Reporting live from downtown its…

21st June 2007

Mornin’ all,

I’m going to try something a little different today. Usually the emails I write are done retrospectively, after I’ve gotten back to my cabin or even a day or two later. I’m always remembering what I’ve done and describing how it was. This time I’m going to try describing how it is. My last email was a bit morose and seemed to dwell on living the moment and the experience of the time rather than rushing through it to something else so I thought I would take the time to sit somewhere and just describe the scene in front of me in the moment, for at least as long as the battery lasts.

I woke up a little earlier today, a port day in St Maarten, and I am sitting here in the shade of a couple of enormous trees, in front of what was the Governors’ old house but is now the Pasanggrahan Royal Guest House. There is a narrow sandy strip between me and the concrete boardwalk along the waterfront here and then the pure white sand of the beach beyond. I’m full of poached eggs and corn beef hash and now have a beer beside me and a view of the ocean interrupted only by the passing tourists walking up and down in search of fast food and cheap alcohol. I probably shouldn’t sound so disparaging of them for wanting fast food and cheap alcohol though, that’s exactly what I did before I settled on this place but then I’m not a tourist, I’m a regular, right?

The first thing that strikes you about this place and it does it as soon as you walk down the gangway from the ship and step into the brilliant sunshine and almost impossible humidity is the colour of the water. Blue just doesn’t describe it. If you have ever seen the water that comes off a mountain top in the Himalayas or the water that flows from a glacier, or a glacier itself for that matter, then you may have some idea of the colour of the water here. It is a textured blue with a play of light and dark areas the same pattern as a slice of marble cake and just by looking at it you know that the bottom is sandy and white and you would be able to see all the way down if you were on a boat and able to stare into the depths. It’s an inviting blue, a safe blue, without the menace of a dark green that can hide monsters or presage a storm. I don’t know what colour this bay turns before a storm but I feel that it would be as surprised by the suddenness of a tropical downpour as I usually am and wouldn’t have time to change colour or give warning but would continue to invite swimmers and beach lovers even during the rain.

As cliched as it sounds there are boats bobbing on the water of the bay and even the older and, on closer inspection, more decrepit ones seem to have a place and appropriateness. The legend of the Caribbean beachcomber who does nothing but sail from island to island in a small weather-beaten yacht seems a not too impossible one as I sit here and look at these boats. Even the water taxi that goes past occasionally, saving the tourists the 15 minute walk from the ship to the downtown area, has a romantic look to it and, framed by the beach in the foreground and the green hills on the other side of the bay behind, it fits into the theme and the feel and tears at the part of me that wants to escape from it all and spend my days just sailing from island to island. The beach bar is being set up beside me right now and as the woman bartender calls out to the passing locals in that soft and comforting local accent the idea of just sitting here for a very long time with a beer beside me and my small and decrepit boat bobbing a little way off shore is pulling strong. The Barry Manilow that she’s just started playing seems a little out of place but I think I’d be able to put up with that.

There are large white sails seemingly just this side of the horizon as they glide along that line between sky and ocean that seems much less defined here. Jet skis are careening around the bay, throwing up rooster tails of white against the blue, driven either by a tourist out of control on his first time or by a more experienced operator trying to show just how exciting they can be. Further down the boardwalk the restaurant touts are trying to entice business in by offering beer by the bucket and island delicacies along with “American” foods for those unwilling to trust the vagaries of jerked food as opposed to McDonalded.

Of course if I was going to sit here for any length of time I would need a much darker pair of glasses to put up with the number of dazzlingly white bodies that are walking past. The heat and the humidity are here in force as summer kicks in and I don’t think the majority of people realise just how powerful this sun can be. The number of painfully red faces that appear in front of me at work are pretty damning testimony to how few do. The shade of the trees I’m sitting under is welcome and the breeze that gets through occasionally is even more welcome but somehow the romanticism of the tropical breeze is blunted a little by the drone of an air conditioner (an attraction and selling point for most of the beachside restaurants) and Barry has been replaced by the Pretenders to drown out the subtleties of the birds in the trees. Despite that and the plastic fruit and vegetables adorning the roof of the beach bar, I really think I could spend a lot of time sitting here just watching the water and the people going past.

It’s starting to cloud over a little now and there is a feeling of a coming storm in the air. The water hasn’t changed colour and probably won’t but even through the humidity there is a feeling of impending rain and even a slight quickening of the breeze as I write this. I don’t think that the rain would worry me, the chance to get wet and a little cooler seems pleasant at the moment but I’m not sure how this laptop would stand up to the bath so I’m going to have to keep a weather eye out, pun intended.

It’s probably not taken anywhere near as long to read this as it’s taken me to write it but I’ve been sitting here for about an hour and a half now and my battery is running rapidly out of any ability to keep me alive and writing. The desire to just sit back and look has taken precedence much more often than the desire to write so maybe the idea of doing it live wasn’t such a good one. Maybe just a notebook and the jotting of ideas and impressions would be a better idea next time. I’m beginning to have a bit more respect for travel writers and the dedication they have to show in order to get the job done. A cold beer and a view like this are certainly not conducive to a good and productive day at the office.

Greg