This was not our first time to Martinique. In fact we know it quite well and over the years we have come to appreciate this beautiful island. So much so, that when I’m asked which island I prefer in the Caribbean, I always say Martinique. That’s partially because it’s part of metropolitan France and has all the advantages and infrastructure that come with that privilege, but also because it’s a striking volcanic island with good sailing anchorages, the most idyllic beaches imaginable, and wonderful hiking.

Sadly we didn’t have time to do much exploring or hiking this time, but we did squeeze some walks around the marina area, a sunrise hike up to Mont Gommier to take in the view of Sainte-Anne and Le Marin, as well as a few hikes along the southern coast, including a ten-mile trek with a group of cruisers one Saturday: From Sainte-Anne, we cut across the island to the east coast through sugar cane fields and then down to the cliffs at the bottom tip of the island, and finally back along the coast where we joined the week-end revelers at a beach hut serving grilled poulet boucané and ice cold Lorraine (local beer)—much needed sustenance to complete the last few miles.

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When we finally turn north, the wind takes our sails and a rainbow appears in the sky above to send us off. I take this an auspicious sign and a wink from God that all will be well. Captain Patrice is beside himself with the joy of being back sailing. Nevertheless, until we get past Hibiscus—a gas rig in the sea north of us, which marks the point at which one is usually out of the range of danger, we’re on high alert.

At his point I am feeling queasy (stage 1 of seasickness for me) and very sleepy (stage 2). To avoid 'stage 3' (you don't want to know about that one), I decide to go down and try to sleep it off in the Captain's berth—aka ‘the coffin’—a very narrow, but comfortable bed right next to the chart table. I am comforted to know that Charisse will help Patrice if needed and fall into a deep sleep.

What seems like minutes later, Patrice wakes me up.  A pirogue* has been spotted and is heading towards us! We are not armed except for a flare gun and my trusty baseball bat, which I sincerely hope I will never have to use as it would mean someone would have gotten close enough for me to hit. Thankfully, the pirogue turns out to be harmless and doesn't come any closer to us—just a couple of guys out fishing perhaps, thank God. At this point we are past the rig, and we pick up an excellent sail point and we are cruising fast, which for a sailboat like Taka Trois is 10 knots or about 20 km an hour. 

We’re taking no chances with the threat of that customs boat returning and we hightail it out of there before sunrise. Today’s point of sail towards Saint Vincent is much easier and therefore so much more enjoyable. I am now almost fully functional with nary a cracker in sight.

Saint Vincent, a beautiful island with an active volcano, has many lovely anchorages. Sadly, over the years there have been many ‘incidents’ with cruising boats and locals so we are apprehensive.  Ironically, this is where much of the Pirates of the Caribbean was filmed and it would appear that the pirate tradition continues today. Nevertheless, we had been assured that the times, they be a changin’ and we have several acquaintances who assured us that it is safer now. We decided it was worth the risk as it would mean getting into our anchorage early for a change.​

Sailing, as it turns out is a little like riding a bike. Once you get back on, it’s a little wobbly at first, but you realize you haven’t forgotten how to do it.​

We began our love affair with the island of Saint Martin in 2003 when my husband, our two daughters and I chartered a boat there and sailed around its spectacular shores. More recently, we have lived and worked on the island for at least part of the year since we arrived there on our sailboat, Taka Trois, in 2013. Our boat now resides in Trinidad and until last year we were renting an apartment there. In April 2017, we invested our retirement capital in a condominium by the sea in Marigot on the French side. 

Thankfully neither my husband nor I were there when Irma hit.  He has returned to the island several times since then for work, but I only went back seven months later this past April.  What follows is an account of what I saw, heard and felt…​

 Our apartment is livable, thank God, but the walls and ceiling have serious water damage and the bathroom window was blown out, causing the ceiling to cave in.
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In Grand Case the main drag is like a ghost town with most shops and restaurants closed—the Shamballa, Calmos Café and so many places were destroyed. The Lolos* however, are thriving, including our preferred establishment which still serves excellent BBQ ribs, slaw right and cold beer by the sea. ​

*​​Open air barbecue stands serving local cuisine. The word Lolos means ‘boobs’ and these places are so named because the women who run them are rather well endowed.

Anse Marcel, which, until Irma, was considered a hurricane hole, paradoxically suffered some of the worst damage on the island. The Radisson (Riu) hotel will not be functional for at least two years and the marina where Taka Trois was moored for two years was ravaged. If our boat had been there, we would have certainly lost her. Thank God we moved her to Trinidad where she’s safe and sound.

