KRISTIAN ALFONSO
St. Maarten is a Caribbean paradise that is a must visit for those of us inclined to enjoy tropical luxury (and who doesn’t?). My wife and I were there almost twenty years ago; I remember the approximate date because the triplets were about 1 year old and it took us about a month to coordinate the army of babysitters that could (and would) be able to handle the task.
Our plane had a brief stop in San Juan both on the trip there and on the way home. I wish I would have planned a longer layover, because from what I could see from the plane Puerto Rico looked like an inviting retreat in itself.
The tiny island of St. Maarten covers only 34 square miles, split in geographical halves it is actually part of two different countries; the Dutch side known for its modern accommodations and close proximity to the airport with its capital Phillipsburg, and the French side known for its gourmet cuisine with the capital of Marigot. We decided to stay at the Maho Beach Hotel on the Dutch side because it was so conveniently located, and from the brochure seemed to have everything we would need for a well deserved break. I figured we could rent a car and travel to the French side to sample the local wares if the mood would strike.
The Hotel was at the airport…I mean AT THE AIRPORT. You can see by the picture above what i am talking about. C’mon, are you kidding me? At one point the planes were so close to us I felt like a revolutionary soldier and would have been permitted to fire my weapon because I could see the whites of the passenger’s eyes. And of course, the noise was deafening! Unfortunately the hotel had a no refund policy…but actually the rooms were quite sound proof. However, earplugs while enjoying the beach were not a luxury but a necessity.
Our beach was swimsuit mandatory as were most of the sunbathing areas on the Dutch side of the island. I guess the French are a bit more adventurous, and we read where many of the beaches there were clothing optional. I’m no prude, but when I heard about that, the airplane noise was a bit easier to take. There are some areas of my body that have never been exposed to the sun. They liked the shade, and I aimed to keep it that way.
We had a wonderful week at our resort, and decided on the last day to travel to the French side and explore Marigot during the day and eat at a waterfront bistro there at night. I rented a little compact car from a rental company near the hotel and off we went with our map to guide us. I noticed a beach marked with a red star that meant clothing optional.
Curiosity got the best of us as we parked our black Saab and headed for the naughty playground. The beach was off the beaten path and as we hiked toward the area, I stopped at a concession stand to ask the attendant if we were getting near our destination. Before the host could answer me, out from behind the bush popped a stark naked man looking for refreshments, or sunscreen. He looked at our clothed bodies and shook his head in disdain; I looked at his naked body and suddenly felt quite good about myself. Terri covered her eyes and hustled back to the car. Just my luck, my only chance at a nude beach and all I get to see is a hairy fat guy wearing nothing but a glittering gold chain and worn out flip flops.
The bistro in Marigot was spectacular. We had spaghetti carbonara that was served European style with a raw egg on top. Delicious doesn’t adequately describe it. Several bottles of fine wine later we stumbled to our car for the trip home. I’m ashamed to say I made a mistake and was really in not in great shape to drive, but we were leaving the island early in the morning and I had to get the rental car back first thing. I drove very slowly until we safely made it back to the hotel. The parking lot was full, so we left it on the street with several other cars near the beach and went back to our room.
I woke up about 3:30 AM with a terrible headache, and Terri was sound asleep. Deciding not to disturb her, I headed out to take a walk on the beach to get some fresh air and clear my head. While walking, I thought I would check out the car and move it back to the hotel parking lot which now had available space. When I got to the area however, I saw no cars there. Rubbing my eyes in bewilderment, I searched the street up and down to make sure I was in the right place. There was the street sign I had parked it under, but the car was nowhere to be seen.
“Terri!” I said loudly as I shook her from her slumber after hustling back to the room. “Did you move the car while I was asleep?” “Of course not”, she said. “I would never dream of going out there at night without you.” “Well we’ve got a problem,” I added, “and since our plane leaves at 9:30 AM I don’t have much time to solve it”. We looked at each other with panic stricken eyes the shade of hangover red as we contemplated our next move. I called the police station in Phillipsburg, and they told me to come in at 9AM to discuss it with a detective. When I explained to them I didn’t have time and had to catch a plane home, the officer in charge informed me I had a problem. “No kidding,” I replied.
The rental car office opened at 7AM, so I camped out there waiting for the attendant. “Here to return your car?” he asked. “Yes, but I’ve got a bit of a dilemma, I have no car to return”, I informed him. “It was stolen last night in front of the hotel”. I expected him to fly off the handle, but without looking up from the paper work he asked me if I had filled it with gas. “Yes”, I said. “As a matter of fact I did”. “No problem masseur”, this happens all the time” he uttered stoically. “You go home; we will find your car”. I tried to hide my amazement and didn’t say another word as I gratefully headed for the door. Apparantly the temporary borrowing of rental cars is common practice in St. Maarten.
At the layover in Puerto Rico on the way home I noticed actress Kristian Alfonso, who played Hope in the popular soap opera “Days of our Lives”, sitting at the gate near us. Having become somewhat addicted to soaps in college, I was a big fan of hers and nudged Terri to enlighten her on my discovery. She persuaded me not to bother her, so I fought off the urge to ask for an autograph.
Little did she know that the last twenty four hours of my life would have made a perfect script for her next episode.
