A Mother's Day Mini-Vacation in Maho Bay and a Nostalgic Awakening

"What do you want for mother's day?" Scott asked me while looking up from his computer. I was making breakfast, the girls were being their usual boisterous selves, and it took me about .02 seconds to reply, "Go to St. John for a night and have brunch in Cruz Bay!" St. John, while part of the United States Virgin Islands (USVI), is a short sail from where we are, and with the blissful haze of our last >>>quick getaway<<< fresh on my mind I was thirsty for more...so thirsty, apparently, that one night away turned into four...

A Special Day in Trellis Bay: An Artist Community and A Magic Morning

We don't get to East End, home of the eccentric and eclectic Trellis Bay, often. For one thing, it's quite a drive - which I realize is laughable on an island that measures twelve miles by three - but as the car drives, it's a solid 30-40 minutes one way. With three little kids, and a mid-day nap that I will only forego for extremely special occasions - it's hard to justify an hour or more commute for an hour or two of fun. But when our friend, Cem (pronounced "Jem", like the jewel) invited us to see a special artist friend of his, I thought, "Why not!"

Fins to the Left, Fins to the Right: Babies Playing in Shark Infested Waters

How could we possibly top seeing pink flamingos in the wild? Seeing a bunch of baby sharks in a feeding frenzy, of course. Duh.

Our beautiful friend, Jayde, who has been working term charters down here for several years now and is very much 'in the know' when it comes to off-the-beaten-track adventures, wrote us immediately when she heard we were in Anegada. "It's shark breeding season right now, and you are guaranteed to see loads of baby sharks this time of year..." she went on to tell me where to find them, and punctuated what a unique and cool experience it would to be. I took the bait; hook, line and sinker. We were going shark sighting.

The secret spot where the sharks were promised to be was reportedly "very far" from the dinghy dock, so we inquired about a taxi. After quoting us a price of $12 per adult (there were four of us) and $6 per child (five of them) - we decided, literally, to take a hike.

We started walking, forlorn at the prospect of having to abort our shark excursion when an open safari-style vehicle rolled up, asking us where we were headed. If there is one advantage to traveling with children, particularly very small children, it's that hitchhiking is a breeze. Who can turn down two families with five (very adorable) small girls between them? The dreadlocked driver started giving us directions to the area where we might see the sharks when he paused mid sentence, suddenly taking in all of girls... a pitiful smile came across his face and, slightly defeated, he motioned with a chuckle, "Come on in, I'll take you". We were all very grateful for this gesture, as the distance we covered by car would have easily taken us an hour with all the kiddos in tow. When we arrived at our destination (seemingly in the middle of nowhere) we hopped out of his truck, each family giving him a $5 bill and a heart-felt 'thank you', as he waved us off with a smile.

We found ourselves on a concrete bridge overlooking a very active salt pond and a small estuary. Frigates and pelicans were having a field day in the sky above us, dive-bombing the water with torpedo precision and coming up with great gulps, tiny fish zipped around under the water in schools, while soldier crabs tip-toed along the shore. A few dead minnows floated by in the current, easy picking for the more vulturous birds in the area. We kept walking, keeping our eyes on the lookout for fins, when - at the shoreline in water only calf deep - we found them.

It took a while to see them as the water was murky and shallow, but they were there, their predatory silhouettes unmistakable. The baby sharks, only about 2-3 feet long, were darting about this way and that with lightning speed and precision, honing their hunting skills before heading out into the open ocean. Occasionally you'd see a dorsal fin or an angry splash, but then they'd disappear. "There's one!" someone would yell, but before you could get an eyeball on them - they'd be gone. "I see one! Over there!" but you'd turn your head, and you'd catch a glimpse of a diminishing tail. I was amazed to watch them in action - these super-predators in training - they were remarkably fast and incredibly stealthy. But once our eyes adjusted and we knew what we were looking for, we saw them en masse.

Try as we might we couldn't lure them closer to shore get a good picture when Eben got the brilliant idea to collect a few of the dead fish we'd seen in the estuary to feed them. We threw a few minnows near our feet and waited. Sure enough, our little sharks came like puppies to treats. The girls were having a field day, splashing the water with their hands on the surface, "Here, sharky sharky".

