So I realize I left you all hanging in suspense with the whole ‘we see land and will be arriving in St. Martin soon’ thing of the Day 7 post from the Heading South series…as you can imagine, getting to land meant that things got real busy real fast!

Contrary to what you might expect it didn’t start with snorkelling and beers. Though those weren’t far behind. We rolled in around 7:30am Monday morning to Marigot Bay, Greg immediately went for a nap (see my previous post where I mention his insatiable need for sleep), Andrew and I launched the dinghy, tidied up from sailing, I got everyone breakfast and I think I might have changed my clothes in there somewhere from the stuff I’d been wearing for the last 3 days. By 10:00am there was mutiny in the air as the crew wanted to get ashore, so I woke Greg up, told him to put on some clothes and we started our actual arrival process.  

As with any country arrival the first order of business is clearing Customs. Now we’ve chartered boats in the Caribbean before and we know that the process can vary greatly between islands. To some extent it’s part of the fun of travelling…to some extent.

For an obsessive rule follower like me it can be an anxiety producing experience. And then being raised by a cop with a healthy respect for laws makes it worse. What is written is not necessarily what is followed. Now this isn’t terrible (unless you are getting scammed which I really don’t think is that common in the Caribbean), usually it’s more convenient and to everyone’s benefit (less paperwork for you, less paperwork for them). But when I’m looking at the process posted on the wall it feels like a test. Like, hey there here’s your clearance waaaay before you actually are going to clear out (i.e. leave whenever you like)….but if you take it, they could be like BAM! Gotcha! (this obviously isn’t what happens).

When we got into St. Martin we cleared Customs by way of a dusty old desktop computer in the back of a jammed full chandlery (fancy name for boat-store) on a keyboard where the letters were all switched around (not kidding). Greg and I left the kids onboard with their Aunt Heidi (Bill and Andrew really wanted to get a beer on land so they came along) and with passports in hand (not really in our hands – my dad raised me more paranoid than that) and set out to find this random little spot in the bustling town of Marigot on the French side of St. Martin. En français. I took French in high school like every good Canadian kid does – and took it in University for a spell when I thought I might be working in Ottawa (where French is a major asset)…but since then I only speak French in single words or small phrases, usually at home with the kids, and maybe…if I’m feeling really confident (or slightly buzzed) on a ski trip in Tremblant (Quebec). The little French I have, Greg has less. Like none. So, we are in a very French-speaking town, not sure where this chandlery is and then we happen upon a fellow cruiser in pursuit of the same goal…how could I tell you ask? He was a bit smelly (like us), walking with a rolling gait (like us), very tanned (like us) and was walking with purpose (not like us). We asked him if he was going to Customs and BOOM! he said yes (with a Swiss accent) and I said “Sweet! We will follow you then – and we might be just a little creepy.” (yes I actually said this – I was pretty out of it).

So, by weirdly creeping on this guy we just met we found the chandlery, waited in line with a few other cruisers (bouquet of BO was happening) and then knocked out the ‘ahem’ paperwork. My unofficial understanding is that since Irma (2017 hurricane that demo’d the area), St. Martin (and possibly other island) are very very keen to have people come visit and the process to clear is pretty painless. Man, what a difference after being in the States for a few months – it’s hard to not feel like a criminal when you cross the border there even if you are the most chicken-sh*t rule follower ever (me). No offense to my American friends – of course the Americans I am friends with would agree with me anyway ;)

INSERT GREG: What Megan didn’t mention is how land-sick I felt while trying to fill out the immigration forms in a tiny kiosk, with what I assume was a French-standard keyboard, with no view of anything other than the 13 inch computer monitor in front of me.  The room felt like it was moving like crazy and had me longing to be back on the boat where I felt stable and normal.  Definitely time for a rum to steady the ship…

 After our computer clearance we are asked to pay 2 dollars (USD) or 2 Euros…whichever we preferred.

Awesomely, in our post passage no-sleep haze we realized we BROUGHT ZERO CASH WITH US. That’s right folks – super amateur over here. We felt like mega dorks and the guy was super chill about it (see my official understand above) and said we could ‘hit him up when we are back in town’ (verbatim). Some other kind cruisers we met in line from Germany I think felt bad for us being such losers and they gave us the $2. We buzzed by their boat later and reimbursed them…but to be honest it was a few days later (the Shame Wizard is looming).

Ok so customs cleared, fee paid, Greg and I make our way back to the dinghy and return to Matriarch to an excited crew. Priorities included French food and Caribbean beer. And a shower. Really, we all needed to shower. So that happened (yes I let everyone get clean, I’m not a total monster…but quick military showers only). Once we got on land we found what we were looking for: we ate some really good French food and brought some Caribbean beer back without the cardboard (fun fact: cockroaches lay eggs in cardboard in warm climates and if you bring cardboard back on your boat you stand a good chance of hatching a new little family that is impossible to get rid of).

And speaking of family you can’t get rid of…..hahahahahah I kid I kid, but I couldn’t resist that sequester…Diane (Greg’s mom) flew down to surprise Bill and the kids and we picked her up in the dinghy on Tuesday from the airport (sidebar: mega saga trying to figure out where we could land the dinghy and safely get out in the totally destroyed French side of the Lagoon – dozens of boats sunk or half-sunk from Irma and none of the places available to land that the cruising guide said where there….written a few months before Irma hit). With some sneaky texting in Bermuda to plan it out and then some sneaky texting to Andrew when we had her to get Bill to look away, we were able to snag a few surprised faces on camera when he realized that we didn’t bring back a random St. Martian (martian? Like alien? Don’t know if that’s right), but instead we brought back his wife. Let’s just say there were tears.

So now we were 9 on a 49 foot boat. That’s about 5 linear feet per person. On a boat that just did 2 big passages. Fortunately, Diane is basically a walking angel and she somehow made things easier on board then when there was just 8.

 Now with the entire Harris Crew officially on board we were ready to…go sailing! Obviously, gluttons for punishment.

You should have seen how sweet Aden was trying to ask me, but not wanting to piss her mother off (apparently, I am a monster after all) if the sail was going to be a long one with overnights. That kid really didn’t want to be seasick anymore. So, I had the happy task of telling her it was a couple hours and she was very happy in return.

 The next day headed to Anguilla. We went to Customs 4 times in Anguilla. Will save that gem for the next one ;)

Beaucoup d'amour,

M