So many people visit St. Marten for just one day that together they could fill a world-class cruise ship … or two, three, sometimes even four or five a day. Dutch Sint Maarten is a popular stop for the behemoth floating hotels and there’s plenty of memory-making, entertaining reasons for it. Ships tie up to the A. C. Wathey Pier, located at the eastern end of Great Bay, open for operation even as it undergoes a major reconstruction. When complete, it will be able to handle the world’s largest Genesis Class mega-ships and passengers will be able to shop, taste and experience an isolated piece of the island the minute they step off the gang walk. For the more curious and adventurous travelers, Sint Maarten offers a plethora of delights and activities beyond that pier, something for everyone … from busy kids to serene seniors.

The capital, Phillipsburg, attracts the majority of cruise guests, a plus for an island fraught with frequent traffic congestion. No driving necessary. Instead, passengers hop on one of the 40-foot canopied tenders that run all day from the pier to two convenient spots in town, delivering and collecting guests along the way.

The town’s long, curved beach underwent an amazing transformation after two deadly hurricanes wracked the island in the late 1990s. Before that, no one paid the beach much mind. It was flanked by rear-facing buildings, their business doors open to Front Street instead. Now, though, the beach is the main event here, with a wide, mile-long and artfully decorated boardwalk tying it to restaurants, shops and the town beyond.

Early each morning, workers appear, raking and cleaning the sand before setting up neat rows of white lounge chairs, covered in bright cushions and shaded by a rainbow of umbrellas. Each of these beach businesses offers a special deal: $10 for a chair and umbrella; two chairs and a shower for $15; two chairs and two cold beers for $10. Jet skis, kayaks and snorkel gear are available to rent and the roped off swimming area has sunning docks and trampoline platforms.


The boardwalk is a hive of activity with its own array of offerings. If simply strolling isn’t your thing, visitors can ride a pedal-powered rickshaw, rent a bike or even traverse the boardwalk on a Segway … after a training session, of course. Sandwich boards line the walkway, displaying menus, prices and special deals of the day. Restaurants and bars compete with one another, so lunch and a few drinks ashore are affordable and recommended. Who can resist the aroma of barbequed West Indian ribs, chicken, wahoo or mahi mahi? Many of these establishments have live music, including steel pan players, reggae singers and jazz musicians, all there to round out the Caribbean sensory delight.

St. Marten boasts the best duty free shopping in the Caribbean, and the majority of it is one block off the boardwalk on Front Street, fondly known as “the golden mile.” Dozens of glitzy jewelry stores offer precious gems and chic watches of gold, silver and sterling. Mixed among them are shops selling the latest high-tech gadgets, campy souvenirs, beach attire, cigars, linens, sunglasses, purses, glassware, T-shirts and alcohol. Did I miss anything?

A not-to-miss-spot on Front Street is the Guavaberry Emporium, where the legendary Island Folk Liqueur of Sint Maarten is made, sold and tasted. St. Marten’s national liqueur is a combination of bittersweet guavaberries, cane sugar and oak-aged rum. Another favorite product found throughout the island is the famous Rum Jumbie Liqueur, an exotic blend of aged Caribbean gold rum, spices and tropical fruits sealed into a calypso-clad drummer-man shaped bottle, sporting a hand-painted tropical shirt and straw hat. The liqueur is great, but the bottle is even better.

Housed in an old dwelling, the Guavaberry Emporium is filled with artifacts, photographs and memorabilia detailing numerous centuries and cultures of life on this 37-square-mile island. Photos of the most recent hurricanes are sobering reminders of nature’s repeating influence here. The entrance to the museum holds a great collection of books, maps, license plates and local crafts for sale.


From the center of town, near the historic, Dutch-influenced courthouse, shoppers can wander to Back Street to find the new arts and crafts market, with more islandy jewelry, souvenirs and clothing. The market ladies enjoy a bit of bartering, but do so at your own risk … they won’t let you get away easy.

