of maroon, bright green, blue, and yellow umbrellas, delineating the beach boundaries of the various complexes. Para sailors floated overhead, dragged by powerful motor craft and the ever-present wave runners roared by like angry hornets. Scores of bathers frolicked in the surging surf.<br><br> At the far end, of the wide crescent of Orient beach, lies a clothing optional resort named “Orient Bay Beach Club.” In this arena, anything apparently goes. The folks lie starkers in the sun, walk around that way and indeed take their meals “au naturel,” if they so chose. Different things for different people I guess. <br><br> Later, we stopped by the lobby to send out a few internet messages and enjoy the warm, evening air. We sat outside the lobby, on a bench, looking far off to the twinkling lights of passing vehicles on the main road in the distance, enjoying our good fortune in being here. Then, we returned to our room for a glass of wine on the balcony, to watch the ocean, read for a time and turn in. It had been another long day in paradise. In the real world, the Queen Mother had died in England at age 101.<br><br><br><br><br><br>
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