Every island in the Caribbean has its own cultural flavor and quirky norms, a personality all its own. Sint Maarten/St. Martin, split down the middle, has two. The Dutch side on the south portion of the island is a bit audacious, with high-rise hotels, free wheeling casinos and dozens of American-style restaurants and sports bars. The French part of the island, filling the north, is more demure. Its gentle hills roll out country charm. The border between the two counties is an invisible line, guarded only by goats and trees; the two ends marked with signs heralding, “Bienvenue a St. Martin.”

The main town of Marigot throbs with activity. Parisian-style shops sell wild and crazy clothes, jewelry, shoes and skimpy swimwear. Really skimpy. Scattered between them, patisseries and cafes cloud the streets with delectable smells.
My favorite part of Marigot is down by the waterfront, where a large open market of tiny alleyways thread between busy stalls. From them flow dancing pareos and dresses, hand-crafted jewelry, carvings and bright metal sculptures. Tropically painted bottles of spiced rum nestle beside handmade island dolls, all wearing the madras colors of the French West Indies.

Two days a week an extra layer of vendors appear, selling fruits and vegetables. Their presence unleashes a crayon box of earthy hues into an already colorful market. Curry gold, nutmeg brown,
papaya yellow and mango orange lay on top of one another in carefully built piles. Fresh off the boat from Guadaloupe and Dominica, shoppers find sugar apples, soursops, bluggo, tamarinds, breadfruit and, as always, an endless collection of roots and tubers known locally as “ground provisions.” Everything is sold “by de heap or de pound.” Several ladies specialize in island-
grown spices and sell them by scoops from plaid bags or tied up in quaint gift packs. Since most of the food on the island arrives in cold storage via large planes or ships, finding vine-ripened produce was a thrill and I happily packed my bags full.

Across from the market a large wooden structure houses a dozen or more small restaurants that wrap around it in a circular fashion. Outside each of them a handmade sign announces the day’s offerings, some combination of chicken, fish, ribs, goat, lobster or shrimp cooked to your preference of grilled, stewed or curried. Side dishes include salads, plantains, beans, rice and, of course, just in case you want them, ground provisions. These tiny eateries overlap one another, each discernable only by the color of their chairs or table cloths. Competition between them is serious yet friendly, and if the hostesses don’t lure you in the aromas and live music will. It’s a perfect place to have a cold drink and watch the commotion of the quay.

Down the street, the island’s most famous artist presents his collection of work in a historic house. Roland Richardson, the “father of Caribbean impressionism,” is best known for his images of the bright, blooming, flamboyant trees. His calming work and the house itself give visitors a glimpse of simple island life.

Beaches on the French side are spectacular, and because they lay on the windward side of the island offer spots for windsurfing, para-sailing, boogie-boarding and wave jumping jet skiing. Orient Bay, the best and biggest, started years ago with one business that gave the place the name, “nude beach.” That official clothing-optional section lies at the east end and is now dwarfed by a mile of wooden beach businesses selling and renting everything you could possibly want or need for a day in the sun.

Our all-time favorite place in French St. Martin is the Lolos in Grand Case, the local equivalent to fast food. Decades ago we stumbled on this group of wooden shacks perched above the beach, selling ribs and chicken grilled in crudely fashioned barbeques made from 50-gallon drums. Seating was on wooden crates and boxy stools. Cold drinks came out of old fashioned dented metal coolers. They were the inspiration for many of Bruce’s paintings.

Sadly, two whopper hurricanes swept those buildings into the sea. The government stepped in, built a cement foundation, added facilities for running water and bathrooms and now leases out spaces so the Lolos live on. We found them this winter in their transformed state, when we were touring the island with our son, Kess. The busiest two were Talk of the Town and Sky’s the Limit. Before we had a chance to declare our “final answer” we were scooped up by an animated West Indian woman, seated at one of the blue picnic tables, handed menus and offered drinks. She answered our questions with a warm bantering, each ending with her full laughter that ran like backup to the loud reggae music.

The food smells wafted over from the outdoor barbeque and a row of stainless steel chafing dishes, causing us to change our order repeatedly until we were after the largest plate called Ribs Food. “Ribs” she explained, “is diff-rent. Ribs is ribs. You wants to have de food dat go wit it? Dat Ribs Food. Dat de best. It got it all.” It was big and it was good. So good, in fact, that 24 hours later we found ourselves in her care again, filling ourselves with laughter and authentic Caribbean cuisine. The Lolos are one of the few places in St. Marten where the Euro and the dollar are considered equal, making it an even better deal.

Through the winter on Tuesday nights, the town of Grand Case closes its one little road for Harmony Nights. The place fills up with artists, musicians, drummers, dancers and street vendors who are joined by tourists, locals, ex-pats and anyone looking for a good time. Now who, I wonder, on the island with the split personality doesn’t fit that list?

Check it out at www.grandcase.com.

Jan