Life on the Lagoon

Our week here on the Lagoon at St Martin has not been all beaches and sunbathing.  Instead we have been fixing and fitting.  St Martin is a yacht chandlery mecca, having two massive chandleries and a number of specialist shops stocking parts for every make and model of generator, air conditioner and water maker available.  Most of the boat shops are right on the Lagoon with their own dinghy dock, so are easy and convenient to get to.  Half of the Lagoon is on the French side, so we have been dinghying there to buy gear and parts too.

The heat seems to have skyrocketed since we got to the Caribbean late last year.  It doesn’t help that we can’t jump off the back and have a swim to cool ourselves down.  The water is not clean enough to swim in the Lagoon, nor would the water be particularly refreshing at 32 degrees Celsius.  Added to the heat and lack of swimming relief, we (well ok, mainly Gary) have been working in confined spaces to service the generator and engine – which are hot in themselves.

Suffice to say, we have been running the air conditioning a lot at night to cool the bedroom down before we go to sleep.  We didn’t put any value on the air conditioning when we bought the boat, but now I can’t imagine life without it.  It is the best thing since sliced bread.  Although we can’t run it all the time, it is so fabulous to be able to cool down when we really need it. 

We have had some fun adventures this week.  Last night we decided to treat ourselves to a dinner out.  We went to Bistro de le Mer at Marigot.  We greeted the waiter in French and were shown to our table.  It was not until they asked us something which must have amounted to “what would we like to drink”, that they realised we didn’t speak a word of French.  But the French here are much more relaxed than those in Martinique.  As half the island is Dutch, but English speaking, everyone here seems to be able to speak both languages fluently and are happy to converse in either.  I ordered the Linguines Fruit Mer and Gary had Carré d'agneau - both were amazing.

I am, however, getting itchy feet and eager to move on.  Working on the boat and waiting for parts to be ordered in isn’t the most fun to be had in the Caribbean.  All the nice beaches here are unfortunately too far to get to by dinghy or on foot so we are stuck in the Lagoon for now.  We are hoping to be on our way to St Barts late this week, where hopefully we will be swimming, chasing turtles and basking in the sun once more! 

St Martin/St Maarten, better by land than by sea

After our ocean passage, we arrived in St Martin.  From the sea, St Martin looks like paradise.  Long white sand beaches, palm trees and little umbrellas for you to rest under and snooze the day away.  The only problem is that the ocean swell rolls right on in, making the pristine beaches uncomfortable to anchor off.

We checked in at Philipsburg, but quickly realised it was too rocky rolly for us, so headed to Simpson Bay Lagoon. 

We luckily timed it right and made it to Simpson Bay just before the 11.30am bridge opening.  The bridge opens only 4 times a day for 5 minutes or less so you have to be there right on time.  Super yachts and runabouts alike line up either side of the bridge ready to zip on through.  We make it through with no drama and found a spot to anchor.

While the word "lagoon" makes the place sound like paradise, it's really not.  The Lagoon is a murky algae coloured, quite large pond.  I liken the colour to Lake Pupuke back home, although the Lagoon is much larger.  Houses, apartments and restaurants are built right up to the waters edge.  It isn't a place you would want to swim at all.  But it is nice and sheltered, the only problem being the bone rattling noise of the 747's taking off a few hundred metres from where we are anchored. 

After being at sea, I had been dreaming of having the boat stopped at a marina, having a proper shower and doing the laundry.  We checked the cruising guide and settled on a particular marina to go to.  We took the dinghy over first to check it out.  The berth was very tight, there was hardly any depth around the marina to get in, the toilet was crap, there was no laundry, and to top it off it was expensive.  We attempted to get the boat in, but gave up and headed back to our anchoring spot.  We decided we would have proper showers on the boat (forget about the water consumption), turn on the generator and air conditioning to cool the boat down, and get a proper sleep.  Step one - turn on the generator...but it wouldn't go.  Gary, who is becoming increasingly proficient at fixing things, took it apart, found the problem and went to the chandlery to get the part.  In a few hours he was back, and had it fixed.  Excellent.  Step two - turn on the air conditioning.  Well, it lasted a good five minutes before it decided to give up too.  Gary to the rescue.  After another few hours of fiddling he had it fixed.  Hurray!  Step three - shower.  While Gary is fixing things, I decide to cool down with a shower.  After filling the shower room with water, the pump won't work - you just couldn't make this stuff up!  But my amazing handy man Gary had it fixed in a flash. 

That night we treated ourselves to dinner out at Lee's Roadside Grill.  The mouth watering smell coming from the BBQs at the front drew us in.  BBQs here are not like at home.  They are made out of big metal barrels that have been cut in two length ways and hinged back together again.  We sit by the water and check out the massive Tarpon fish that are just hanging around waiting to be fed. 