The official currency of Sint Maarten is guilders, but most places accept U.S. dollars, especially the casinos in town. You’ll hear a medley of languages spoken here, including Dutch, French, Spanish, Creole, Papiamento and, mostly, English.

Just one hot, exhausting day in St. Marten won’t be enough. It will pass all too quickly and you’ll definitely want more. In fact, some cruise ship guests try stretching the day a few minutes too long and can be seen sprinting through town, hoping to make it back to the ship before it blasts its long horn, casts off its heavy lines and heads back to sea. Some have even had to hire a helicopter. You might want to wear a watch … the Gucci one you purchased on “the golden mile,” of course.

Jan

In tiny Jost Van Dyke I purchased an overpriced package of American cheese, eagerly brought it back to the boat only to find that mold had beat me to it. Days later we sailed to nearby Trellis Bay, Tortola, where that same package of cheese was nearly double the price. Though we were cheese-less, I wisely passed it by. It wasn’t as if pizza was on the menu, but our crackers could have used some company. Cheese is, as you can imagine, a handy food on a boat.

But let me digress…

Before our departure from Jost Van Dyke, we were held hostage on Woodwind for two days due to BAD weather that eventually formed into Tropical Storm Olga. Our only entertainment was watching two remoras gobble up the “duck food” we tossed overboard. After Olga left us on a destructive course for the Dominican Republic, a high-pressure system filled our skies with a week of exhaustingly strong wind. It wouldn’t have been a problem if we’d been able to just ride it out at anchor, but we had a plane to meet on December 19th in St. Marten, some 80 miles upwind, due east of the BVI. Our son, Kess, was “comin’ to town.”

From Trellis Bay we battled our way east to Virgin Gorda, a three-hour wet ride that gained us a mere six miles. We wished and hoped with all our might that Mother Nature would cut us a break. On December 14th we took on fuel, water and some comfort foods that might soften the trauma of the beating we were about to begin. Apples, oranges, bread, cookies, chips … but no cheese. The next day, with everything frapped down for sea, we hoisted the anchor and gingerly made our way out of Pillsbury Sound into the Caribbean Sea. The wind was a blustery 25 knots, whipping the seas into an 11-foot frenzy.

The body of water between the Virgin Islands and St. Marten is called Anegada Passage. Within it lies the ship-killing White Horse Reef, Anegada Reef and a lot of traffic passing east and west, some using proper lights, others not. Sailing across it requires extra diligence, a strong stomach and an incentive at the other end. We’ve crossed that notorious stretch of water dozens of times and not once has it treated us well. The last passage west to east last March had “perfect” written all over it until we caught and ate a poisonous ciguatoxic fish that nearly killed us.


Anyone who’s done the Anegada Passage knows its notorious nickname: the “Oh-My-Godda Passage.” But as we lifted the anchor in Virgin Gorda and prepared for the worst, I began to call it the “Oh-My-Gouda Passage.” The incentive at the other end would be seeing our son, but also the fact that we would pull into Dutch St. Marten, row ashore to the store and find rounds, wheels, bits and pieces of new and old Dutch gouda cheese. None of it would be overpriced, none moldy. Just perfectly pleasant, tasty cheese!

And sure enough, after a 30-hour sail that bad dreams are made of, we rewarded our nobly insane efforts with a hunk of the old and a hunk of the new … gouda, that is.

St. Marten is half Dutch, half French. Legend has it the division was created when a Dutchman and a Frenchman decided to walk from a common point around the island in opposite directions. That point would be one border, and where they met would be the other. The Dutchman stopped along the way to enjoy a few drinks and the Frenchman caught up to him all too soon. Thus, the coast of Dutch St. Martin is much longer than French side.

On the Dutch side, you can buy gouda in wax-encased pieces, big and small. Some are almost round and the size of fat softballs. The larger ones are the shape of giant curling pucks, wrapped gleefully in yellow or red cellophane.