On the bright side, the complex where we used to rent an apartment near the marina had minimal damage, although the roof immediately above us and the guardrail just outside our door were blown away. Although it no longer really concerns me, I confess that I did take some pleasure in noting that our neighbors’ unsightly wreck of a bike that had been tethered to the guard rail in front of our door for three years was finally gone. So is the rail, but never mind...
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Ile Pinel has been beautifully restored with two new beach restaurants and our favorite hike around the northwest tip of the island is still as unspoiled and lovely as always—I was terrified we would find mountains of rubbish strewn along the shore. The vegetation is brown and much destroyed, but it’s the tropics, it will grow back in no time during the rainy season.

Orient Beach lost every single beach restaurant, bar and facility. Not a trace remains. For before and after pictures, check out this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oWx-bRIMne4. Although I mourn the loss of the livelihoods of the owners and workers, I have to say that the beach, in its renewed natural state, is quite beautiful. And for those so inclined, the nude beach is back in action…

The Dutch side suffered as much as the French side of the island. Many of its resorts are now just skeletons and most of the restaurants and shops are closed down. The Grand Marché caved in completely, as did many supermarkets, and it will be a long time before it opens its doors. The Casinos obviously have serious financial backing and are all up and running, thankfully none of the bridges were seriously damaged and the Yacht Club at the bridge held up as well. Whatever damage it sustained wasrepaired in time for the Heineken Regatta which took place as planned this past February.

Oyster Pond which housed the ‘Moorings Marina’ base where we chartered a boat on our first trip to SXM more than 14 years ago, was completely destroyed. Captain Oliver’s and all the shops and bars on the dock are wrecked and Bobby’s restaurant by the sea, where we enjoyed a wonderful family dinner at Christmas a few years ago, is gone without a trace. 

To end this report on a positive note, the island is already being rebuilt, in some places quite quickly, and there are already a variety of new and inventive establishments run by enterprising locals popping up all over the island. It will take a number of years for it to be properly restored—barring another hurricane, please God! An unexpected bonus from the storm is that it seems that the island may becoming home to a flock of frigate birds, possibly from nearby Barbuda, where their natural reserve was devastated by this same hurricane. It is such a joy and balm to the soul to watch these magnificent birds swooping and circling majestically overhead before dive-bombing dramatically into the sea to catch their supper.

And finally, some of you will be pleased to know that the Sunset beach bar is indeed up and running with the usual fools standing nearby at the end of the runway hoping to get their asses blasted by jet fuel…Their continued stupidity cheered me up enormously.

Sidenote: The woman who was instrumental in selling us the apartment asked me on my second night back whether I regretting buying our place. Even though, I was feeling heartsick, overwhelmed by the amount of work needed to be done both in the apartment and on the island and already dreading the next hurricane season which starts in less than two months…I had no hesitation in answering: ‘Absolutely none’. This island may be broken, but it is our island now and we will be a part of re-building it and making it better. 

But before I do that, its time to have a cold beer and watch the sunset—thankfully no hurricane can take that away that pleasure for long. Cheers!
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People often ask us if we’re afraid of traveling at night.  The answer is both yes and no.  No sailor enjoys sailing too close to land at night and we generally try to avoid arriving anywhere at night, especially a place we don’t know.  However, being out at sea at night is delightful.  As our friend Alex of Bluewater Sailing puts it:  “Night sailing is one of those things that you have to do to fully appreciate.  The stars dazzle on a cloudless night, and the sound of the bow breaking through the waves soothes the soul. Your senses are heightened, and it begins to feel as if you are closer to the sea…” We concur.

We left Grenada on Tuesday at 1:00 a.m. under clear skies and a beautiful moon—a ‘Waxing Gibbous’ in fact (a term I just learned off the internet).  We had decided to leave at night in order to arrive in Trinidad early afternoon in order to clear immigration and customs before it closes at 4 o’clock.

The journey was relatively easy and we would’ve made it in under our estimated 12 hours if we hadn’t caught a mass of sargassum in our prop somewhere along the way. Patrice suspected that we had caught something below at one point as Taka Trois seemed to be dragging a bit, but it wasn’t until we put the engine on just before arriving and heard an uncharacteristic gurgling that our suspicions were confirmed.  We put the engine in reverse and a mass of that stuff came to the surface at the stern—ugh!

