Zipping through St Maarten

I woke with a gentle breeze flowing through the windows, the duck down quilt encasing me in a cuccoon of warmth and the mattress below me sunk just that perfect amount to make it feel I was sleeping on nothing at all. By far the most luxurious setting I have woken to in St Maarten, the mansion that my Canadian friend E lives in made up for its eery emptiness in one sweet morning.

Feeling a little sketchy from the previous night's debauchery, we took our time having breakfast and surfing the net. I ran smack-bang into an angry boyfriend, concerned about my behaviour when drunk (long story) but he was drunk this time so probably a bit more animated than he would've been. Eventually he retired to bed and I could get on with my day, hoping to rectify things the next time we spoke.

So today was to be our Loterie Farm adventure day, because our Rock n Roll Rhino tour was cancelled due to lack of numbers. Except that E was held back at the mansion to meet her boyfriend online from England, annoyed that he was taking up so much of the day she wanted to spend hiking and exploring the island with me. I was also getting a bit impatient, not wanting to waste the day, and eventually figured I would have to get to Loterie Farm myself. I was determined to do that zipline!

E dropped me home to shower etc and I called N to see if she was able to come to the farm with her car. After another no, I begrudingly resigned to getting their on public transport, not really my ideal as the hill I have to climb to Loterie Farm is HUGE from the bus stop and in this heat.... grrrrr.

As it happened, as things happen on this island, I ran into a friend on his motorbike who said he was going to the French side and would take me. Yay! Except that he fucks around lik,e an old nanna doing everything, so I had to accompany him to his boss' house (the old English guy from a while back with the speedboat), wait while he changed, then stop every few minutes to get diverted somewhere else - "Oh,I forgot my keys! Shit, we need helmets for the French side! I need to buy a car battery." I felt like we'd never get there.

In the end, I got there. Almost 2 hours after I saw the guy in the street originally. Weaving in and out of traffic, mostly with no helmet on, clutching him for my life (he told me to relax). Craziness. I walked in and was half an hour early for the last zipline ride of the day. The guy at reception gave me an icy introduction and ended up being my guide - this will be fun, I thought.

I tried to warm him up on the truck ride to the peak starting point, and eventually he started to thaw. Turned out to be quite a nice guy, just more reserved and "speak when I'm spoken to" kinda vibe. Built and quite handsome, I was glad I wore the t-shirt most likely to get sweat marks and got all hot from the humid tropical forest around us. Well, I'm not picking him up so really, it doesn't matter. I am still a girl, though, at the end of the day!

I was a bit worried about the zipline, thinking I'd get scared of the heights or burn my hand trying to slow down with my glove on the cable. None of that happened. In fact, I was not one bit worried about how high up I was and picked it up really quickly. It was so fun, whizzing through the trees and looking at the stunning view of the French side of the island. Couldn't look too much, though, or I'd run into the tree at the other end!

The guide ended up being my personal assistant, as I was the only one riding that afternoon. Pretty sweet! I gave him a tip at the end, but I couldn't afford much. I just hate when residents come to ride and don't tip me, so I didn't want to be the same. He offered to give me a lift into Marigot which would save the hills again and just mean a simple bus ride back to my house. Actually, he also offered to let me come back to use the zipline again for free for some exercise on a Sunday. I just may take him up on that!

I'd had a guavaberry colada waiting for him to finish work, and it was awfully sweet so I felt a bit sick afterwards. After all that activity I guess I should have stuck to the water. I laid down on my bed and read a book at home, still a bit shaky from the night before. I called it a night early, cooking dinner and just chilling, even though it was a Friday. Well, I usually just chill on a Friday, hell no to getting loose and having a heavy head on a Satuday at work! We're almost always busy.

A called me in the night, when he'd sobered up, and we talked things through. All is well once again. I'm glad, I hate fighting with him. I think he's the same, so we usually straighten things out fairly quickly. And then it was sleeeeeeeeeeeepy time for me. A nice, quiet night in.

First taste of Carnaval St Maarten

I woke leisurely without an alarm on my Sunday off, the sounds of Christianity already creeping into my eardrums as my old neighbour cranked his wireless with songs of praise. Every Sunday the same thing. I even know the words to some of them now.

First port of call, Seaside for the internet. Ended up running to the shop in the photographer's car to buy more CDs for the burning of the riding photos, which still didn't fix the problem, and there was stress as the bloody taxi drivers still pressured us to let them take the tourists back to town.