On Monday we rented a car and explored the island.  First stop, Philipsburg.  My first thought upon arriving here is - now this is more like it!  The boardwalk along the shoreline is amazing.  We have lunch at one of the countless restaurants that overlook the beautiful beach.  One road back are the shops on a cute lane.  There are names like Cartier, Ralph Lauren and Dior.  I make only one purchase - a new guitar :)

While Philipsburg was nice, we continued on our trip around the island.  I have been a bit concerned that we have been giving you only pictures of the pristine parts of the Caribbean, and not giving you a real taste of what it is like here.  So on our way, I took a few pictures of typical Caribbean houses.

Next stop was Oriental Bay on the french side of the Island.  The rental car lady had told me this was a nudist beach.  I was looking forward to going, firstly because Oriental Bay is written up in the cruising guide as being the most beautiful, and secondly, because I had forgotten my togs.  I was sorely disappointed.  I'm not sure if I was more upset about the beach not being as great as I had hoped, or the fact that everyone was wearing clothes...

Our travels took us past Oyster Pond and Anse Marcel, then on to Baie de Marigot.  At Marigot we stopped for some refreshments at the juice stand.  Best Banana Smoothie ever (non dairy for those who are interested).  Then we walked up the hill to Fort Louis for the wonderful views.

The day was getting late, but we made one last stop at Mullet Bay and this time I was not disappointed.

Farewell BVI

After completing the must dos of the BVI and visiting our favourite spots one more time, we prepared for our voyage to St Martin.

We filled the tanks, bought the flag, prepared the navigation plan, stowed everything away, conducted the safety briefing, synchronised watches and clipped on our harnesses.

The voyage from BVI to St Martin is just over 90 nautical miles, and at our average boat speed, takes about 15 hours.  In New Zealand terms, the trip is comparable to Auckland to the Bay of Islands.  There is a major difference though.  Once you leave the BVI you are in open ocean until you reach St Martin.  There is nowhere to run to if the weather packs in. There is nowhere to hide.

We had been watching the weather for the past week, trying to find a good window of low swell, calm seas and moderate breezes.  Adding to the complication, the voyage is international so we had to check out of the BVI and into St Martin during business hours. Therefore, our voyage had to be at night.

We checked out of the BVI at 4pm on Thursday.  Gary was on the first 4-hour watch.  As we went through the passage out to sea, we watched dusk settle on Fallen Jerusalem and the rest of the BVI islands fade into the humid haze. 

Gary was pretty excited about the voyage, and in particular being able to go fishing.  As we entered international waters, Gary put out his line.  Just as I had decided to go down for a nap before my watch, a whizzing sound caught our attention. “Quick, take the helm” Gary directs, as he picks up the rod with a massive grin on his face.  I am not so impressed.  Light is fading, the ocean swell has hit us, and I want a nap.  But you can’t wipe that grin of Gary’s face.  At first he thinks he has just caught weed as the line goes limp, but then the fish decides to kick back into life.  The reel screams off again. When we catch sight of the fish, it is fairly large.  Neither of us can identify it.  I’m thinking a big Barracuda, Gary thinks maybe a small Mackerel.  We needed our fish flashcard.  At this point we have slowed the boat down, we are off course, and the sea swell is beginning to make me feel nauseous. 

I can see how this is going to play out.  I know how this story ends.  Gary will get the fish on board.  The sight of the blood and guts spilled throughout the cockpit (not to mention the smell) will make me gag.  With nowhere else to put the fish, Gary will insist on putting it into my nice clean fridge, contained only by a plastic supermarket bag, probably with a hole in the bottom. Okay, maybe I was a bit selfish, maybe you could even go so far as calling me a bitch.

“That thing is not going anywhere near this boat” I announce “Cut the damn line”.  The smile fades from Gary’s face, and is instantly replaced with the innocent pleading one.  “But it’s my first fish” he says, attempting to play the sympathy card.  We are caught in a stare down for a good 30 seconds.  “Fine” he relents, and we haul the fish in, only to get the hook out and set it free.  I am relieved; Gary is distraught.  “What a great catch” I admit, trying to smooth things over.  “Next time we will have the chilly bin ready”.  Hope returns to Gary’s eyes and he gives me a wide grin as I head down for a nap.

I can’t sleep, but I doze for about an hour.  At 7.30 I head on deck with the sandwiches we had prepared earlier.  The sun has gone down, and we are in darkness.  The boat is thrown from side to side, up and down over the 1 1/2 metre very short swell.  We are heading dead on the nose into the wind. 