We did make it to the customs dock in Chaguaramas in plenty of time, but unfortunately had to wait in an interminable line at immigration as the ferry from Venezuela had arrived just ahead us disgorging a load of immigrants and visitors.  At least we were fairly entertained while we waited by the dialogue between the Trinidadian officials and some of the Venezuelan visitors.  Here’s just a sampling of what we heard:

Venezuelan #1
Immigration Officer: Why are you coming to Trinidad? 
Venezuelan:  For a wedding.  
Immigration Officer:: When’s the wedding? 
Venezuelan: I don’t know.

Venezuelan #2
Immigration Officer: Why are you coming to Trinidad? 
Venezuelan:  For surgery. 
Custom’s Official: What kind of surgery?
Venezuelan: I’m not sure.

Venezuelan #3
Immigration Officer: Why are you coming to Trinidad? 
Venezuelan:  To accompany my son who is coming to study in here. 
Immigration Officer: How old is your son?
Venezuelan: 27

In spite of the delay, we were all clear and had Taka Trois settled into her new berth at Crew’s Inn marina before sunset and in plenty of time to celebrate our arrival back in Trinidad--three years to the day of when we left on March 31, 2012.  How to describe how it felt?  Surreal, to be arriving here by boat; excited, Trinidad was our home for three years after all; relieved, as always when we reach a destination safely and a bit sad that this journey is over….

It’s been 12 days since we arrived in Grenada, and I realized as I started writing this post that for the first time since the beginning of this trip, there has been no drama, only minor problems with the boat and life onboard has been fairly peaceful.   The only downside is that I have nothing really exciting to write about and well, reporting on whether we decided to have one rum punch or two while watching the sunset does not make for gripping drama on the high seas…

Thus said, if I still have your attention, I will tell you a little about Grenada—a lovely lush Caribbean island, volcanic in origin. Its colorful capital, St. Georges, is the nicest city in the West Indies, in our humble opinion, with a distinct colonial flavor, interesting shops and markets and a friendly atmosphere.   Its history mirrors that of most Caribbean islands—fought over and settled by the French and the British eventually gaining independence yadda yadda yadda--with one major distinction in that it is the only island in this region that has been invaded by the United States of America as recently as 1983 no less.

In 1983 I was busy with a new career, planning a wedding and paid little attention to the news of the invasion of a small Caribbean island except, perhaps, to cross it off as a potential honeymoon destination.  It was, obviously, a very big deal here though, with 79 casualties (19 U.S. soldiers, 25 Cubans and 45 Grenadians) and over 500 wounded.  Being a guest on these shores has piqued my curiosity about what happened, so let me share with you a few details of this cold war tale of murder and espionage, worthy of a novel by John Le Carré

On October 19, of 1983, the moderate Grenada government was overthrown by the communists in a violent military coup leaving the Prime Minister and 7 others dead.  U.S. President Ronald Regan decided that this posed a threat to the 1,000 U.S. medical students on the island and to U.S. national security as Cuba, under the direction of the Soviet Union, might use Grenada as a refueling stop for Cuban and Soviet airplanes loaded with weapons destined for Central American communist insurgents.  The U.S. invaded on October 25 and by December, the pre-revolutionary Grenadian constitution was re-instated and all of the students had been evacuated safely. The governments of Britain, Trinidad and Tobago, and Canada, among others, as well as the U.N., were not amused and there was and still is, debate over whether it was all necessary. 

Thankfully, all is at peace today on this beautiful island which, being on the southern zone of the hurricane belt, was long considered a ‘hurricane hole’ for boats until Ivan hit in 2004, causing thirty-nine fatalities, severe damage and nearly wiped out the nutmeg crop—the cornerstone of the Grenadian economy.  Stricter boat insurance companies now force many cruisers to weather out the hurricane season in Trinidad, so we will have lots of company down there from June to November.  

That is, if we can shed ‘the velcro’ which has grown on our bottom—a disease common amongst cruisers who are reluctant or just too lazy to leave a place they like.  Here, in our very pleasant anchorage off Hog Island, there are boats with something more like concrete on their bottoms who have made this place their home,  some for over 10 years.  It is somewhat understandable as for some, it is as close as you can get to paradise on earth.  

What makes it even more difficult to leave is that there are lots of distractions organized by the highly organized cruiser’s network here.  Every morning at 7:30, someone from the network cheerfully broadcasts the latest news, weather, shopping excursions, local restaurant specials and social activities on the VHF—our favorite broadcaster was Miss Kitty, a witty southern lady with an accent that dripped honey and called us all darlin'.  You can join exercise classes, participate in charity events, join domino tournaments at the Tikki Bar, meet and mingle with other cruisers at beach BBQs and even hunt for Easter eggs.  

