Every Friday morning I head over the hill into Cole Bay/Simpson Bay to start my double shift. As I top the hill, The View Point comes into sight and with it the myriad of tourists. As high season approaches there are more an more buses parked at the View Top, a sea of tourists spilling out of each one, cameras and iPhones at the ready. Before they even seem to realize what they're looking at, the grandeur of the view, they're snapping away, looking to capture that magical shot. The million dollar photo that will make suffering through their slideshow / scrap book worth while.
There is a handful of tourist off to the side of the main pack. They simply stand at the edge of the look out point and LOOK. Some have an unconscious forward lean in their stance, a yearning, as if being pulled by the view before them. On the face of some that yearning, that longing, is crystal clear. The Dream. Today, those expressions made me stop and think.
Many of us have come here from other parts of the world. And many of us have been here for quite some time, perhaps long enough to forget what it was like the 1st time we set eyes upon this island. Some of us, myself included, have seemed to have forgotten what originally drew us here....what it was that we saw that put that dreamy look in our eyes.
For me, it was the whole idea of the exotic islands. As a kid I did quite a lot of island hopping with my parents. By the time I was 16 I'd been to every island in the Caribbean, Leeward and Windward, a large potion of the Bahamas and one or two off the coast of Mexico. I was always curious to the island life. The laid back style. I would watch the locals with a mixture of curiosity and longing. I had grand dreams of being the next Ernest Hemingway - writing my memoirs from a hammock, living in cut off shorts, tank tops and barefoot.
My 1st memory of Sint Maarten is from my childhood. I was about 10 or 11 and we stayed at the glorious Mullet Bay Resort. I remember the beautiful garden outside our villa, seeing my 1st humming bird and walking on Front Street. For my parents, a life long love affair started. They built a house on the island and took as many vacations as work would allow. I would take a 3 week trip to the island every summer. When I was 26 I remember standing on the balcony of our house, overlooking Great Bay and vowing that one day I would live here and write a book and be published. Six years later I was here on a permanent basis. (It took another eight years to publish a book.)
It' nearly 11 years since I made the move to Sint Maarten. In the last few years I have fallen out of love with the island...the fault is partially with the island and with me. I've lost sight of what brought me here, stuck in the daily grind to make a buck. Sometimes I get caught up in the drama generated by close living quarters. Whether is the latest debacle of the Government or the latest neighborhood gossip, I've lost track of why it's good to be here. Bound an determined to leave the island, convinced on most days that it just 'sucks ass' to be here, I've started thinking about my next destination and losing sight of where I'm at. On a nightly basis I have visitors ask me a thousand questions about what brought me here. The conversation always includes :You're so lucky to live here! It was a statement I was growing to resent. It makes me want to roll my eyes and explain why island life sucked so bad.
Then today I was drawn up short. I saw my old dream on the faces of some tourists and my own expression turned rather sheepish. I know I'm not alone in this. We need to stop every now and again and remind ourselves of the dream that brought us here. Sometimes just a drive down by the airport to look out over the lagoon to the green hills in the distance, or just a short walk to the beach to bury tanned toes into the sand is all it takes. The island I originally fell in love with has changed a great deal, and not all for the good...but it still holds some magic.
There is a handful of tourist off to the side of the main pack. They simply stand at the edge of the look out point and LOOK. Some have an unconscious forward lean in their stance, a yearning, as if being pulled by the view before them. On the face of some that yearning, that longing, is crystal clear. The Dream. Today, those expressions made me stop and think.
Many of us have come here from other parts of the world. And many of us have been here for quite some time, perhaps long enough to forget what it was like the 1st time we set eyes upon this island. Some of us, myself included, have seemed to have forgotten what originally drew us here....what it was that we saw that put that dreamy look in our eyes.
For me, it was the whole idea of the exotic islands. As a kid I did quite a lot of island hopping with my parents. By the time I was 16 I'd been to every island in the Caribbean, Leeward and Windward, a large potion of the Bahamas and one or two off the coast of Mexico. I was always curious to the island life. The laid back style. I would watch the locals with a mixture of curiosity and longing. I had grand dreams of being the next Ernest Hemingway - writing my memoirs from a hammock, living in cut off shorts, tank tops and barefoot.
My 1st memory of Sint Maarten is from my childhood. I was about 10 or 11 and we stayed at the glorious Mullet Bay Resort. I remember the beautiful garden outside our villa, seeing my 1st humming bird and walking on Front Street. For my parents, a life long love affair started. They built a house on the island and took as many vacations as work would allow. I would take a 3 week trip to the island every summer. When I was 26 I remember standing on the balcony of our house, overlooking Great Bay and vowing that one day I would live here and write a book and be published. Six years later I was here on a permanent basis. (It took another eight years to publish a book.)
It' nearly 11 years since I made the move to Sint Maarten. In the last few years I have fallen out of love with the island...the fault is partially with the island and with me. I've lost sight of what brought me here, stuck in the daily grind to make a buck. Sometimes I get caught up in the drama generated by close living quarters. Whether is the latest debacle of the Government or the latest neighborhood gossip, I've lost track of why it's good to be here. Bound an determined to leave the island, convinced on most days that it just 'sucks ass' to be here, I've started thinking about my next destination and losing sight of where I'm at. On a nightly basis I have visitors ask me a thousand questions about what brought me here. The conversation always includes :You're so lucky to live here! It was a statement I was growing to resent. It makes me want to roll my eyes and explain why island life sucked so bad.
Then today I was drawn up short. I saw my old dream on the faces of some tourists and my own expression turned rather sheepish. I know I'm not alone in this. We need to stop every now and again and remind ourselves of the dream that brought us here. Sometimes just a drive down by the airport to look out over the lagoon to the green hills in the distance, or just a short walk to the beach to bury tanned toes into the sand is all it takes. The island I originally fell in love with has changed a great deal, and not all for the good...but it still holds some magic.
