Day 4 ~ St. Maarten
Tuesday, April 26
We awaken to the sound of seagulls, hundreds of them swooping down to scavenge and poop on the pier as we arrive in St. Maarten. The island is mostly hills, with assorted condos scattered up and down the hillside. We’re in no hurry to interrupt our routine of breakfast on the veranda, especially when I have an updated Times to keep me entertained between obsessive iPad games. I’m also reading the Margaret George novel about Elizabeth I, who, at the beginning of the book, has just turned 55. “Not old,” her courtiers tell her. She is, however, battling hot flashes and memory lapses along with the usual assortment of traitors and heretics. I can relate.
We awaken to the sound of seagulls, hundreds of them swooping down to scavenge and poop on the pier as we arrive in St. Maarten. The island is mostly hills, with assorted condos scattered up and down the hillside. We’re in no hurry to interrupt our routine of breakfast on the veranda, especially when I have an updated Times to keep me entertained between obsessive iPad games. I’m also reading the Margaret George novel about Elizabeth I, who, at the beginning of the book, has just turned 55. “Not old,” her courtiers tell her. She is, however, battling hot flashes and memory lapses along with the usual assortment of traitors and heretics. I can relate.
There are two other ships in port – the Norwegian Epic, which looks like it is made of Legos, and the Disney Magic, which means the island is overrun by kiddies in Mickey Mouse T-shirts and pink tutus. My flip-flops fail two minutes into the walk to Philipsburg, so Snookie is dispatched back to the ship for sensible shoes while I sit barefoot on a bench and watch the negotiations involved in herding people into cabs headed for the beach. Appropriately, I’m stranded near a statue of Peter Stuyvesant and his peg leg. “I cried because I had no shoes until I met a man who had no feet.”
Suitably shod, we walk into town and find – not much, unless you happen to be in the market for diamonds, rum or tablecloths. The Water Guy is most impressed with the rusting water tower and the open sewers, circa London 1666. Clearly, RCAC could do a bit of consulting here. And it is hot, which I guess is what we came for.
We head back to the ship via water taxi and arrive at the dock just as it starts to rain. We are dripping wet by the time we make it to the ship, but at least we are no longer hot!
Next stop, the pool. Most of yesterday’s sunbathers are gone, no doubt continuing their slow cooking on the beach, but the halt and the lame have emerged to sit in the shade. We have neither walkers nor wheelchairs, but still manage 15 laps around the ship - and Snookie is thrilled when an elderly couple stops to admire his hat. Proof that it’s an old-guy hat, but he wears it proudly.
We leave port ahead of the Disney ship, leaving us with the unanswered question: Does the horn play “It’s a Small World”?
We leave port ahead of the Disney ship, leaving us with the unanswered question: Does the horn play “It’s a Small World”?