With E still incommunicado without phone, I called up La and arranged to meet her near the bus stop to check out the French side. She was unsuccessful in finding a hire car as it's high season, so we grudgingly accepted it was a bus all the way to Grand Case. On the way to the bus stop, we tried one more car rental and succeeded! She took it for 3 days as that was the minimum, me chipping in some money for the first day and petrol, and then she found out there was a "jump up" (bloc party / parade) for the French side pre-carnaval celebrations.

Change of plans!

Off we headed to Marigot to see it kick off, with all the trucks and their huge speaker systems, crazy costumes and locals dressed in stripey rainbow socks dancing around the streets. It was pretty cool. Except for the rude boys. Not cool. Just troublemakers. I wonder how many of them will ever realise the harder they try to be "cool", the more moronic they look.

Everyone from little girls in ripped off the shoulder t-shirts to a single, old white man in a "Stop Killing, Start Living" t-shirt who apparently comes every year and every age in between, everyone was getting into it. There were some groups behind the trucks with banners, I guess different organisations, and then at one point a truck was trailed by the "anything goes" contingent, mainly rude boys jumping about aggressively to the ultra loud soca music blasting from the speakers.

The streets aren't huge in Marigot and I guess they misjudged a corner, but at one point a road sign (probably advertising the tight turn) was lost to the carnaval gods, bent slowly to the ground by a back tire.

In general, the shops and houses in Marigot are much quainter and very sweet compared to the Dutch side, much more character and a definite European influence. Instead of American. Which I am sick of.

As the parade weaved around the streets, we thought we'd seen enuf and headed back to the car. Next stop, Loterie Farm. Hard to access without your own car, I have taken a long time to get there, but today seemed a perfect time. Unfortunately, we were too late for the zipline, and again I missed the opportunity to do it (before I go, please!!), but we got to sit in the well-designed lounge bar in amongst luscious greenery of mango trees and all sorts of local plantings.

The bar was actually the classiest I'd seen in St Maarten - it actually felt more like I was in Santorini than this island - and I got to check out the famed pool that they charge people 20 euros to use. Beautiful, yes, refreshing, surely, but not worth 20 euros. Would be an amazing party venue, though.

During our bottle of Savignon Blanc and tapas (I introduced La, a St Maarten native, to Brie), A called me to update me on all happenings in Melbourne. He's thrown himself into house and job-hunting, respectively, despite my opinion it should be the other way around. I think he's just so sick of moving about and not having "his" own space that right now it's coming ahead of everything else. And I guess he'd feel pretty good about having it all sorted before I arrived - I won't lie, I wouldn't mind it either!

La then dropped me home so I could meet L for a long-planned for drink at one of the Spanish bars in the ghetto he lives in by my house. It wasn't all that exciting actually, I think we went too early but basically it was in the thick of the hills (so glad I had an escort, those streets are confusing!) and belting our music so loud we had to go sit in the carpark next to the rubbish dump to actually hear each other talk. As it was, with his thick Caribbean accent, I had to ask him to repeat himself every sentence.

I just stayed for one beer, it wasn't that interesting and I didn't like that he took me out with no money of his own (still jobless). Yes, OK, beers were only $1.50 but I'm a woman of principle. So I was happy with La called to say she was still keen to go to Boo Boo Jams with S, the bar girl from work. Taking full advantage of having a car, we headed to the French-side bar on Orient Beach (the most well-known beach on the island).

Since they last went, lots had changed. They now charged $5 entry fee and it was an older crowd. The bartender also sucked, actively serving every male around me and blatantly spitting on the "ladies first" general rule of life. Here I was thinking chivalry was not dead on this island.

It was pretty boring, to be honest, and most of the people on the dancefloor were couples doing some brand of salsa. The live band did throw in a couple of Spanish music hits that even I knew, so La and I had a bit of a boogie. Got kinda sick of having gross, fat, older black men asking S and La to dance. Guess I was the unwanted white meat in a black sandwich there. No complaints!

Then we noticed some coloured lights being thrown onto the water by the bar next to us. What's going on there?? Shortly after, I found myself dancing along the sand barefoot with S wearing my flip flops. The music was much better - actually not really the kind I'd usually dance to (pop and dance hits) but just what I felt in the mood for. And I do love dancing in the sand. I still don't know what that place was...

We didn't stay long as La had to work the next day. Fine with me, was just glad to get out on the French side at least once before I go.