Finally - time for St Barths! I woke up excited, having planned this for a while, so I packed my things and hurried along to the mini mart nearby to get a quick breakfast before getting the bus to Marigot ferry port. When I looked out the mini mart door, a saw a little four-legged creature with ears pricked, waiting patiently for me. Polly... go home!! Please sweetie!
I managed to shake her and keep going to the ferry, getting there just before a huge group of Frenchies booking in. The fare was on sale for the Carnaval period, just $55 including taxes, so something I could afford. Had a budget and all that, and actually ended up sticking to it!
I used all my money renting and putting a deposit down for a scooter, to get myself around the island on my own timeline. It was the best decision I could've made, although it left me with absolutely no money in my wallet for simplicities such as water. Lucky I brought some things with me and could survive on chocolate wafers and juice. It's actually good she didn't push the 500 euro deposit (just gave her $93), otherwise I'd not have been able to rent anything.
It was apparently one hour to drive around the island so it was no surprise that the first random beach sign I saw, to Anse de Flamands, ended up being at the top end of the island. It was a gorgeous beach, actually, and had a full frontal view of St Maarten from afar. Funny, since I am so used to seeing it the other way around every day at work!
Had a sunbake there, topless of course - I didn't want to be the only one wearing clothes - and then moved on to the next place. No real plan in mind, I just enjoyed scooting around the streets and stopped when I thought something looked interesting. I went to the airport first to see another of the world's most dangerous landing spots. The airstrip materialised at the bottom of a hill and ran right to the beach (Baie de St Jean), where it just turned into sand. No fence or anything. Only light planes could land there but it really didn't leave much room for error - in landing or taking off. And of course there were the tourists, standing right in the middle of the airway, between the "DO NOT CROSS" markers, cameras poised. Sigh.
The next beach I stopped - Anse de Lorient - at had a sweet little alleyway entrance, with a small, all-white cementary edged along the side. The beach wasn't that nice, compared with the others, and had a strong tide warning as well as some seaweed and lots of anchored dinghy boats floating nearby. Not the more desirable environment. So I downed the cheesy puffs I'd stashed from SXM and moved on.
I noticed there were a number of Rastas on this island, like Saba, and they gave me quizzical glances as they spotted my long dreds flowing out of my helmet. But mostly, people didn't really notice you and were more absorbed in getting a tan or looking beautiful. It's hard work, really.
I took the road that wound around the edge of the island, right by the cliff edge, and it was stunning. Jumped off my bike to snap the stuf that panorama wet dreams are made of, and then headed inland to climb some more hills. I thought the sign "Petit Cul-de-Sac" sounded cute, so I ventured there, only to find a small, rough beach by a swamp. It spat a few drops of rain about now as well, hastening my decision-making. Gustavia-bound!
But before I got back to town, I had a couple more places to visit. I don't know why, but I was drawn to the Saline and it turned out to be a hidden gem. With a short hike uphill to then go down into this rather reasonable-size cove, it opened out to a stunning clear blue ocean, with just the right amount of wave. And the obligatory millionaire boat club moored all around.
Again, there were boobs flying everywhere and the sun was shining bright. I didn't think to put on sunscreen in the places I probably should have, and as a result, I didn't have tan marks anywhere above my waist but had quite tender bosoms for a couple of days after. It was reaching the afternoon now and I had to get back to town to give the scooter back before the ferry left. So I bid farewell to the bronzed, super fit couples (that were probably famous in their own countries in their own way), and headed to Shell Beach, my last stop.
I had thought this was the famous beach full of shells they call "The Singing Beach" because the water made a tinkling sound as it rushed over the shells... There were shells but I didn't hear no tinkle. I sat for a bit anyway, reading a mildly inappropriate book for the beach, and then headed back to the rental place to get my deposit back and buy something to drink!
Talking to a nice American couple, they put the idea of icecream in my head so I had to have some. $4.50 later... how I savoured every drop of that one scoop. Then it was through immigration and onto the ferry, where the same host tried talking to me in French and I had to finally admit I couldn't understand him. Embarrassing. But the trip back was beautiful, timed perfectly with sunset so I saw the hills being lit up by the moving sun and the fine mist thrown from the crashing waves create an eery filter through the shadows. My camera was working overtime.
Tonight was my farewell drinks with the guys from work, although I wasn't expecting that many to show up. I was running late, as was everyone else I discovered when I got to Sunset Bar and couldn't find anyone else. J called me and asked where I was, because they had come from work and were waiting by my house. So they came along - just J, R and Re - with D not even getting out of the truck to stay for a drink. That didn't really bother me, he and I weren't really mates. Goodness knows what shit he'll say about me after I leave. Don't care, to be honest.
We had a couple of drinks but then they found something to complain about, as usual. This time it was the food - to expensive there, apparently, so after much unneeded deliberation we went to La Bamba. La had come by this stage so we all got into a bus and stopped by Toppers for one last karaoke song - I did Amy Winehouse's cover of Valerie in honour of my boss' daughter of the same name - then it was back to the beach bar I've sunk many a beer at.
Well, La Bamba was PACKED. I'd never been on a Thursday night before, but they had a DJ playing the whitest music possible... a complete change from Tuesday's salsa night! No wonder white people can't dance, look at the music they're given! Ran into L who was a bit wasted, and had a boogie with the boys from work. Re was funny, kept telling me he loved me and that I shouldn't go... oh Re... what a sweetie. He's funny.
The girls ordered food which took an age to come, and then finally got delivered stone cold. So they were annoyed and left shortly after because they had work the next day. So it was just me and the boys! Then D, who used to work at Seaside, turned up and we had some drinks before she drove us home. L had asked for "one last dance" but considering his state, I thought it was best to let that one pass and just slipped out without saying goodbye. He'd already accidentally body-slammed me when I tried to surprise jump on him from behind.
Also saw the friend of the tattoo artist, who said, "Why didn't you come in to get a tat??" Well, you see, I TRIED but your bullshitting mate didn't make any effort to contact me when I tried two days in a row. I hate that kind of American attitude, all talk, no business. But it's for the best, anyway, I couldn't really afford it. If he REALLY wanted to tattoo me, he could have called me.
It was about 3am when I got home, to get a phonecall from A who somehow knew I would have been out. We spoke for almost an HOUR, god knows how much that cost him, and then I passed out. Game over.
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