Two dudes, one island

Dude 1

The sun was finally transitioning between oppressive to playful. I sat outside the Vietnamese Supermarket in Philipsburg as I was trying to figure out my way home.

Women drenched in feathers and glitter walked by on the way to their cars after having danced for at least six hours in the sun. The Grand Carnival parade was still blaring on just a few streets over, but I think I officially had my fill.

Now I’m not sure if every Carnival in the Aarribean is like this, but St Maarten Carnival is a nice family affair when compared to the blocco debauchery you’d find in Brazil. I’ll give SXM an honorable mention for the music truly an auditory assault in comparison though. My feet were tired, my ears were raw, and lager was running through me like water at this point.

After asking a couple of locals parked in the lot how to get back, I heard about one of those types of shuttle buses where passengers needed to yell out their stop so I headed in that direction.

It’s either go home now and wind down back home in the Dutch side at the beach, or give Carnival Village one more go since the security guards told me to come back around 4pm. I guess it’s my first real day of vacation so I could muster up the strength to stay a little longer.

So instead of waiting at the bus station, I started walking back to Carnival Village.

As I started heading over, I stopped the first man on the street to make sure I got my logistics set for the night.

“Hey do you know when the bus stops running every night?”

“It should go until about 7pm everyday, but I don’t know if it’s different for Carnival.” He relays before stopping to think more. “I have seen a few buses already though so seems like the regular schedule.”

“I’m going to Carnival Village. What about you?”

“Same. Going to get some food there.”

Usually I expect the next question to be something along the lines of “where you from?” But looks like we weren’t going to do that here. In either case, his open demeanor invited me to come walk with him.

So I start to ask him how his day was in which he tells me it’s been long because he’s a VIP driver for wealthy travelers who come to visit the island. He’s nonchalant in sharing about the clientele and how they’re actually not half bad as people. Julius thinks it’s because they’re already on the island to decompress so try their best not to be assholes while they’re here. Makes a lot of sense.

A few uncs stop him on our way to dap him up, but besides a few stops we finally make it to the Village food booths.

“Well I’m going to grab a beer. Happy to grab you one if you want, but don’t want to keep you if you’re meeting up friends.” I put out into the ether, hoping not to sound needy.

“Oh sure that sounds good. I’m actually here by myself. My sisters told me about a few restaurants to try out while I’m here. Have you ever tried conch?”

“Conch like the shell you blow into? Bet. Let’s do it.”

So we make our way to a busy stall by the gate and put in our order. I get a Creole conch stew and Julius tells me not to be wary of the sticker shock since it’s actually illegal to fish for them in St Maarten so they catch them in Anguilla and ship them here.

The food takes its sweet time to get there while we take our turns buying rounds of Coronitas. Over a span of an hour, more than a dozen people come to greet Julius like he’s Rihanna and he’d just come back to Barbados.

This has to be one of those islands where everyone knows you but also knows your shit.

Julius proceeds to tell me more about his childhood in Curacao and how his family came to St Maarten for more opportunity. We talked through the intricacies of holding Dutch citizenship and his upcoming birthday where he was turning the big 4-0. He showed me pictures of the house in Curacao he was renovating with his girlfriend and his ambitions of going back soon to retire.

Time flies and my watch vibrates to tell me it’s 6:20 and time to go. Julius looks at the crowd that’s grown and says he’l walk out with me. On the way out, two more groups of people say hi to him and shake his hand. Then as we turn the corner, he waves down two women sitting by a food cart in the shade and ushers me to come over.

“Hey Kevin this is my mom and sister. Just wanted to say hi to them.”

Damn, I met this guy an hour ago and now he’s introducing me to his family. The colonists weren’t kidding by calling it the “Friendly Island.”

As I get to the bus stop getting ready to dap him up myself and say our goodbyes, he waves me onward.

“Hey don’t worry about the bus I’ll give you a ride. I gotta go that direction anyway.”

So we walk up to his white Ford Suburban and head out the back entrance of Philippsburg toward the main road.

On the way up, Julius cuts our conversation and starting tutting.

“No no! Don’t be running the street” he mutters under his breath while squinting at a group of kids running towards the car. “That’s my nephew, he recognizes my car so always does this.”

Julius opens the car door, tussles his nephew’s braids and tells him to be careful playing on the street and to go home. The kids look into the car at me bug eyed wondering what the hell this Chinaman is doing riding shotgun and all smile back.

Julius drops me off at home, we exchange WhatsApp contacts and was the bookend to my day at the Grand Parade. Saved me $2 bucks, a lot of time, and got to make my first friend on the island.

Dude 2

On the final day on the island, I made a game time decision in the morning to not do a day trip to Anguilla since I hadn’t really gotten to spend so much time on the French side of the island. Two days prior, I tried to drive around the French side, but didn’t realize everything would be closed due to the Carnival holidays so figure I give it another shot.

