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Making Dreams Come True
By Land & Sea!
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blog post
February 17th 2010
OYSTER POND, St. Martin — Just a few feet beyond the twisting border that separates the French and Dutch sides of this Caribbean island, things start to change. And the changes don't always sit well with visitors.
Like one afternoon, at my hotel on the French side, I met an Ohio couple who had just returned from Le Galion, a fine beach tucked into a bay and favored by families for its tame surf. The couple, however, were unnerved by women baring their chests while children frolicked in the sand. They had seen no such thing on the Dutch side.
"Coming from the U.S., that was obviously pretty shocking," said Joe Williams, 44, a Baptist pastor from Lodi, Ohio.
No surprise, then, that the Williamses were more comfortable on the Dutch side. They reported favorably on the friendly tourists they met and the endless shopping. One store even reminded them of the Sam's Club back home. You don't find that amid the French side's quiet sidewalk cafes.
St. Martin — or St. Maarten if you're on the Dutch side — easily breeds allegiance. The two sides have different governments, languages, cuisines, currencies and general dispositions. They have different electrical currents from different companies, which explains why blackouts are routine only on the Dutch side.
What they don't have is much of a border. All that denotes the divide, depending on your direction of travel, is a sign reading "Welcome to the French Side" or "Welcome to St. Maarten." No fences, no checkpoints.
Still, that border often leads visitors and locals alike to identify with one side of these 37 square miles, thereby turning the other into a faraway boogeyman. In a Dutch-side restaurant, for instance, a man asked his server whether robbers still swiped purses from scooters on the French side. The waiter assured the man no such problem exists, but the man and his wife, from northern New Jersey, were hardly comforted.
"We've been coming for years, and I won't even give them my business anymore on the French side," the wife said.
"The French side is very … French," the husband added.
What he meant was clear. He wasn't being nice.
But he was correct. The French side is very French, all the way down to Marigot's chocolate croissants and a languid pace generating a fraction of the traffic that plagues the Dutch side. Between the language and the food, the sun and the surf, it's like a Caribbean version of Nice. As Muriel Demy, a 39-year-old Nice native who moved here to open a beachfront hotel, sunbathed on an 80-degree January afternoon (topless, it should be noted), I asked if true French culture exists on the island.
Yes, she said, in the beachfront village of Grand Case. There, on the main street wide enough for just one car at a time, French chefs craft dishes of snails, cassoulet, foie gras and local fish ladled in butter and cream at more than 25 restaurants.
"This is the real French food," Demy said.
I asked how often she goes to the Dutch side — a mile from where we talked — and she looked as if I had asked how often she visits Mars.
"Maybe sometimes for work or to shop," she said.
It might not sit well with the northern New Jersey contingent, but many locals, even on the Dutch side, said they prefer the French side.
"Less tourists," a cabdriver said.
True enough; though slightly larger, the French side attracts a tenth of the cruise traffic, meaning fewer people wind up there.
The Dutch side, on the other hand, feels less like Holland and more like the Caribbean. As with much of the region, it is a cultural mishmash — local, Asian, Indian, European and American. It is admired for the shopping that comes in three essential experiences: the duty-free liquor store, the duty-free jewelry store and, in a nod to efficiency, the duty-free liquor/jewelry store. There are more than a dozen casinos and plenty of inexpensive clothing stores.
As you'd hope from the Caribbean, it's hard for anyone not to smile and offer a kind word on the Dutch side.
Story by Josh Noel,Chicago Tribune newspapers
Like one afternoon, at my hotel on the French side, I met an Ohio couple who had just returned from Le Galion, a fine beach tucked into a bay and favored by families for its tame surf. The couple, however, were unnerved by women baring their chests while children frolicked in the sand. They had seen no such thing on the Dutch side.
"Coming from the U.S., that was obviously pretty shocking," said Joe Williams, 44, a Baptist pastor from Lodi, Ohio.
No surprise, then, that the Williamses were more comfortable on the Dutch side. They reported favorably on the friendly tourists they met and the endless shopping. One store even reminded them of the Sam's Club back home. You don't find that amid the French side's quiet sidewalk cafes.
St. Martin — or St. Maarten if you're on the Dutch side — easily breeds allegiance. The two sides have different governments, languages, cuisines, currencies and general dispositions. They have different electrical currents from different companies, which explains why blackouts are routine only on the Dutch side.
What they don't have is much of a border. All that denotes the divide, depending on your direction of travel, is a sign reading "Welcome to the French Side" or "Welcome to St. Maarten." No fences, no checkpoints.
Still, that border often leads visitors and locals alike to identify with one side of these 37 square miles, thereby turning the other into a faraway boogeyman. In a Dutch-side restaurant, for instance, a man asked his server whether robbers still swiped purses from scooters on the French side. The waiter assured the man no such problem exists, but the man and his wife, from northern New Jersey, were hardly comforted.
"We've been coming for years, and I won't even give them my business anymore on the French side," the wife said.
"The French side is very … French," the husband added.
What he meant was clear. He wasn't being nice.
But he was correct. The French side is very French, all the way down to Marigot's chocolate croissants and a languid pace generating a fraction of the traffic that plagues the Dutch side. Between the language and the food, the sun and the surf, it's like a Caribbean version of Nice. As Muriel Demy, a 39-year-old Nice native who moved here to open a beachfront hotel, sunbathed on an 80-degree January afternoon (topless, it should be noted), I asked if true French culture exists on the island.
Yes, she said, in the beachfront village of Grand Case. There, on the main street wide enough for just one car at a time, French chefs craft dishes of snails, cassoulet, foie gras and local fish ladled in butter and cream at more than 25 restaurants.
"This is the real French food," Demy said.
I asked how often she goes to the Dutch side — a mile from where we talked — and she looked as if I had asked how often she visits Mars.
"Maybe sometimes for work or to shop," she said.
It might not sit well with the northern New Jersey contingent, but many locals, even on the Dutch side, said they prefer the French side.
"Less tourists," a cabdriver said.
True enough; though slightly larger, the French side attracts a tenth of the cruise traffic, meaning fewer people wind up there.
The Dutch side, on the other hand, feels less like Holland and more like the Caribbean. As with much of the region, it is a cultural mishmash — local, Asian, Indian, European and American. It is admired for the shopping that comes in three essential experiences: the duty-free liquor store, the duty-free jewelry store and, in a nod to efficiency, the duty-free liquor/jewelry store. There are more than a dozen casinos and plenty of inexpensive clothing stores.
As you'd hope from the Caribbean, it's hard for anyone not to smile and offer a kind word on the Dutch side.
Story by Josh Noel,Chicago Tribune newspapers
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