The is a preface an appetizer, if you will, of a trip report I will write later this evening if I can stay awake long enough after Maho.

A couple of points:

First (and I say this with the greatest respect and deference) I cannot imagine why anybody would ever, ever, want to go to Philipsburg.

Ever.

I had been advised, or suggested perhaps, that my kids would like an afternoon on Great Bay Beach. We went, and I would not wish this experience on Osama Bin Laden. Every three feet someone is trying to sell you chairs, or jet skis, or Segways. I am not good at crowds, in fact I have murdered a great number of people in crowds like this (oh dear, did I say that out loud?) in the past. So you go to the back street, and hawkers are trying to get you to enter their stores. I have no patience for this whatsoever. Sit on bench, think, think, calm, calm, breathe, breathe, think happy thoughts, no(!) killing. <pause> Though I do buy my best pal a nice Heineken Regatta long sleeve t-shirt at the Shipwreck Store (that Kim had to find lest I kill several bystanders).

I am trying to figure out the whole Philipsburg dynamic without being a completely judgemental [censored]. You are on a cruise ship. You pull into St Martin. Instead of choosing some day trip from the catalogue you think it would be better to shop all day for crap that neither you, nor anybody else, really needs. Have you considered getting a $150,000 Breitling lately? Honestly, you can get it much more easily, unless you’re keen on impressing your newest belle femme by devil-may-carelessly whipping out the black Amex. "And throw in a bag of loose jewels for the lady," you say.

Second, the drive from the pit of hell er, excuse me, “Philipsburg” to Simpson Bay, while congested, is glorious. But you want to be on your game. Traffic alternates between petrified tourists in the largest minivans Toyota has ever conceived, to immortals from ancient mythology who have chosen 2 stroke scooters as their earthly mode of transport.

Third, Sunset Beach Bar. It’s probably illegal to print gold bars made from tourists, but this is precisely what this place is doing. The most expensive drinks on the island, the greatest chance of observing a self-satisfied young lady standing at the bar with her completely non-enhanced frontal units eating french fries and drinking Presidente from the bottle.

I have to lighten up.

A swim at the villa, then napping, Then going to Maho (for the sake of a restless teenager). Probably Mexican food. More later.

This, thanks to adrenaline and Stoli, longer than intended.