In 1995, when we readied Woodwind for the long journey to Washington State, among the medley of canned, boxed and packaged stores we put aboard were two large gouda rounds from St. Marten, nicely dressed in red. We imagined how tasty they’d be off the coast of Panama, Costa Rica, Nicaragua and points north. Somewhere in the 54 days it took us to make our way from Costa Rica to Washington, we pulled out one of those larger-than-life cheese wheels only to find that … you guessed it, mold had beaten us to it! We didn’t toss them away, though, in case we had a breakdown that sent us helplessly to China. Instead, we wrapped them back up and tucked them away.

Months later, after our return to Gig Harbor, Washington, and after ol’ Woodwind had a long dockside rest, we started emptying the boat. We’d disposed of those gouda rounds upon our return, but somehow they’d left their mark in all too many of the boat’s nooks and crannies. It was a cheesy mess that taught us one thing … always buy the old cheese, not the young.

Three decades ago when Bruce wrecked his 26-foot Seabird Yawl, Rocinante, just outside English Harbor, Antigua, a crowd of sainted friends came to his rescue and helped salvage every possible item from the coral-pierced hull. The next morning, on the lawn of the proper English Harbor laid his tiny world of possessions, among them a two-kilo round of gouda cheese in damp yellow cellophane.

One might wonder what’s Caribbean about Dutch cheese, and the answer can be found on the six Caribbean islands with ties to Holland: Aruba, Bonaire, Curacao, Saba, Statia and St. Marten. Each is full of Holland-produced products that include every kind of food imaginable, Delft Blue China and, of course, Heineken Beer. In St. Marten, the streets bear Dutch names and walking down them visitors are sure to hear the Dutch language spoken by the proud people who run and manage this efficient, entertaining, buzzing half of the island.

Jan

There isn’t a thing that hasn’t been written about the venerable Foxy Callwood of the British Virgin Island’s fourth largest island, Jost Van Dyke. Not enough, though, has been printed about a project underway there that began some years ago as a dream in Foxy’s lyric-writing, forward-thinking head. That dream is growing larger every day right in his own backyard.

Foxy, who’s fifth-generation born on this tiny island, remembers a different time. His schooling on the island lasted until seventh grade, when, according to him, “It ran out,” and he was turned loose into a world of men, young and old, plying the waters of the Caribbean. “I wark on de botes, sailin to Sen Thomas,” he says. “We take dem cows, goats, chickons, what eva we had to sell. De market was dere wid da butcher. Sometimes we haul charcoal dat was made right ere.” Trade with the U.S. Virgin Islands ended abruptly, though, when the FDA banned the import of BVI livestock. “Dey say our cows got a disease and we can’t take dem dere any more,” Foxy explains. With a sly smile he adds, “But dose people, dey could come ere and eat beef.”

Some of the boats he worked on were a design referred to as Tortola Sloops, built of wood and common lines; rough and rugged work boats. Time, lack of maintenance, storms and the introduction of modern construction materials slowly took down the fleet.

Perhaps because of his upbringing, or simply his love for fine traditional vessels, Foxy began a wooden boat regatta that last May celebrated its 25th year. When the event began in the 1970s, most yachts, private and charter, were built of wood and many of them were beauties. It was common for upwards of 70 of them to show up for the annual race. Last year there were around 25 participants, and although the numbers have declined through the years, enthusiasm runs as strong as ever.

Foxy and his wife, Tess, recognized a few years ago that something was missing from the regatta; there were no island boats involved. To fill the void, they tried resurrecting a Tortola Sloop, but to no avail. Next, they started building a 20-foot island boat, but stopped early-on, knowing what they really wanted was a boat that could sail in their race, as well as other races held in the Windward and Leeward Islands. The idea of something bigger, stronger, faster began to take shape.