We took part in the weekly Sunday BBQ on Hog Island yesterday, but will have to do our Easter egg hunting in Trinidad as we’re leaving tomorrow morning before dawn for the final part of our journey.  Technically speaking this will be our the shortest leg, but the longest passage, about 85 nautical miles and should take us about 12-14 hours or so if all goes well.  Please pray that it does.

PS:  Just to reassure that you that life on board is not just a bowl of rum punch, we did have several minor ‘dramas’ during our stay here:  First, our anchor dragged on our third morning at anchorage bringing us precariously close to the reefs and a catamaran before we realized it—thank God we were on aboard and awake!  Last night, our generator quit which, while not essential, was still worrying.  We had a restless night and finally figured out this morning that the fuel gauge was not working properly and we had run out of diesel!  Thankfully, we had a few spare gallons in the hold, otherwise we would have had to navigate the narrow passage out between the reefs under sail which is generally a really bad idea.  This morning when we hauled up the anchor to go and fill up on diesel, we were relieved that there was no fishing net on the chain this time, but we did snag an old fishing line with a old sock on the hook!  And finally, in a feeble attempt to outdo me, Patrice fell off the boat at the diesel dock while walking the plank.  Aside from a few bruises, he’s fine and those who know him will be surprised to hear that he did it gracefully and without a sound!

The next part of our journey took the longest (11 days), but was also the most trouble free and therefore very relaxing.  We picked up our guests, Bert and Judith, in Rodney Bay, St. Lucia and then headed south at a fairly leisurely pace, stopping overnight at several places for one or two nights.  Unusually strong winds continued to be our greatest challenge and largely dictated where we could anchor, how much sail to put out and sometimes whether we could sail at all.  

As George, our witty and highly entertaining friend from Texas stated in a recent update:  “On the holy shit scale, it has been blowing ‘Like Stink,’ which in non sailor terms, translates into 22 knots with gusts of 30.  No, we are not looking for sympathy.  The temperature is still 80℉.  It is just that we are getting windburn on our sunburn.”  I couldn’t have put it better although, I probably would’ve said merde instead of sh^t —swear words somehow sound more ladylike in French.

Sadly the high winds and our resulting speed also made fishing rather difficult (hey, we'll shamelessly use any excuse we can for our lack of fish), so all we caught was seaweed aside from the "big one" that got away taking took the lure and hook with it--and yes, there really was one on the line (our latest estimate puts it at several meters at least--haha!).

We made it safely to Grenada in plenty of time for our friends to make their flight home today and still managed to linger awhile at some of these spectacular islands, named by the British as the Windward Islands.  As words fail to adequately describe their beauty and charm, I’m going to let my pictures do most of the talking in the rest of this post.

Patrice has had to dig out his briefcase and put on a proper shirt on this morning for a business meeting here in Grenada today and I am making good use of the first decent wifi we’ve had in almost two weeks by posting this blog and cleaning out my inbox.  We plan to be here in Grenada for at least a week before our final leg to Trinidad.  Stay tuned…

We spent a week moored to the dock in Le Marin and I’m pleased to report that that our engine did get repaired in the end as well as several other things.  We were fortunate to have had the services of an exceptional mechanic who spent a day and a half getting it shipshape.  We also got the desalinator working, the generator serviced properly and thanks to the expert handyman skills of our friend Steve, who jokingly says that he will work for ti-punch,* lots of little bits and pieces also got fixed.

Unfortunately as repairs, boat chores and consulting work took priority, we had little time to do any of the hikes we had planned or explore this lovely island aptly named Madinina, the Island of Flowers, by the Caribs, the original inhabitants.   It is a French island and feels like France except for the the presence of fourteen rum distilleries, exotic tropical vegetation which is decidedly Caribbean and an active volcano.

Sunday morning, the harbor master informed us that a berth in the marina was now available, so we prepared the boat to move and then got down to the tricky business of raising the anchor.  Our anchor has a windlass which means it’s electric, so technically all we have to do is press the control button on a handy remote and the windlass will pull on the massive chain to bring up our anchor.  It’s quite an impressive sight to behold and I have a healthy respect for it and not a little trepidation when using it.  

On any given day, the biggest challenge is keeping the boat in alignment with the chain while we pull up the anchor.  As soon as the chain deviates too far to the left or too far to the right, which happens when the wind or current pushes us, it’s impossible to continue as the chain will jump out of the bow roller and get stuck (see photo here and diagram #1 below).  To put it back in place is tricky at best and potentially dangerous to the fingers, so we do everything we can to avoid this happening. 

