Meeting friends

Friday 5th February 2010, day 476, 7,910 miles. 18° 01’.97 N, 063° 05’.11 W Simpson’s Baai, St Maarten.

Monday 15th February, 2010, day 486, 8,124 miles. 15° 17’.19 N, 061° 22’.65 W. Roseau, Dominica.


Meeting friends.

We leave Saba with all the usual regrets, but we have to go to St Maarten, for our other habitual occupation – spending money on Tomia. St Maarten as an island has little to recommend it (well, apart from the usual white sandy beaches, constant perfect weather, blue sea) but it is a centre for yachts, and a good place to kit Tomia out with the various parts and charts she needs.

It is hard to believe the island is under 30 miles from tiny, remote little Saba – as we approach we see hotel tower blocks lining the coast, the peace is shattered by jumbos taking off every half hour or so, there are jet skis, speed boats, themed bars, traffic jams and duty-free shopping malls. Just our sort of place.

A week whizzes by deciding how to spend money, organising people to spend the money, and getting the money spent. A big plus is the presence of a couple of boats with friends on, and several more with new friends – St Maarten is the yachting equivalent of the Hotel Georges V in Paris – sooner or later everybody you know ends up there. We have met some really great people on this trip – you don’t hear much about them because I don’t like posting stuff about other people on the web – but it is such a joy to come into a harbour and find them there.

St Maarten is also a mecca for many of these vast motor yachts. The one thing that strikes me when I look at them all parked up next to each other is that, to want – and to be able – to own several million pounds-worth of gleaming fibreglass, you probably have to be a pretty competitive, coming second is for losers sort of person; someone who thinks that their character is determined by their possessions, and the one who dies with the biggest toys wins. But when you fly down to join your yacht, glowing with the admiration of your family, and bitter envy of your friends, what do you find? Something even bigger and swankier and more gold plated parked next door. Why keep them all together, when everybody bar one is guaranteed to have their nose put out of joint?

We had a couple of trips across the virtual border to St Martin, the French half of the island, to stock up on wine, saucisson and smelly cheeses, and then set off for our next appointment in Dominica, 195miles to the south..

Two lovely sets of people awaited us there – one some Americans who are running a small charity to help schools on one or two of the poorest islands. They work really hard, putting up bookshelves, painting classrooms, giving guidance and support to teachers, as well as channelling thousands of donated books to places where they are needed. They are also excellent company, so it is just splendid to sail into a bay and find them there.

The other people we met came all the way from Waldringfield, travelling in the civilised surroundings of a cruise ship. What glamour and luxury! We are duly impressed, but sorry that their intention to smuggle us aboard for a bath doesn’t come off. How nice to catch up with all the really important gossip about our friends at home – and get an update on The Archers from another aficionado.

Carnival is in full swing – it is Shrove Tuesday, and everybody is saying farewell to the pleasures of the flesh with gusto. We watch the glittering costumes going by, and the floats with troupes of dancers behind, and later in the evening take to the streets ourselves to have our ear drums blasted, and our feet exhausted as we follow our chosen mobile sound system. It is such a good-natured crowd; everybody intent on having a good time, with no aggression or obvious drunkenness. [Though some of us, says Anthony pointedly, dance with an exuberance that is inexcusable if not alcohol fuelled.]

Our time in Roseau is enlivened by one of the boat boys and guides, Pancho, the Rum Tum Tugger of Rastas. He is on a one man mission to make the world a less boring and predictable place, with a cheerfully irreverent attitude to time, plans, speed limits (not that that marks him out around here) and any minor laws that stop him having a good time. While guiding he is endlessly patient and good, light-hearted company, though a little vague on any but the most common birds, but his favourite occupation is chattering away with a can of our beer in his hand, telling stories and screaming with laughter at his punchlines, which normally find him being caught out in some misdemeanour. Not even writing off his car seems to dampen his exuberance – he is a one-off and we shall miss him.