April 7--At Sea, St. Maarten, St. Thomas

Yeah, I kind of skipped yesterday. And the day before, too—but during sea days I mostly eat, drink, read, walk around, and watch people. Not too exciting.
Yesterday I was exhausted from the snorkeling and the walking, so now it’s Wednesday noon, I just got back from shopping in St. Thomas, and I’ve about a half hour before I need to go eat so I can be do my next snorkeling adventure.

Yesterday we got to St. Maarten around eight am. I had gotten up early to eat and be ready, and to see us get into port. St. Maarten is a mountainous island; when I first got to the observation deck I saw a low mangrove island and thought that was it (it turned out to be Anguilla), until I saw the mountainous island up ahead. I thought the islands might be volcanic, but the bit of rock I saw looked very sedimentary. I guess it could be both, with ash/lava flows being laid down over centuries, but it might also have been limestone. Something else for me to look up when I get a chance.

I got off at the stroke of 8am to look for my group (which wasn’t to meet until 8:15, but you know me) and wandered around for 20 minutes until I found my group. It turns out that two groups got merged into one big one, so we all marched off to the water taxi dock to get onto the boat.

I was only a bit pushy and wound up at the front of the right-hand side of the catamaran; I thought about going into the netting, but it looked like it had a weight limit, it was full of kids, and I was happy playing figurehead where I was.
We took off (no sailing this trip) to the snorkeling place two bays over. I hopped into the water at the other end of the boat (no ladder for me!) and the water was wonderful! Just cool enough to be refreshing, and the color of the water was astonishing. Just lovely blues and greens (I still have never seen a color like that of the ocean far out at sea—a royal purple that is just mindblowing to me), although the coral underneath had been beaten to hell. There was some live coral here and there, brain coral and some softer corals, and there were some fish. I have to say, I’ve seen better around Key West, although I suspect this place gets enough traffic that it’s better to keep the crowds (who will be impressed by anything) here and keep the other pristine places more pristine. We did see a turtle, and our guide grabbed him for a closer look; he was about the size of a dinner plate, and not happy at all—when the guide turned him loose, he took off for the territories at a high rate. There were also two wrecks: one with little left other than the engine and some beams, and the other a near-complete sailboat (plus two truck chassis that somehow ended up nearby). Both were in about 15 feet of water, and I could dive down close enough to touch them (although I didn’t—I didn’t want to disturb any coral or anything). I spent more time bobbing happily in the water on my own than I did following the guide around, and I really didn’t want to get out of the boat. But I did.

Then the rum punch was handed out (I didn’t want any) and we took off for a short trip around the south coast of St. Maarten. West past the industrial bay (where the island’s diesel (I think) generator was located) to another more populated bay, around the boats anchored there (ranging from megayachts to small catamarans) and back. The guides were trying their best to be happy and get everyone singing and such, but we were a bunch of party-poopers and most didn’t go along. We didn't get near the airport--you want to see something amazing, go to YouTube and watch the videos of the planes landing at the St. Maarten airport--they literally are just feet above the beach on approach. People get knocked over by the exhaust. Not that we got that close, but still.

After we got back, I showered, grabbed a quick burger, and caught a water taxi to Philipsburg (since I didn't want to walk through the construction). I wanted to go to Marigot, on the French side (the island is peacefully divided between the Netherlands Antilles and France), and caught a very scary private van. There’s legions of these things, and you just wave them down wherever, pay your fare (I paid $2, although I think St. Martaan natives paid a dollar—everything is in American currency on the Dutch side), and hang on. I was sitting next to the driver, and saw a part of the island that I don’t think tourists necessarily see. Although, since there’s only one road, maybe they do. It’s a scrubby island, not forested or jungled or anything, and whatever was level had houses on it, in various states of disrepair.

The French side was little different, although the houses had more of a “New Orleans/Key West” vibe, and everyone spoke French and the prices were in Euros (none of which I had). The “high” point was probably when I went into a VERY small store a block off the waterfront looking for a Pepsi. I didn’t find one, but I did find some incredibly old cans of fruit cocktail that were swollen to the point of explosion. Just think, all the botulism you can ever want for 1.49 euros! I wandered a bit around the port (it was hot and people drive like maniacs—which is true all over the island), and then caught a more bus-like bus to go back, in which I believe a group of French-speaking schoolgirls kind of made fun of me a bit, since I don’t think tourists much take these things. They were talking in French, and then one started saying “Ooh, the dump, beautiful! Ooh, the Home Depot, beautiful!” I ignored them, and they stopped. Eventually. I was tempted to say something back to them in French, but I thought discretion was the better point of valor. And I thought my accent would just make them laugh more.