Due to an unstable weather pattern in our area and the fact that is currently high cruising/chartering season here in the Caribbean, the bay was already jam-packed with boats seeking a calm place, so we had a devil of a time squeezing a safe place for ourselves.  ‘Safe’ means 1) finding in a spot not too deep and not too shallow where the anchor will hold on the ocean floor and 2) placing ourselves far enough away from all other boats to ensure not banging into them even if the wind and currents pivot us around on our anchor chain.  After two attempts, we managed to squeeze ourselves into a tight, but secure spot and spent three pleasant nights there without incident.

Warning! This is a story which requires quite a bit of tedious background information, so I will have to risk boring you for a time before I get to the heart of the matter.  I will also impose several homemade sketches necessary to illustrate the tale on you—please forgive my lack of talent for this sort of thing.   So for those of you who have a bit of time and are game to hear about our latest….ahem….drama, here goes:

When we arrived here in Le Marin, Martinique last Thursday with the problems with our engine our #1 priority, we were told there was no space in the marina until Sunday.  In the that was fine since the engine expert was not available until Monday anyway and we worked out how to use the engine temporarily despite the malfunction.  In the meantime we anchored in the bay, which we always prefer as it is much cooler there, has no mosquitoes, the view is better and we have a place to swim at our doorstep at all times. 

As always when we have been through something new, we carefully assess what happened and see what we could have done differently.  We figured out roughly what went wrong and agree that given the conditions it probably would’ve been more prudent to wait for a calmer time to pick up the anchor—what’s that expression about having perfect 50/50 vision in hindsight…?  We also agree that as best as we can, we need to plan for possibility of a ‘fishnet’ (or shall we say the unexpected) when planning a maneuver.  And in our sailing experiences so far, that unexpected fishnet is to be expected.  It’s a good lesson, but realistically speaking, almost impossible to put into practice, so we will just have to trust that God will provide what we need to help us untangle the next fishnet.

Extremes.  If I had to summarize this leg of the journey in one word, that’s the one I would use. What am I talking about?  Allow me to indulge myself with a little list:  Hurling, pelting, blinding squalls versus cloudless blue skies; 15 foot waves versus barely a ripple in the sea; wind howling up to 30 knots versus not even a puff of wind to fill the sails;  over-crowded anchorages with nary a space in between versus empty bays with hardly a soul; and finally endless problems with the boat versus the joy of finding Taka Trois’ sweet spot sailing upwind, the incredible beauty of a full rainbow at sea, the up-lifting experience of seeing dolphins frolicking alongside and the satisfaction of spotting yet another green flash.

When I read Ann Vanderhoof’s book many years ago, An Embarrassment of Mangoes, her story of a sailing trip from Toronto to Trinidad and back, I clearly remember alternating between delight and horror as the story unfolded.  I’m still like that when it comes to sailing.  Why do we continue? That’s a question we often ponder…Perhaps the hope of another rainbow, dolphin or green flash just might have something to do with it.

Although our journey from Guadeloupe to Martinique was fraught with challenges and trouble, we made it safely to Le Marin in 4 days with one night stops in Les Saintes, Dominica and Anse d’Arlet, Martinique. Sadly we did not get our planned break in Les Saintes as the place was so crammed with charter boats in this high season (might have something to do with the foul weather up north), we were forced to anchor in a very uncomfortable spot.  After a terrible night being buffeted and bashed by the swells, we pulled up anchor at dawn and moved on to Dominica thinking we’d rest up there.  This was not to be for even though the anchorage in Roseau was uncrowded and rather charming, just as we arrived we experienced engine problems and we decided it was best to get ourselves as quickly as possible to Martinique where there are excellent marine facilities. 

We were able to sail most of the rest of the way and therefore did not need to engage the engine much. In fact, strong winds got us there in record time (our British sailing friends might be impressed to know that we covered the equivalent distance from Cherbourg to Lymington in 7 hours) and thankfully the engine behaved itself for the short time we needed it to get ourselves safely moored. Whew!

Whatever disappointment we may have experienced melted away with the relief of being safe and the joy of seeing our good friends Ann and Steve of Receta who arrived in the bay just before us.  We will spend ten days here before moving on our next major destination—Grenada with many stops in between.   Before we do that however, we will take some time to explore this beautiful island.  Stay tuned…

PS:  It was great to hear from so many of you after I posted earlier this week.  Thanks for your encouragement--I can't tell you how wonderful it is to get your messages.  It brings me that much closer to you when I am so far away...