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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It has now been almost four years since we sailed Taka Trois from Saint Martin to Trinidad. Patrice had several consulting projects he was working on there, so we decided she would make a good base for us to live and work from when we were there. Equally, if not more important, Trinidad is a relatively safe place for a boat to wait out the hurricane season. Case in point, if she had been in Saint Martin in September 2018, we would have surely lost her to a little ‘storm’ called Irma (for details about that you can read an account I just posted on the blog of what I saw when I visited the island 7 months after the hurricane).
 
When we arrived in Trinidad, we never dreamed she would stay at the dock for four years, but life intervened, and it was just not possible for us to sail her,  so she became our houseboat. However, as we’re not getting any younger and a sailboat needs an owner to sail her, the time has come for us to do something about her. 

Unfortunately we cannot afford to take off on another sabbatical year or even an extended trip at this point in our lives, and truth be told, we are not sure whether sailing really suits us anymore. However, selling the boat would be a real wrench, as sailing has been a big part of our life for over 20 years; and Taka Trois has been our home, off and on, for 10.

To be honest, part of me is fed up with the work, the cost, and the ENDLESS problems that a boat brings, but I confess that even though I am no longer very excited about sailing, I have no peace in my heart about selling her. Patrice aptly stated it would be like losing a limb, but has admitted that he is weary of the responsibility of having a boat and all that it entails as well.
 
Since the decision is not clear to us as of yet, we decided to take her out of mothballs this year and try to do some sailing to test whether or not this lifestyle still appeals to us—and it is indeed a lifestyle. Patrice thought he could manage his work commitments from the boat for a month or so, which would give us enough time to sail up to the French island of Martinique and back. T3 is a French boat and there are repairs we hope to get done there and boat parts we need to buy--not to mention confit de canard and wine. 

If it turns out we really don’t want to sail anymore, Martinique would be the perfect place to start the process of selling her. T3 is an RM, made by Fora Marine in La Rochelle, France and RMs are generally highly regarded,  even sought-after, in the French sailing community (for more about T3 see "About the Boat" under the section "Taka Trois"). And if we decide not to sell her, then we would have had the time to assess options and come to some sort of plan for her future role in our life.
 
It took 6 weeks to get her sail-ready again,​ which were fraught with fits and starts, a lot of back-breaking work and the usual song and dance with local workers. Miraculously we managed to get the essentials done. Tune in to my blog to find out how we fared...

On March 2 we finally took off from the dock at Crew's Inn, Chaguaramas, Trinidad for the first time in four years. We were excited, but filled with trepidation. Sailing is always a risk, especially on a boat that hasn’t sailed in a while, and with a crew that is out of practice and has a few more…shall we say, ‘aches and pains’ than the last time they sailed--one of whom (me) gets seasick and generally needs about 3 days or so to get ‘sea legs.’

Moreover, the first part of the passage north from Trinidad to Grenada is notorious for being exceptionally difficult—it’s a challenging point of sail to begin with and the wind, waves and currents in that strait are often quite rough (we have one cruiser friend, a seasoned sailor, who dislikes that passage so much, she lets her husband sail their boat up to Grenada every year and flies up there to join him after he has crossed). And then, there’s the risk of pirates…no joke.
 
Chaguaramas, the place where Taka Trois has been residing these past years, is about 8 miles from Venezuela and is reportedly #2 (after Somalia) for piracy in the world. While things have been calm in recent years, with only minor incidents, the danger still exists. So a passage out of Trinidad on a boat has to be carefully planned.

Given our apprehension about sailing again, and especially for this particular passage, we decided it might be a good idea to have an extra hand onboard for this journey.  So we invited Charisse, a friend from Trinidad, along for the ride. She has experience sailing, does not get seasick and gets along well with both of us. It was a good decision. She was a delight to have onboard, and gave me breathing space (and someone for Patrice to talk to), while I battled to keep my cookies down—especially the first couple of days. 

What follows is an account of our 6 day journey to Martinique. We decided to go there directly; sailing during the day, just stopping at night to anchor and rest, yellow-flagging* it along the way. We figured once we got everything done  that needed doing to the boat up there, we would have a better idea of  how much time we had left to enjoy sailing south to get back Trinidad by the beginning of April.

* Yellow flagging is a common practice amongst cruisers to gain safe harbor for the night without clearing customs. Until clearance is obtained, a boat must fly the yellow"Q" flag and signals the authorities that “we know that have not gone ashore yet to clear customs, but we either will do so, as soon as humanly possible, or in our case, move on shortly.” The latter part is bending the rules a bit, but is generally, although not always, accepted by the local authorities.

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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