Bonjour! Greetings from Marigot, St. Martin.
We're very glad to be here, and we are good and sick of beating to windward. Pity there's no other way to get here.
We departed lovely Virgin Gorda about 3:30 in the afternoon on Sunday, and headed right into the nasty confused chop outside. Course about 120 degrees, give or take, wind from about 120 degrees, give or take. So all night it was give or take a few degrees this way or that, trying to keep the mainsail from crashing about too much. Once it's dark, you can't really see which way the next big flap of water is coming from or how to best roll around it, so you might as well close your eyes and guess. Sometimes, you'd be congratulating yourself that ND was moving along well at about 5 knots or so under main and motor, then you'd get a big smack, a face full of spray, and you're back to 2.8. Long night, nobody barfed, it was warm (although we both wore our fouly jackets because of the endless spray), Randy ate a lot of chocolate, I drank a lot of water and ate chips, and we staggered our way across to St Martin, which is almost worth every bruise I got to get here.
By about 4 or 5 am, you get to feeling like the sheepdogs changing shifts in the Bugs Bunny cartoons: "Evening Ralph." "Evening Sam."
We had French toast to celebrate our arrival. With bananas soaked in rum. Checking in with customs was very casual. They stamped Randy's passport, but not mine. When he asked about mine, the gentleman just shrugged, and said, "Je le vu." So I didn't get a stamp, and feel rather miffed about it.
We decided on Marigot after the capt figured that the sea conditions would not be as great for anchoring on the Dutch side. Marigot Harbour is lovely -- we're anchored in about 8 feet of clear, clear water (saw a 4 foot barracuda slide by this morning, and there's a big starfish under the boat) and from shore, we can hear the hee-haw of the occasional police siren. They sound exactly like the police vehicles in Pink Panther movies. We both laughed the first time we heard it. From the boats around us, we hear Italian, Dutch, French, and there's lots of bare bodies on view. Nudity, and those teeny little bathing suits that are so flattering to the older male, are de riguer (I'm not checking the spelling on any of this, so go ahead and correct me as you read along).
There's a greater variety of boats here. Very few Americans. There's a purple boat --now that's a first. There's also one painted with fake wood planking and a mural of a mermaid and a whale on the bow. It's for sale, if anyone's interested.
We had lunch at Enoch's on the square across from Customs on the first day. On the menu: stewed goat, boiled fish, shrimp Creole, baked chicken, peas and rice, plantain and salad. We filled up for 13 bucks, including two beers. Had a walk around town, picked up a baguette and croissants for breakfast, and went back to the boat and slept for 11 hours. Next day we went back for more bread, and the bakery had burned down during the night. That would have accounted for the sirens in the night.
Ashore, there's lots of shopping to be done (please send money) if you've got lots of money. There are many many stores that look, at first blush, like a pharmacy of sorts, but are really purveyors of every kind of unguent or potion to perfect your skin and hair and nails and eyebrows and lips and butt and any other bit of you that could use perfecting. Who knew that Oil of Olay wasn't all I'd need? There's a digital scale somewhere in all of these stores (I weigh the same as I did when I left, Randy's lost another 5 lbs). The women are fairly fabulously elegant, the shops are either high end fashion and jewellery, or low end tat for tourists. There's an open air market -- lots of little booths selling tat, and some interesting local jewellery and spices and veg and fruit.
The grocery stores are to die for, if just to experience the cheese and wine selection. For the last two days, we've lunched on brie, blue cheese, goat cheese, confiture de cerise, pears, fresh pineapple and mango, brilliant baguettes and a lovely Bordeaux or two. Breakfast is croissants or pain aux chocolat, fresh fruit.
Since cruising is about balance in all things, we spent one entire afternoon pulling the head apart and fixing it. Lots of sweating and cursing. We had to haul it up on deck so we could see what was going on. It weighs a ton. A screw in the foot pedal lever had broken off, so no water could get in the intake. In order to get to the screw, we (Randy) had to dissassemble the workings of the head on deck, bore out the broken screw, tap new threads, find a screw that almost fit and hacksaw it down to the right size (there was one in the rebuild kit, as was noted after the ordeal was over), and then try to put it all back together. I passed the tools, rummaged for screws, and scoured the bits that he wasn't working on. The final challenge was a screw that held the gasket over the intake valves - stripped and chewed to bits. At this point, we got out the serious goop, packed the hole, jammed the screw in, lugged the head off the deck and back to the bathroom, and poured a drink.
Then we waited with our legs crossed for the goop to set.
It felt very bohemian to pee over the rail after dark, but I was very glad to wake up in the morning to hear Randy bolting the head back to the deck. No cursing. So we're back in business. Other than that, and the fridge running almost constantly (it's been very hot - 85-90), the boat is good. The aft rail has been scraped down to bare wood all round, and when the inspiration strikes, the sandpaper will come into play, then I'll be cowering in a corner trying not to muck up the fresh varnish. I got in the water this afternoon with a safety harness and a tether connected to the jack lines, and worked my way around the boat scraping the green grass off the water line with our kitchen spatula.
Today is Ascension Day and everything will likely be shut up here. Good day for sanding and varnishing. Friday we'll likely take the bus ($2) to Philipsburg on the Dutch side for a look around, and then we're thinking St. Barts on the weekend if the weather's looking good. And I have to say, the weather has been pretty stunning. Pics to follow, I hope.
