Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Later, after clearing with customs, I walked about and took in some of the town. St.
Maarten was an interesting island. It was a part French and part Dutch protectorate, and the
two different cultures could clearly be felt. In Philipsburg, one could find the civic center,
where all legal formalities were taken. It was where the government buildings were situ-
ated, as well as the airport and all associated harbor officials. It was also a tax haven, and
all sorts of goods could be purchased there for a fraction of the common market price. It
encouraged a lot of travel trade as well as the arrival of nefarious sharks that inevitably
would follow. As for society and her inevitable parasites, it was more than just a rumor
that the mafia was well established in town.
I bought a tape deck and several cassette tapes for Déjà vu. I welcomed the music and
wondered why I had not installed a tape player sooner; I could be such a slow learner.
Exploring the main road through Philipsburg, I passed several fine-item and liquor stores,
all duty free and busy with tourists. One could purchase watches, cameras, electronics, and
jewelry from all parts of the world as well as expensive fur coats, designer clothing, and
fancy, crocodile skin shoes. Obviously, if one dug a little deeper he or she could find any-
thing money could buy.
There were little white buses everywhere, and for a minimal fee they could be taken any-
where on the island. The locals were comprised of the original African Negros that were
brought across to work the sugar cane plantations as well as a multi-national contingent of
French, Dutch, and other Euro ethnic ne'er-do-wells. It seemed by and large that if all else
failed, one could always get by somewhere in the Caribbean, and a lot of trash ended up on
these shores. That being said, there were a lot of wonderful people who lived there as well.
There was a strong Rastafarian influence from neighboring Jamaica; one could always tell
from their wild, unkempt dreadlocks and “Hey mon!” accents. They had an unhealthy at-
titude towards anything Western and were quite vocal about expressing it; although, iron-
ically, they never tired of the Western money that would accompany the Western travel-
er. They were not good for business there in St. Maarten but were accepted grudgingly as
part of the culture. However, the police would declare war on them and search out the hills
where these black hippies would be hiding.
There were several restaurants and hotels right on the beachfront creating an ideal holiday
atmosphere, and as I ambled along taking in all these new sights and sounds, I felt quite
thrilled to be there. The world was opening up to me, and I was taking it all in eagerly.
I rowed back to my boat and spent the rest of the afternoon tidying the messy cabin, putting
things back in order, and cleaning up spilled food from my rough passage. One particular
chore caused me a lot of embarrassment, and it could have resulted in a hefty fine or my
being asked to leave the island. While I was cleaning out the main bilge, I noticed with