After I got off the van back in Phillipsburg, I tried shopping. Very hard sell, very expensive, and other then some free “sunset topazes” and two Cokes I bought nothing. Then back to the ship to watch for late-comers, where I talked to a pool attendant who was VERY unhappy that the Independence was going to be based in Southampton permanently after this trip. Between simply not being in the Caribbean anymore, and the fact that they get paid in dollars so they get to lose money on the exchange rate, people aren’t happy. I was exhausted, so I watched St. Maarten vanish into the dark (along with another island, the name of which I don’t know, but which I called Bali Hai because that’s what it looked like—I’ll have to look it up later), then ate, and then went to sleep. I didn’t sleep well, for whatever reason; I kept dreaming that the ship was really pitching and tossing and then bad dreams and oh well. Hopefully I’ll sleep better tonight.

I woke up early again this morning to St. Thomas. Not as mountainy, but otherwise it looks similar. And when I took a group taxi to Charlotte Amalie, the shopping district was very much the same. I got there before everything opened, which gave me time to find a Pepsi and an Internet café and check my mail (I had tried to check it on the ship, but between the program hanging and the huge delay, I wound up paying lots of money for almost no access—grr. ). Then I dodged barkers trying very hard to drag me into their shop and did a bit of buying—I now have ammolite earrings, a lammonite necklace, two rainbow topazes (I think), a shell and bead necklace, a pearl pendant, and a whale tail pendant (other than the first two and the last, these were free—trying to get me to buy something in their store by giving away free stuff—yeah, that’ll work), plus a headache and a hatred of barkers. I figure getting out of here for $50 isn’t bad. I am upset that they didn’t have bamboo sheets in full size, since they felt amazing. I’ll have to look online. Another taxi back, a bit more shopping, and now I’m going to get dressed, grab another hamburger, then off to snorkel again!

And now it’s later. I was a bit tired before the snorkeling, but we all trooped down the (very hot) dock and sidewalk to the catamaran. It was run by three guys in their 20’s (who all looked exactly like stereotypical California beach bums) and one older guy. We headed out, after I parked myself in roughly the same place in the boat. The wind had picked up (it seems to be calmish in the morning, blow like bloody hell around noon, die down again later in the afternoon, and then pick up again after dark—it’s done that both yesterday and today) and since they’d put both sails up we were moving right along, and I was only a bit concerned about flipping. We also had some serious swells, that hit us sideways and didn’t help my fear of the pitching. But we got to a little island off the coast just fine, and pulled into a sheltered bay (I was worried, and quite glad that I didn’t take the other tours I was considering, since both would be open to the wind and probably didn’t go well). I got to jump into the water from higher up (whee!) and saw, among other things, another shipwreck, a few fish, and a bunch of squid about a foot long that stopped when they saw me (I was wondering whether little squid ever attacked everyone), then turned purple and fled. They really did turn purple—it was cool! I didn’t want to get out of the water (again); I think in Labadee I won’t go on the snorkeling, since it’s not supposed to be that good anyway, and just float in the water like a seal. And if I burn myself to a crisp, hey, it’s the last shore day.

On the way back things weren’t nearly as windy and wavy, and I could look at the island. Lots of houses on the scrubby hills, which all cost more than I’ve made in my whole life. And I finally saw a flying fish! I’ve been looking for them while we were cruising, since last year they were jumping all over the place to get away, and haven’t seen any—maybe we’re too big, or they just don’t hang out in this water. It’s good to see one. And I also spent a lot of time staring at the water as it went by—again, I just can’t believe the color.

I got back on the ship, showered, and then headed to the top deck to look at the harbor. It had filled up with anchored sailboats, and the sun was setting and lighting up the hills and the whitewashed houses, and it’s good that I didn’t discover this place before I got cats or I’d be moving here. Oh well. It’s lovely, but too far away, like Hawaii was. When the ship pulled out, we kicked up a lot of sand, which made me wonder just how deep the water was that we were in (our draft appears to be around 90 feet, if I’m reading the marking correctly—which I may not be, because that sounds like way too much). We also got perilously close to some sailboats when we were backing up—yes, backing up to turn around like an incredibly huge bus.

And then I went to the spa. I had made an appointment for a “Happy Hour”, which included a back/shoulder rub, a facial mask, a foot massage, and a scalp massage. It was lovely, particularly the backrub, well worth the hard-product-sell that my therapist tried to do. I looked fascinated and nodded and then threw out the list after I left. It was interesting that she told me, among other things, that people with type O blood should stay away from dairy and wheat and ham (?) but that we can eat all the meat we want. That’s actually sort of what I’ve figured out myself is best for me—hmmmm.

Then I ate dinner, watched the lights of St. Thomas a bit as they receded slowly—very slowly; I don’t know how we’re going to stall getting to Puerto Rico—hell, you can practically throw a rock from St. Thomas and if the wind is right you can hit PR with it—but we’re just meandering along with about eight hours to kill and not far to go at all. Some serious swells, but luckily I don’t get motion sick. I’m trying to decide if I want to go to the Adult Dance Party or just go to sleep. It’s a tough choice.