At 8pm I begin my watch.  I put in headphones and blast Madonna classics to keep me awake.  At first I enjoy my watch.  The phosphorescence lights up our wake, making it look as though we have a train of fairy lights dragging behind us.  I mime the words to “Papa don’t preach” and “Like a virgin” and laugh at myself as I stare up at the stars.  This is good for about an hour.  Then I get tired, really tired.  The movement of the boat seems to be getting worse.  Up, down, side to side, round and round.  I attempt my yoga breathing, but to no avail.  I start to feel sick.  I leave my spot at the helm for a more comfy one further into the cockpit where I can stretch my legs out.  I can’t keep my eyes open, so I close them for a few moments, then check around for boats, then continue dozing.  After a while of this I recover, and return to the helm.  I decide I won’t tell Gary about my dozing.  Of course I wouldn’t fall asleep on watch...

At midnight, Gary appears from down below.  He clips on and joins me at the helm.  I give him a quick run down of the highlights and head down to sleep.  It is nice and warm down below, and I fall asleep quickly.

At 3.30am I wake.  I can see Gary’s legs through the window of the stern cabin I am in, which faces the cockpit.  I grab hold of his legs to give him a bit of a fright, and am surprised at how cold he is.  “It’s a bit wet” he yells at me as I suddenly become aware of the sound of the pounding rain.  “Shit” I say to myself.  I was not prepared for the cold.  I make a mission to the fore cabin to retrieve my trusty pink track pants. I sit in a sheltered corner of the cockpit and acclimatise. We can now see the lights of St Martin approaching. Gary’s debriefing includes a concern about the autopilot.  He thinks it is slowly putting us off course.  I put his concern down to tired paranoia, and send him down to bed.

I watch the steering wheels as the autopilot turns this way then that.   I think Gary’s paranoia is rubbing off on me.  Is the boat turning more than it should?  No, it’s fine.  I keep watching.  Then suddenly the boat makes a sharp turn and begins a 180.  I jump behind the wheel and turn off the autopilot.  I am now out in the open and soaked to the skin within seconds. A few expletives pass my lips.  The chart plotter seems to have lost us, and thinks we are heading 45 degrees from where I think we are.  The autopilot says we are at 71 degrees, the chart plotter tells me 95 degrees, and the compasses say 110 degrees.  I hand steer as best I can for 15 minutes, but I can’t figure out if I am even heading in the right direction.  Eventually I give in and call Gary to deck.  Gary quickly takes in the situation, heads me in the right direction and after giving me a break from steering for a while, heads back down to sleep. 

I am feeling happier about the whole situation as dawn breaks over the horizon.  As light gradually fills the world I can make out the buildings on shore, and can see the waves as they approach.  I see something off the port side.  As clear as day I think I see a dolphin tail.  But it was only a second and I couldn’t be sure if it was my imagination.  Was it a dolphin tail or just a really big fish?  I begin to doubt myself when suddenly, right there within reaching distance, a lone dolphin surfaces next to me.  And just then I knew I have survived my first ocean passage.

The Full Moon Party

Continuing on our mission to tick off the must do’s before we leave the BVI, last night we went to the Trellis Bay Full moon party.

Trellis Bay is a place for artists and hippies (and their numerous cats).  We had been there before during daylight hours and checked out the art galleries that feature pottery, paintings and metal works - including replicas of the big fire balls you will see in pictures below.

At night for the full moon party the place takes on a new feel.  It is packed with people, music and food.  The smell of the hearty local fare mixes with the sweet scent of the Rasta DJ’s unusually shaped cigarette. 

Trellis Bay also boasts the most magical tree playground. OSH eat your heart out - this playground would keep you awake at night  - but you dont know which hippie put these ropes up so you cannot intervene!  As an aside we were debating how old it 'too old" to play on the tree - it looked fun!

Metal fireballs burn every ten metres or so, surrounded by mesmerised passers by.

The artists are out in force too.  The potters have light up their kiln and make a show of taking the pieces out and placing them onto sawdust then covering the pieces with a metal bucket.

The high point of the night is the lighting of the burning man, who stands ominously in the waters shallows.  As the point of the night draws closer, the crowd is entertained by the Jumbies.  High up on stilts, the Jumbies are beautiful woman scantily clad dancing and showing off their stilt walking skills.   

Then at 9pm the burning man is set alight to the cheers of the crowd. 

Anegada - hard to get to, harder to stay

We decided for our last week in the BVI we would head to Anegada, an island that we hadn't yet visited.  From our research we were told that it is a beautiful island with miles of long white sand beaches, and flat...very flat, the highest point being only 28 feet.  Anegada is difficult to get to, the sail to get there is longer than between any other island in the BVI (1 1/2 - 2 hours), and you must navigate the fringing coral reef to get in.  An unusual caveat was plastered on the bottom of our cruising guide about Anegada "you either get it, our you don't"... Well, we don't.