St. Maarten is a Caribbean paradise that is a must visit for those of us inclined to enjoy tropical luxury (and who doesn’t?). My wife and I were there almost twenty years ago; I remember the approximate date because the triplets were about 1 year old and it took us about a month to coordinate the army of babysitters that could (and would) be able to handle the task.
Our plane had a brief stop in San Juan both on the trip there and on the way home. I wish I would have planned a longer layover, because from what I could see from the plane Puerto Rico looked like an inviting retreat in itself.
The tiny island of St. Maarten covers only 34 square miles, split in geographical halves it is actually part of two different countries; the Dutch side known for its modern accommodations and close proximity to the airport with its capital Phillipsburg, and the French side known for its gourmet cuisine with the capital of Marigot. We decided to stay at the Maho Beach Hotel on the Dutch side because it was so conveniently located, and from the brochure seemed to have everything we would need for a well deserved break. I figured we could rent a car and travel to the French side to sample the local wares if the mood would strike.
The Hotel was at the airport…I mean AT THE AIRPORT. You can see by the picture above what i am talking about. C’mon, are you kidding me? At one point the planes were so close to us I felt like a revolutionary soldier and would have been permitted to fire my weapon because I could see the whites of the passenger’s eyes. And of course, the noise was deafening! Unfortunately the hotel had a no refund policy…but actually the rooms were quite sound proof. However, earplugs while enjoying the beach were not a luxury but a necessity.
Our beach was swimsuit mandatory as were most of the sunbathing areas on the Dutch side of the island. I guess the French are a bit more adventurous, and we read where many of the beaches there were clothing optional. I’m no prude, but when I heard about that, the airplane noise was a bit easier to take. There are some areas of my body that have never been exposed to the sun. They liked the shade, and I aimed to keep it that way.
We had a wonderful week at our resort, and decided on the last day to travel to the French side and explore Marigot during the day and eat at a waterfront bistro there at night. I rented a little compact car from a rental company near the hotel and off we went with our map to guide us. I noticed a beach marked with a red star that meant clothing optional.
Curiosity got the best of us as we parked our black Saab and headed for the naughty playground. The beach was off the beaten path and as we hiked toward the area, I stopped at a concession stand to ask the attendant if we were getting near our destination. Before the host could answer me, out from behind the bush popped a stark naked man looking for refreshments, or sunscreen. He looked at our clothed bodies and shook his head in disdain; I looked at his naked body and suddenly felt quite good about myself. Terri covered her eyes and hustled back to the car. Just my luck, my only chance at a nude beach and all I get to see is a hairy fat guy wearing nothing but a glittering gold chain and worn out flip flops.
The bistro in Marigot was spectacular. We had spaghetti carbonara that was served European style with a raw egg on top. Delicious doesn’t adequately describe it. Several bottles of fine wine later we stumbled to our car for the trip home. I’m ashamed to say I made a mistake and was really in not in great shape to drive, but we were leaving the island early in the morning and I had to get the rental car back first thing. I drove very slowly until we safely made it back to the hotel. The parking lot was full, so we left it on the street with several other cars near the beach and went back to our room.
I woke up about 3:30 AM with a terrible headache, and Terri was sound asleep. Deciding not to disturb her, I headed out to take a walk on the beach to get some fresh air and clear my head. While walking, I thought I would check out the car and move it back to the hotel parking lot which now had available space. When I got to the area however, I saw no cars there. Rubbing my eyes in bewilderment, I searched the street up and down to make sure I was in the right place. There was the street sign I had parked it under, but the car was nowhere to be seen.
“Terri!” I said loudly as I shook her from her slumber after hustling back to the room. “Did you move the car while I was asleep?” “Of course not”, she said. “I would never dream of going out there at night without you.” “Well we’ve got a problem,” I added, “and since our plane leaves at 9:30 AM I don’t have much time to solve it”. We looked at each other with panic stricken eyes the shade of hangover red as we contemplated our next move. I called the police station in Phillipsburg, and they told me to come in at 9AM to discuss it with a detective. When I explained to them I didn’t have time and had to catch a plane home, the officer in charge informed me I had a problem. “No kidding,” I replied.
The rental car office opened at 7AM, so I camped out there waiting for the attendant. “Here to return your car?” he asked. “Yes, but I’ve got a bit of a dilemma, I have no car to return”, I informed him. “It was stolen last night in front of the hotel”. I expected him to fly off the handle, but without looking up from the paper work he asked me if I had filled it with gas. “Yes”, I said. “As a matter of fact I did”. “No problem masseur”, this happens all the time” he uttered stoically. “You go home; we will find your car”. I tried to hide my amazement and didn’t say another word as I gratefully headed for the door. Apparantly the temporary borrowing of rental cars is common practice in St. Maarten.
At the layover in Puerto Rico on the way home I noticed actress Kristian Alfonso, who played Hope in the popular soap opera “Days of our Lives”, sitting at the gate near us. Having become somewhat addicted to soaps in college, I was a big fan of hers and nudged Terri to enlighten her on my discovery. She persuaded me not to bother her, so I fought off the urge to ask for an autograph.
Little did she know that the last twenty four hours of my life would have made a perfect script for her next episode.
