There are trips where everything goes smoothly, the hotel is exactly as advertised, the weather is perfect, and you return home refreshed and quietly satisfied. This was not one of those trips. This was better.
Sint Maarten had been on our radar for a while — gorgeous beaches, great food, the kind of Caribbean that doesn't feel like it's been too thoroughly sanitized for tourist consumption. And on all of those counts, it absolutely delivered. But it also delivered a series of "firsts" that I was not entirely prepared for, and which I feel morally obligated to share with you.
The Bathing Suit Situation
Let's start here because it sets the tone nicely.
I should mention that the bathing suit in question was a gift. It had clearly lived a full life. What I did not know — what none of us knew — until I was standing on one of the most beautiful beaches in the Caribbean, was that the elastic had completely given up. Not "a little loose." Not "maybe tighten the drawstring." Gone. Departed. Done.
For the entirety of the trip, I was approximately one enthusiastic wave away from what I can only describe as a "wardrobe event." I spent a not-insignificant amount of mental energy on the beaches of Sint Maarten engaged in what I'll call "structural risk assessment." Every time I went into the water, there was a small but real possibility that I would come out of it a different kind of famous.
As it turns out — and this is either fortunate or slightly anticlimactic depending on your perspective — I managed to hold things together. Barely. But here's the thing: given everything else we witnessed on this trip, I'm not sure anyone would have noticed anyway.
Speaking of Which: The Nudity
Sint Maarten has a famously relaxed attitude toward, shall we say, the human form. We knew this in a vague, "oh yes the French side is clothing-optional" kind of way. What we were less prepared for was the sheer variety of contexts in which this manifested.
People were not just naked on the beach. People were naked doing things. Active things. Things that, in my experience, typically involve clothing. I won't go into specifics because this is a family-friendly blog (mostly), but I will say that by day three, the sight of a fully clothed person felt mildly noteworthy.
All of which makes my bathing suit situation feel rather quaint in retrospect. I was out here desperately clinging to a threadbare piece of elastic while the rest of Sint Maarten had simply decided that the whole enterprise wasn't worth the trouble.
The Airbnb Welcome Committee
We arrived at our Airbnb to find it already occupied.
Not by ghosts, not by the host, but by actual guests. Other paying guests, who seemed just as surprised to see us as we were to see them. There was a brief, polite, deeply awkward standoff of the kind you normally only experience when you accidentally walk into the wrong hotel room — except in this case, we were both holding booking confirmations.
To the host's credit, this was resolved relatively quickly. To no one's credit, it was a situation that probably shouldn't have existed in the first place. But it made for an excellent opening to what turned out to be a genuinely great place to stay, once it was, you know, actually available.
The Robot Border
Arriving back into the US, I braced myself for the usual passport control experience — the queues, the stern faces, the questions about whether I'd been near any livestock. Instead, I was waved toward a kiosk. Then another kiosk. Then a camera scanned my face, compared it to something, apparently approved of what it saw, and a gate opened.
Total human interaction through customs and passport control: zero.
I don't know exactly how I feel about this. On one hand, efficient. On the other hand, I spent 45 years assuming that at least some part of international travel required a fellow human to look at my passport photo, suppress a reaction, and wave me through. Apparently not anymore. The machines have it covered. I'm choosing to take it as a compliment that the algorithm found me unworthy of further scrutiny.
Scuba Diving: A Multi-Part Story
We went scuba diving. It was, genuinely, one of the most extraordinary things I've done. The water was clear, the fish were abundant and spectacular, and at one point there were sharks. Actual sharks. Circling. Like sharks do.
I would like to report that I handled this with calm, experienced composure. I would like to. What I will report is that I handled it without fully losing my mind, which I'm counting as a win.
What the sharks did not do — and here I must give them full credit — was cause any of the small cuts and scrapes I managed to accumulate during the dive. That was entirely the doing of the coral, which is unforgiving and does not care about your feelings. I returned to the surface looking like I'd had a minor disagreement with a cheese grater. Nothing serious, just enough to require the universal vacation first aid kit of "ignore it and apply sunscreen."
And then there was the matter of Jess.
Jess, it turns out, does not love scuba diving. More specifically, Jess's stomach does not love scuba diving. And so, near the end of our underwater adventure, the ocean presented me with a new and entirely unanticipated challenge: navigating through water that was no longer entirely... ocean.
I will simply say that I have swum in worse conditions, though I am struggling at this moment to think of when. Jess, to her eternal credit, was deeply apologetic. I, to my eternal credit, did not say anything that I regret. We did not speak of it again until approximately 20 minutes later, and then we laughed about it, which is the correct response to most things.
The "Hotel"
At one point during the trip — I'll leave the full story for another day — we ended up staying somewhere that used the word "hotel" in a rather generous and aspirational sense.
Shared bathroom facilities. Cold water only. Not "refreshingly cool." Cold. The kind of cold that makes you question your choices, briefly reconsider your entire travel philosophy, and then get on with it because what's the alternative.
I will say this: there is something clarifying about a cold shower. You emerge from it very alert and with a newfound appreciation for every hotel room you have ever stayed in, no matter how mediocre. I am a better person for the experience. I am also a person who now packs a much more thorough accommodation checklist.
The Phone, the Chase, and the Life Lesson
We were sitting at a sidewalk café — lovely spot, good drinks, the kind of afternoon that feels like the whole point of travel — when my phone disappeared from the table.
I noticed (well my wife noticed and told me). I processed. And then something took over that I can only describe as a very specific kind of determination, which is quieter than typical American determination but no less committed.
I went after them. (well the cafe chef went first and I followed . . . much slower. To be fair I was delayed when about 20 feet into the chase I realized I was still holding my wine glass from lunch and had to put it down on a bench)
I won't pretend it was a cinematic chase sequence. It was more of a purposeful jog through a busy street, fueled by the particular outrage of someone who really does not want to spend their Caribbean vacation sorting out a new phone. But I caught up. And I got the phone back.
What followed was a conversation with a young local teenager that I hope, in some small way, was useful to him. I shared some thoughts on decision-making, opportunity, consequences, and the general direction of his life choices. He listened (although reluctantly). Whether any of it landed, I genuinely don't know. But I said what I felt needed saying, and then I walked back to the café, sat down, and retrieved my drink.
The Food and the Beaches (Yes, These Were Also There)
Amid all of the above — and I want to be clear that all of the above happened — Sint Maarten was also genuinely, spectacularly wonderful.
The beaches are as beautiful as advertised. Orient Beach in particular is the kind of place that makes you understand why people move their entire lives to the Caribbean. The water is warm, improbably blue, and full of fish (and the occasional shark, as established). The food on both the French and Dutch sides was outstanding — fresh seafood, good cocktails, the kind of casual beachside dining that somehow tastes better with sand between your toes.
We ate well. We laughed a lot. We saw things we did not expect to see. We came home with stories that are better than anything a smooth, uneventful trip could have provided.
Would I go back? Without question. Would I bring a different bathing suit?
Oh, absolutely.
Thanks for reading — gareth
Have you been to Sint Maarten? Had your own "adventure travel" moments? Leave a comment below — I'd love to hear them.
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