As you approach Anegada you can't see it until the final moments.  At first you see the tops of the trees appearing over the horizon.  It isn't until you are 10 minutes away from the channel that you can actually see the island forming.

We arrived at Anegada full of hope, already dressed in our togs in eager anticipation. As we enter the narrow channel into Anegada, a very slow charter catamaran crosses our path directly in front of us.  Even the "crew" at the back who were fishing didn't notice us.  When they finally do see us, upon reaching the narrowest part of the channel, they completely stop and demand that we pass them.  Despite yelling "NO ROOM" at the top of our lungs, the Cat (unmoving) is determined we pass them.  We edge past slowly once the Cat has drifted partly out of the channel.  Slightly annoyed, we anchor safetly at Anegada.

We jump in the dinghy and head for shore.  The dinghy pier leads you directly into a restaurant, deserted and delapedated, that you have to go through to get out.  Once in the main street you walk past a car rental shack, a gift shop shack, and a laundraumat.  Shack seems like too romantic a term really.  We decide to head further down the road to see what we could find.  

What we did find is what I have been left with as my lasting impression of Anegada - emaciated animals.  Every 50 metres or so we found a half dead bull staring at us.  We decided to head for the beach.  While the bulls didn't look like they had too much energy to chase us, we didn't want to take our chances.

The white sand beaches were white...well the bits of the beach you could see that wasn't covered in seaweed or dead sea grass.  Dotted along the coatline were more restaurants of varying states of collapse, but united in their desertion.  

We decide to have dinner on the boat.

The next morning, we head ashore to rent a car in an attempt to discover the nice part of Anegada.  Most of the islands here have the odd luxury resort that monopolises the nicest beaches.  This is what we expect to find.  The car rental place isn't open when we arrive.  Granted it was 8am.  However a passerby, in usual BVI fashion, knows the owner and gives them a call for us.   We are given a 4-wheel drive, one of the two that seem to still have their tires attached.  The tank reads full, and we are told we need to fill the car up at the petrol pump (which is at the rental car building) upon return, in addition to the $55 rental charge.  

Our cruising guide tells us that there is a good restaurant at Cow Bay, so we head in this direction.  Again we see more exhausted bulls clinging to life.  We take a turn towards the beach when we see a resort sign.  Alas, two of the four buildings that make up the resort have be claimed by the ocean and are now on an alarming 45 degree angle.  We back up slowly and turn around, only be be confronted with a rather angry looking bull with a dodgy eye.  Gary is preoccupied with the mosquitoes that came complementary with the car, but I'm more concerned at the look the bull's good eye is giving us, preparing to charge.  "Move Gary, MOVE!" I yell, as Gary slaps at his legs.  We pass the bull without drama.  Maybe what I took as building up momentum to charge was merely the final sway of the poor animal about to collapse.  Slightly scaring and upset, we continue on.

The scenery we pass is uninteresting.  All we can see is the mangy mangrove like bushes that line the road, and we can't see further.  Our trusty guide book had also told us there were Flamingos on the island.  After half an hour of traveling along the road that loops the so called "Flamingo Pond", we being to question whether there really are any Flamingos.  Seconds after I air my concern, we turn a corner to find a flock of Flamingos.  

We reach Cow Bay, but are put off stopping due to the burning rubbish heaps smoking up the air.    Further on I am taken with a sign that directs us to " T Flash a Beauty" restaurant that boasts excellent snorkeling.  On this leg of the journey we see a donkey who seems to be faring marginally better than the bulls.  When we arrive at " T Flash a Beauty" it too is abandoned, but we head to the beach anyway.  The beach was much nicer than the others we have seen at Anegada.

We finally reach Anegada's main town, the Settlement.  We know it is the Settlement as there is a sign on one few buildings that reads "Clinic", and another that says "Church".  An old man waves at us, we wave back.  As we reach the end of the buildings the skinny goats under the "Welcome to the Settlement" sign  confirm we had seen the highlights of Anegada.

We head back to the dingy, and give back the car after less than 2 hours.  The small boy at the petrol pump tells us we are to pay $10!  Gary is outraged.  The car still read full, and we had traveled 20 miles at best.  Deciding not to take it out on the poor boy, we hand him the $10 and decide to leave before we need to further support the island's economy.  

The moment we reach the boat we up anchor and head back to North Sound, Virgin Gorda for a mango smoothie.

And we're back!

We are back in the Caribbean.  Many apologies for the lack of posts while we have been back in NZ.  I have been told that I have deprived a lot of good people of their lunchtime reading.

We are working on some posts for you, from our trip to NZ and shenanigans since we have been back in the BVI.

Check back soon!