That vessel, now nearing completion behind Foxy's Tamarind Bar, is a JVD 32 Sloop, the first large boat built on Jost Van Dyke in modern memory. Named Endeavor II, in honor of one of the Tortola Sloops, it is being built with modern tools and construction techniques, using wood and epoxy. The design came from sketches compiled by a group of local men, all possessing deep knowledge of the island sloops and local waters. The culmination of their work was sent to Nova Scotia, where naval architect Dr. Mark A. Gammon pulled their creativity together into a hull that encompasses the traits and character of a traditional BVI sloop. (Photo: Foxy, on the right, shows off Endeavor II to an old friend.)

Funding for construction began with random grassroots contributions. Soon, the project was enveloped by the Jost Van Dyke Preservation Society, a non-profit organization officially formed in 2003 to increase awareness of the history, culture and environment of the tiny island.

Another piece of Foxy’s dream was to give back something to the youth of his island. Building Endeavor II, therefore, was placed in the hands of local interested students, directed and supervised by knowledgeable boat builders, shipwrights and mentors. When completed, it will be used as a sail training vessel.

When we returned to Jost Van Dyke in November, Endeavor II’s hull sat upside down, planked and sheathed. A pile of Douglas-fir lay under a roof beside it, destined to become the mast and booms. Bruce was invited to guide that project, working alongside 19-year-olds Duane Donovan and JV.

Bruce consulted with boat building friends in Washington, made numerous sketches and came up with a plan for a 48-foot hollow tapered spar. Some of the power tools we carry on Woodwind were hauled ashore to supplement those in the shop and the teaching and work began.


After building a straight and solid workbench, Bruce showed Duane and JV how to rip down and plane the boards. With that accomplished, they sorted and scarfed the boards (joined together with a scarf joint), then cut a bevel and taper in one continuous motion. That important cut was “kissed” with the power planer. The four sides would be glued together one by one, forming a box that would then be made round. (Photo: Bruce applies epoxy on one end of the mast, JV on the other, while Duane mixes more.)

On the ninth day, island life dealt a blow. The project ran out of epoxy and it would take weeks for more to arrive … past the time for us to move on. Duane and JV, full of new skill and confidence, would be able to finish the mast and build the booms together, or with help from fellow students returning home from college for the Christmas holiday.

Endeavor II still has many needs. She has to be turned upright, decked and rigged. The ballast keel must be made and attached. The 50-horsepower diesel donated by Volvo will need to be installed. A costly list of sails, running rigging, ground tackle and gear keeps growing. Checking each off the list is dependent on a flow of generous donations.

Visitors to the island are encouraged to visit the project and see for themselves a piece of the past taking shape in the present. To view the project online go to www.sloopnews.org. Donations for American citizens are U.S. tax deductible and gratefully accepted. The Jost Van Dyke Preservation Society also can be reached online.

Jan

Top photo: Inside The Soggy Dollar.
Bottom photo: The crowd starts early at The Soggy Dollar

Sensing that the job of visiting and reporting on a dozen beach bars would be a staggering task … literally … I decided to scale back my quest. There were a few I could eliminate simply by their geographical location, two miles east of our anchorage in Great Harbour, Jost Van Dyke. I checked out Ali Baba’s and A&B, but when I found The Soggy Dollar I knew my search was over. I’d found the best beach bar in the Caribbean; the trophy over the bar told me so.

Bruce and I hiked to its White Bay location and were surprised that at 10:30 a.m. the place was already filing up fast. People were liming on lounge chairs, hammocks and sofas in the cozy foyer. We grabbed two vacant stools at the counter, across from a bartender busily hand-blending drinks. Beside us a sign held names and descriptions of house drink specialties: Mango Madness (made with mango flavored rum); The Nilla Killa (made with vanilla flavored rum); Raspberry Therapy (made with raspberry flavored rum); and Banana Bender (yep, banana flavored rum). Near the bottom of the list was The Painkiller, with the description, “Invented right here.”

Mic, the smiling bartender, continued moving at high speed, pouring mixtures from bottles into cups, then passing the iced mixture from cup to cup without spilling a drop.

