Solo in St Martin
I first visited St Martin a year-and-a-half ago, with a group of 12 rowdy friends hell-bent on tearing up the town for a birthday celebration—and tear it up we did. The 34-square-mile island is great for romping around on a celebratory booze cruise, shopping spree or for fine-food binging—especially with a gang of friends or a hot date. But for my most recent trip I traveled alone, as a one-man wolf pack. However, I inevitably came out on top, thanks to an adventurous sense of curiosity and a full tank of gas.
An invisible line divides the island by culture and regulation, with the French claiming the north (St Martin) and Dutch the south (St Maarten)—both prominently defined through language and nationality distinctions. Altogether, the island playground offers a perfect escape route for the BVI resident suffering from a case of island fever or the resourceful traveller looking for a relatively affordable nearby vacation destination. For me, the trip was both work and play related.
The guys at BVI Airways again came through to sponsor my exotic getaway to the “friendly island,” as it’s coined. They suggested I take a quick trip with them on a Saturday morning and leave the following afternoon. I would’ve second-guessed whether the short stay would be worth it hadn’t I taken them up for a 36-hour trip to Dominica in March—and loved every minute of it.
BVI Airways flies in and out of St Maarten’s famous Eduardo Gomes Airport numerous times daily. The popular tourist destination is BVI Airways’ most travelled—and with flights beginning a just more than $100 a round-trip ticket, it’s easy to see why.
On the flight in, I was seated at the front of the plane, directly behind the main cabin, with an ideal pilot’s-eye-view of our take off and landing. When flying into St Martin, it’s always important to have a front row seat. After being airborne for 23 minutes, we descended to the runway and nearly buzzed the heads of a couple dozen tourists on Maho Beach, who were waving and flashing their cameras into the air at the belly of our small prop plane.
From there, I hit the ground running—almost literally—to make the most of my 36-hour tour of the island. I had a few plans mapped out and wanted to do as much as I could in the limited time I had. I rented a car and checked into my room at Sonesta Maho Hotel, which is conveniently situated on the Dutch side of the island, five minutes from the airport, in walking distance from the beach and handful of bars, clubs and casinos.
My first stop was Sunset Bar, which sits perched in a perfect position for eager tourists from around the world to watch and photograph planes, ranging from small props to large jumbo jets, cruise closely overhead. Neighbouring Maho beach was packed with tourists, who lined its sandy shores on the warm and sunny Saturday morning. I have to say, it’s almost more entertaining to watch the tourists literally being blown away from the heavy jet propulsions on the runway than it is to watch the planes themselves.
After a quick lunch, I jumped in my rental car, map in hand, and hit the open road. First stop: the French side’s capitol, Marigot. It’s about a 20-minute drive from Maho bay, through some stretches of open valleys and small villages, before my pleasure-cruise slowed to a crawl just outside the city’s popular shopping district. Although I wanted to stop and shop, the busy scene was a bit overwhelming during the mid-day Saturday hustle.
I detoured to nearby Pic du Paradis—the tallest point on St Martin at 1,400 feet—where I found Loterie Farm, an eco-tourism playground of sorts that crowns the mountain’s lush peak. There, adventure seekers are provided with 135 acres of trails for hiking, and treetop adventure obstacle courses fashioned with zip lines, ladder runs and climbing apparatus.
Operations Manager Pierre Lenoci showed me around the lush property, which is home to exotic vegetation and wildlife, and—most importantly—monkeys! I watched in awe as participants on the “extreme fly zone” course trekked through the physically enduring obstacles, zipping from tree to tree. Although I'm embarrassingly out of shape, Pierre said I would do fine along the course if I wanted a go at it—and I did. However, being a Tortola resident and beach bum, I only packed sandals. Of course, the obstacle course required gym shoes.
I left the fascinating eco-playground with my head hung low but eager for the next adventure, which took me further down the coast of the French side.
From the road, I was drawn to the long, white shores of Orient Bay. As I approached the beach, I could see it was packed, both with cruise ship passengers and apparently guests from a neighbouring resort. As I headed for the shoreline, I would soon get a loud taste of French culture, when I found out that the neighbouring establishment was in fact the world-famous nude resort, Club Orient. I’ve never seen so much flesh bouncing, flopping and generally jiggling in the wind and at play in the sea. I had gone from nature tour to au naturale in an alarming matter of minutes. There are some things in life you just can’t unsee, but when I hit the road and traveled onward to my next destination, I sure did try.
I rounded off my evening with a satisfying steak burger from Burger King, before getting lost on the way back to the hotel. From there, I took a nap and then headed over to Club Bliss, a Miami-style beach bar that packs with the prettiest of locals and tourists looking to tear up the dance floor. I had a couple of drinks and mingled a bit, but the haughty scene was a bit much without a pack of friends close by.
I hit a casino on the way back to the hotel, throwing away a few twenties at the blackjack table, before packing in for the night. The next day, I relaxed by the beach—the clothing-encouraged beach of Maho—before making the short trip to the airport. I lay back on the soft sand and floated in the blue sea, listening to the roar of the jets fly closely overhead. I could see the draw to the popular tourist attraction. It was a relaxing finish to a short but sweet solo trip to St Martin—one I’ll surely do again. Next time, I think I’ll charter a flight with BVI Airways, and pack the plane with, say, a dozen or so of my rowdiest friends.