I started the morning with breakfast at Creole spot in Marigot eating more conch, but this time as a lime ceviche served with plantains and some rice and beans. The auntie was kind enough to bring out a small portion of the conch stew for me to try on the house. A wild amount of food for someone to be eating for breakfast. After that, I walked over to a historical fort and then headed into a well recommended patisserie to order a Meringue, a baguette, and an iced coffee to write for a bit.

Spent an hour there clacking keys before mosquito bites indicated to me it was time to head back to the car. At the car, I was lured into a French wine shop carrying racks and racks of old world. Immediately out the gate, the French shop owner came to pour me a taster and asked me to guess what it was. What’s been a delight is how the French people who live on the island are the happiest MFs you’ll ever see. Based on multiple trips to Paris, I truly didn’t know French people had it in their hearts to actually be that jovial. The French nationals on the island live in ecstasy having broke out of their matrix. They’re living in the Caribbean and just genuinely happy to chat to you and show you a good time.

Immediately an American grandma there for a tasting swarms me with art photos on her phone and invites me to stay with her at a cabin in the Fingerlakes. How long has she been here and how many glasses has she had? Who cares. Vibes are at an all time high today.

I pick up a mini bottle of Sancere since even though I never drink whites and head out. I definitely made the right decision today staying on the French side.

As I drive towards the last stop of the day in Grand Case, I realize I’m still running ahead of schedule so I detour to Loterie Farm to go on a hike. Loterie farm feels kind of like a Tulum treehouse that is bumping house music all day full of middle aged people dressed head to toe in H&M whites.

Everywhere you look there’s mango trees or some type of activity that families coming off a cruise ship might book as an excursion, but with some unmistakable European parts to the whole experience.

So as I walk towards the trail, I make eye contact with a younger guy who had to be no older than 20 years old. As all hikers do back on the West Coast, I give the head nod and say hi. He says hey back so I keep going.

At the trailhead, I pull out my phone to get my bearings since there’s no map posted at the front of it or any indication of how long the hike is supposed to be.

“Sure I got a minute so maybe I can help.”

I triangulate where the zipline is and where the drop zone probably was and start using my feet to clear grass and look into the ground below as I’m asking questions about the color of each to get a senes of what we’re looking for.

After about a minute or two I sigh “Damn well this sucks. I hope you end up finding them. It’s probably going to be pretty difficult here in this grass so I hope everything is replaceable.”

As I set off, he waves me and points me towards the trail and says there’s one last zipline in that direction so I begrudgingly join since I’m going there anyway.

As we head into the trail, I’m walking in front and looking around for this zipline for about a minute when the shadows darken and the sounds of French house get swallowed up by the jungle canopy. That’s when the a shiver creeps up my neck.

“So… where’s this zipline?” I ask like someone trying to mask my interrogation.

“Oh I don’t know. I think it’s somewhere over there.”

I pause in my tracks. My heart rate spikes.

“So why don’t you show me where it is. You can lead the way.” I creak out in a monotone chant.

“Ah I would, but I don’t know the way. I just know it’s somewhere over there.”

That’s all I needed to know at this point. Some shit was awry and my mind’s racing. Am I about to get scammed or if I’m about to get jumped? I start sizing up this scrawny kid and if I can take him, but when I take a glance I realize that he’s probably 4 or 5 inches taller than me. Shit. How did I not notice that in the beginning. My hand reaches in my pocket for my car keys as I try to think through some type of escape.

“That’s a really long zipline.. how long is the zipline experience?”

“Oh wow, it’s something like an hour. Didn’t realize until just now,” he trails off into silence.

By this point, I’m at Defcon 5. Entering cavemen fight or flight. So I stop in my tracks ready to defend my organs.

“I’m going to continue on my hike and I’m not going to help you with this task. I don’t have time and hope you the best,” I vomit out like a baby who hasn’t been burped.

He looks at me with his eyes squinting and cocks his head back to one side. Then he raises his arm and puts it around my shoulder like we’re some type of schoolyard chums. My hand grips the keys even tighter while my eyes dart around the rest of the jungle.

He whispers, “Don’t you want to do something out here?”

With my personal space officially breached, I stomp away fivesteps.

“Yo what the fuck. Are you good?” Giving my best impression of a New Yorker about to step up on the F train.

“Come on! Don’t you want to do something? We’re already out here.”

I glare over like a rat that’s just set off a trap and hiss “You mean like have sex?”

“Well it doesn’t have to be that if you don’t want” he levels with me.

At this point, my feet are sending it up the switchbacks faster than I knew possible. I’m up about another 10 paces before I yell out some nonsensical version of “I’m good bro. Are you?”

I look back at him one more time and keep storming up the hill. My only objective is to get away from this rift in the space time continuum.

In his final plea he yells back “Oh come on! I can give you a blowjob if you want!”

I stomp my way up the switchbacks 500 meters before I stand and catalog if anyone is behind me. Adrenaline is coursing through me, but at least I’m in one piece. I don’t hear any footsteps behind me, but now my mind is catching back up to me.

Fuck, I’m signing up for a tough time if I keep trying to walk through this jungle solo on this generationally low vibe. Should I continue marching up the mountain or to walk back down for another run in with the perp?