You know there has to be something unique about an island which is governed by two different countries, yet has no border control crossing over the bridge between the two “countries.” Fact: If for immigration purposes you can’t take the ferry into the Dutch side of St Maarten, just take the ferry to the French side of St Martin (notice they even have different spellings for the same island!). Then you just drive over to the Dutch side and all is cool. Huh?!?!? There are two different police states. If you do something bad in the French side and make it to the Dutch side, the French police can’t pursue you. This is a very small island by the way, it’s not like England! It takes about half hour (with no traffic) to drive from one side to the other. The natives have either a Dutch or French passport depending on which side they were born on. It’s definitely a special island.
My crazy experiences of this island really started on the plane from Paris to St Maarten. I sat next to a very attractive sailor who was born in France, but spent much of his youth in St Maarten. He told me it’s a crazy place where people lose themselves. I didn’t think much of it. He also told me not to trust anyone, which I thought was strange, but heeded the warning (thank goodness! It saved me a lot of drama!). We exchanged details as he said he had family and friends there who could help me if the motor yacht experience didn’t work out (he clearly knew it wouldn’t!).
Then I get in the car with the Captain and make a comment about how beautiful the island is. He said, “Yes, but it has a strange energy and people end up going crazy here.” Now two people said that, but obviously as I’m a strong yogi warrior, this energy wouldn’t touch me… Well, if you follow my blog, you know it did touch me. I left not feeling so great about myself or the island, but as I’ve now had a week of the cleansing sea to clear my head, I’ve been reflecting on the great experiences I had there.
Let’s start with the men, actually that’s all I will talk about. The French men to be exact. Although I resided in a country which was only an hour train ride away from France, I never really had much dealings with French people. I just heard the stereotypical bad things that the English have about them. Well, it turns out that I’m some kind of love goddess for French men in St Martin. The first time it happened, I was at a full moon party on the beach. It was a gorgeous night. I could see the colours of the ocean even though the moon was the only thing lighting up the sea. It was beautiful. I had not long arrived and had a beautiful, positive and light energy about me. I got talking to three French men. One who listened to me for about three minutes before he started to talk about how sweet my lips were. All night he kept going on about just wanting a peck from my “sweet sugar lips.” The other two guys weren’t talking about kissing me, but they were totally engrossed in conversation with me. In a way that most men I’ve just met haven’t ever been. This too made me feel like a love goddess.
Then we went on charter for what seemed like eight years and when we got back, I got in touch with one of the guys to see if we could hang out. I was sick of the crew and needed some new company. He came and picked me up and we went to a bar of his friend’s on the French side. We continued the night with one of his friends and went on to have the most crazy night I’ve ever had in my life. It was a great night, not material for my parents to read so I will stop there. However, what I will say is that I was so attracted to their utmost respect and interest for me. They were the biggest gentlemen I have ever met in my life. Not once did they try to make a move on me (can’t say I was so innocent!). The only time one of them touched me was when a crazy drunk guy stalked me into the bathroom and after the barman rescued me, I hurried back to the bar and explained the situation to them. One of them put his arm around me and as the stalker guy came back to talk to me again, he gave me a look as if to say, “Oh, ok. I understand,” and left. As soon as the drunk guy left, he took his arm off my waist and asked if I was ok. We talked about interesting things. Different cultures, travelling, family, life and random things. It was so refreshing after the typical motor yacht conversations which were about sex, women, sex, women, sex, sex, sex and more sex. I quickly tired of it.
The next weekend was another full moon party and the guys asked if I wanted to go. Moon and beach?!? Of course! They picked me up and we had some errands to run and people to pick up before going to the party. By the time we made it to the beach, I realised it was me and five French guys. We met up with five more guys at the beach. Again, it turned out to be quite a surreal night. The guys I came with left for a bit and I stayed with one of their friends. He too left me to talk to someone and so I made my own friends. Well, friends or admirers, I’m not sure! It was crazy. I would be standing talking to someone and then one or two other people would come up and tell me how beautiful I was. Then these strangers would start talking to each other about how beautiful I was. At one point they said that I was “physically smart.” I laughed and said, “What does that mean??” They told me it meant that I had a perfectly formed beautiful body. I have sufficient self-confidence, but who isn’t going to love that?!?! Then one of my friends came back and agreed with them all before leaving again. At one point I had two French men on their knees holding each of my hands in theirs begging for a kiss. Just a kiss!! Then three others came up behind them and said they wanted a kiss too. I’m sure everyone was on ecstasy, but this was totally surreal! I of course obliged the cute ones (all of them) and was again showered with compliments. But beautiful respectful compliments, not crude horrible ones that I have sadly grown accustomed to. Maybe it’s the French culture that breeds respect for women, I’m not sure. I was just happy to have it!
I spent the rest of the night going up to my favourite ones and kissing them before running off to the next one. Hey, we only live once and numerous women in their 50’s have told me I have to live up my beauty while I can. I respect and listen to my elders 😉
After that night, I chose to “settle” with one. He was the friend of the original friend I made. He was very sweet sending me text messages throughout the day asking how I was, so he easily won me over. He invited me over for dinner one night and I was hooked. I spent the majority of my last three weeks with him. He would rescue me from the marina in his car. I would babble about how annoying that day was and as soon as we got out of his car, everything was ok again. He made me dinners and brought me tea and biscuits when I was busy on my computer applying for new jobs. He didn’t complain when I took up his whole bed after spending a month sleeping in a coffin bed. We made each other laugh like crazy. He listened to me babble about my theories on life. On my day off, he took me around the island and showed me all the local spots. He was actually quite shy so I enjoyed learning a new little piece about him every day that we spent together. He was my saviour on that island. It was a very sad goodbye, but I’ve said hundreds of them in my day and no doubt will say a hundred more.
I also became friends with the French sailor on the dock next to us. He was really nice too and took me out for some fancy dinners. He invited me back to his boat to view the stars from his boom one night, but I felt a little disloyal saying yes, so I politely declined. The next day he was walking around with his shirt off and I started to regret that no… Don’t worry I’m on the way to the Med, he will be there too, along with a million other hot sailors!
The point is, I did lose myself there and was one of the victims that went a little crazy. However, I had some fun and beautiful experiences. I met many more beautiful people then the ones I described above who also showed me not only the beauty of the island, but of human nature. I became friends with the security guard as I always left the boat early to wait for my escape to pick me up. We would chat about life and he was sad when I told him I was leaving. I gave him a hug and we wished each other the best. He also treated me with respect and kept me safe from some of the not so respectful habitants of the island while I was waiting.
In Latin America, I was a “Mamacita!” who had various offers of sexual escapades, but always with a sexual lust that made me feel a bit dirty. I didn’t like the attention I received. I used to hate going out without Captain Cool for that reason. However, in St Martin it was different. I received the same amount of attention, but I felt for the first time in my life, very feminine and beautiful for it. I felt like a goddess of love – not sex, which is actually a pretty amazing feeling. Whatever is happening in that culture needs to be spread around the world so more women can experience it!