“What is that you’re making?” I asked.
“It a Painkilla,” he said, as he ground fresh nutmeg over each.
“You serve a lot of them?” I asked.
“Billions!” he laughed. “I make a tousan evra day!”

We learned that The Soggy Dollar Beach Bar was celebrating its 37th year on this white sand beach. Mic has worked the bar for years as a self-described ambassador. He could have answered my many questions, but he insisted we meet the owner, Jerry O’Connell. “He can tell you evra ting!”

Jerry appeared from the dining room, greeted us warmly and enthusiastically began explaining the long history of the place he and his wife, Tish, purchased in 2005. Until 1997 there was no road connecting Great Harbour and White Bay. The Soggy Dollar got its name because anyone who went there did so by swimming or boating to the beach. They often bought their drinks with wet money … soggy dollars. Guests came ashore precariously, and so did all the food and supplies.

Decades ago, when Daphne Henderson invented the popular Painkiller cocktail, the island had no electricity. Since then, each owner of The Soggy Dollar has continued Daphne’s tradition of serving blended drinks sans blender. Amplifying the simplicity, there are no lit advertising signs around, no TVs, nothing that makes an invasive noise. Just pleasant island music and a smiling, industrious crew serving beach customers at the bar, restaurant and gift shop, and guests at the adjoining Sandcastle Hotel.

Jerry took me on a tour of the tiny hotel of four octagonal cottages and two rooms behind. The cottages are pristine white inside with elegant tropical ambiance. Each has several shelves holding assorted books, but no phones, TVs or radios, in an effort to create a total escape. Guests have the use of kayaks and snorkeling gear and the staff will arrange day trips; but as their brochure tells you: Serious relaxation is the primary activity at Sandcastle. “The hotel gets a lot of repeat customers,” Jerry told us.

The restaurant has a weekend barbecue and throughout the week serves breakfast and lunch, offering local specialties like conch fritters, chicken roti, calaloo soup and their trademark flying fish sandwich. The evening chef prepares a four-course candlelight dinner for an intimate crowd.

In 2005, The Soggy Dollar was voted best beach bar in the Caribbean in an online contest sponsored by All At Sea magazine and Mt. Gay Rum. The polling territory ran from Venezuela, up the Windward and Leeward islands, beyond to Bermuda and the Bahamas. Mt. Gay presented the winner with a full-on extravaganza that packed the entire beach.

The Soggy Dollar’s character is different from other beach businesses on the island. Guests aren’t allowed to pen their names on the place or hang their worn T-shirts from the rafters. The base of the bar is a long hand-painted mural sitting in a manicured, colorful setting. Jerry pointed to the roof beams bearing uniform patches. “After 9/11, people began to leave their patches. Police, military, firemen. Some send them back after they’ve been here. They’re held with snaps so we can take them down each year to clean them.”

At the edge of the bar hangs a pad of large, hand-gridded paper where customers can leave their name, a message and pre-paid drinks for friends coming behind them. “Most of those go unclaimed,” Jerry told us. Bruce joked, “You mean, we could tell you we’re Ted and Barbara Johnson and collect the two Painkillers left by Dan and Sue?” Jerry laughed. “I guess so.”

“Over there,” he said, pointing to a shade tree where two youngsters were tossing a ring on a rope, aiming for a hook on the tree, “the first ring game was invented right here.” He disappeared into the gift shop returning with a ring game kit. “You can take one home with you. I can’t keep these things stocked.”

A customer nearby handed me the Sandcastle journal, full of comments confirming that this tiny piece of paradise was near perfect. My favorite read: “The Sandcastle, where every urban care and hassle slide like the tide into the Caribbean.” Now, that person knew how to take back his vacation!

If you can’t make the trip to Jost Van Dyke this year, you can join the Soggy Dollar Bar Painkiller Club online. Fill out the application to become a card-carrying member, which entitles you to some humorous free perks, a cool blue wrist band and a peek at this sunny place for shady people.

Jan