We're very glad to be here, and we are good and sick of beating to windward. Pity there's no other way to get here.
We departed lovely Virgin Gorda about 3:30 in the afternoon on Sunday, and headed right into the nasty confused chop outside. Course about 120 degrees, give or take, wind from about 120 degrees, give or take. So all night it was give or take a few degrees this way or that, trying to keep the mainsail from crashing about too much. Once it's dark, you can't really see which way the next big flap of water is coming from or how to best roll around it, so you might as well close your eyes and guess. Sometimes, you'd be congratulating yourself that ND was moving along well at about 5 knots or so under main and motor, then you'd get a big smack, a face full of spray, and you're back to 2.8. Long night, nobody barfed, it was warm (although we both wore our fouly jackets because of the endless spray), Randy ate a lot of chocolate, I drank a lot of water and ate chips, and we staggered our way across to St Martin, which is almost worth every bruise I got to get here.
By about 4 or 5 am, you get to feeling like the sheepdogs changing shifts in the Bugs Bunny cartoons: "Evening Ralph." "Evening Sam."
We had French toast to celebrate our arrival. With bananas soaked in rum. Checking in with customs was very casual. They stamped Randy's passport, but not mine. When he asked about mine, the gentleman just shrugged, and said, "Je le vu." So I didn't get a stamp, and feel rather miffed about it.
We decided on Marigot after the capt figured that the sea conditions would not be as great for anchoring on the Dutch side. Marigot Harbour is lovely -- we're anchored in about 8 feet of clear, clear water (saw a 4 foot barracuda slide by this morning, and there's a big starfish under the boat) and from shore, we can hear the hee-haw of the occasional police siren. They sound exactly like the police vehicles in Pink Panther movies. We both laughed the first time we heard it. From the boats around us, we hear Italian, Dutch, French, and there's lots of bare bodies on view. Nudity, and those teeny little bathing suits that are so flattering to the older male, are de riguer (I'm not checking the spelling on any of this, so go ahead and correct me as you read along).
There's a greater variety of boats here. Very few Americans. There's a purple boat --now that's a first. There's also one painted with fake wood planking and a mural of a mermaid and a whale on the bow. It's for sale, if anyone's interested.
We had lunch at Enoch's on the square across from Customs on the first day. On the menu: stewed goat, boiled fish, shrimp Creole, baked chicken, peas and rice, plantain and salad. We filled up for 13 bucks, including two beers. Had a walk around town, picked up a baguette and croissants for breakfast, and went back to the boat and slept for 11 hours. Next day we went back for more bread, and the bakery had burned down during the night. That would have accounted for the sirens in the night.
Ashore, there's lots of shopping to be done (please send money) if you've got lots of money. There are many many stores that look, at first blush, like a pharmacy of sorts, but are really purveyors of every kind of unguent or potion to perfect your skin and hair and nails and eyebrows and lips and butt and any other bit of you that could use perfecting. Who knew that Oil of Olay wasn't all I'd need? There's a digital scale somewhere in all of these stores (I weigh the same as I did when I left, Randy's lost another 5 lbs). The women are fairly fabulously elegant, the shops are either high end fashion and jewellery, or low end tat for tourists. There's an open air market -- lots of little booths selling tat, and some interesting local jewellery and spices and veg and fruit.
The grocery stores are to die for, if just to experience the cheese and wine selection. For the last two days, we've lunched on brie, blue cheese, goat cheese, confiture de cerise, pears, fresh pineapple and mango, brilliant baguettes and a lovely Bordeaux or two. Breakfast is croissants or pain aux chocolat, fresh fruit.
Since cruising is about balance in all things, we spent one entire afternoon pulling the head apart and fixing it. Lots of sweating and cursing. We had to haul it up on deck so we could see what was going on. It weighs a ton. A screw in the foot pedal lever had broken off, so no water could get in the intake. In order to get to the screw, we (Randy) had to dissassemble the workings of the head on deck, bore out the broken screw, tap new threads, find a screw that almost fit and hacksaw it down to the right size (there was one in the rebuild kit, as was noted after the ordeal was over), and then try to put it all back together. I passed the tools, rummaged for screws, and scoured the bits that he wasn't working on. The final challenge was a screw that held the gasket over the intake valves - stripped and chewed to bits. At this point, we got out the serious goop, packed the hole, jammed the screw in, lugged the head off the deck and back to the bathroom, and poured a drink.
Then we waited with our legs crossed for the goop to set.
It felt very bohemian to pee over the rail after dark, but I was very glad to wake up in the morning to hear Randy bolting the head back to the deck. No cursing. So we're back in business. Other than that, and the fridge running almost constantly (it's been very hot - 85-90), the boat is good. The aft rail has been scraped down to bare wood all round, and when the inspiration strikes, the sandpaper will come into play, then I'll be cowering in a corner trying not to muck up the fresh varnish. I got in the water this afternoon with a safety harness and a tether connected to the jack lines, and worked my way around the boat scraping the green grass off the water line with our kitchen spatula.
Today is Ascension Day and everything will likely be shut up here. Good day for sanding and varnishing. Friday we'll likely take the bus ($2) to Philipsburg on the Dutch side for a look around, and then we're thinking St. Barts on the weekend if the weather's looking good. And I have to say, the weather has been pretty stunning. Pics to follow, I hope.
posted by Susan at 9:05 AM
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