After about an hour we started the trek home, this time walking along the shoreline to explore a bit more, when our twins made it clear they needed dinner - stat. We headed back up to the road, hoping for a ride, when another safari taxi drove by just in the nick of time. They stopped, we hopped in, and for another $5 per family, we had ourselves a ride back to the beach bar where the adults spent our saved taxi money on rum punches, and the kiddos ran amok like the little island heathens they are.

Can't you feel 'em circlin' honey?

Can't you feel 'em swimmin' around?

You got fins to the left, fins to the right,

and you're the only bait in town.

You got fins to the left, fins to the right,

and you're the only baby in town.

- Jimmy Buffett

The salt pond and small estuary to the ocean. 

Exploring the little salt pond. Lots to see in these waters if you look close!

Sea birds everywhere, that murky water is where all the sharks were.

The shark in the foreground here had just snatched up a dead fish that Eben fed it.

Believe it or not, there were probably five or six sharks in this shot, the murky water however makes them invisible.

Mira, our newly minted walker, chilling on the sea wall, watching sharks go by.

Haven's all, "I'm not scared!" She is a total fish and wants to swim NO MATTER WHAT (we didn't let her)

Fins to the left and fins to the right!

Arias calling, "Here, sharky, sharky!" See the shark? Look closely!

Mira and Isla, shark spotting.

Haven happily playing on shore as a baby shark lurks in the background.

See that little fin?

You Can Shake the Hand of the Coconut Man

It’s not every day that you’re walking along and suddenly hear a voice from high up in the treetops.

“You like coconuts?” we heard from above as we walked by.

Isla stopped in her tracks, looked at me, and then looked up in the palm trees, thoroughly confused.

That's when I saw him, an elderly local man with a fluffy white beard in cramp-ons and jeans smiling down at us from up in a coconut tree.

Always one to take the opportunity to show our girls the beautiful and unique moments that our lifestyle presents (and being something of a child at heart) I pointed up excitedly: 

“Look Isla,” I exclaimed with a big smile, "It’s the coconut man way up in the palm tree! He climbed up there to bring some coconuts down.” She craned her neck way back, brought her hand over her eyes to shade from the sun and squinted.

There was a pause as she focused on him in the shadows of the fronds, and yelled:

“Can I have one?”

Kids are nothing if not direct.

“Isla, that’s not polite,” I reminded her in a hushed tone. “He’s working for those coconuts. And that is not how we ask for things.”

She looked at me, and then back up at the palm top.

“Can I have a coconut please?” she corrected, louder.

“Sure,” he said with a smile as he started down the tree, his climbing gear clanking and banging like a Caribbean Jacob Marley. He was old, with a kind face, deep wrinkles and full beard bleached white from age and sun. His voice had a sweet hiss indicating, perhaps, that he was missing a few teeth. His body, despite being covered in a tee-shirt and jeans, was strong and wiry. 

"I’m going to climb up that big tree over there and get some more, come back in ten minutes and I’ll be up there, then I will give you a coconut," he said with a smile.

We agreed that we’d come back, and continued on our stroll.

When we returned he was where he promised he’d be.

“Stay clear down below. Gimme lots of room,” he warned waving his arm at the ground beneath him. Getting hit by a three pound falling coconut from twenty-five feet up would really put a damper on our day. We gave him a wide berth and watched him work with his lines and machete; cutting, tying off the stalk and then gently lowering the coconuts to the ground in a bundle. He moved swiftly, like the pro that he was.

“You’re cheating!” another local fellow walked by and chided looking up referring to coconut mans use of heavily spiked climbing shoes and rope. Both men laughed heartily as a bundle of coconuts were lowered gently to the ground.  The girls were mesmerized.  Our new friend soon followed, machete in hand, beckoning Isla over to watch him.

With samurai precision he cut off the top of the water nut in three swift hacks, exposing a small hole at the top. He then reached into his pocket, produced a straw and handed the coconut over to Isla. He told us his name was Shalom.

I have had a very long love affair with coconut water (not to be confused with coconut milk) and it could be said that my girls were literally swimming in it in utero, I drank that much. It’s full of nutrients, incredibly hydrating, and islanders claim it to have tremendous health benefits.  As a result, all three of our girls love the stuff - particularly Isla - so she made no haste in accepting Shalom's offer for a drink.

“Do you do harvest coconuts all over Tortola?” I asked. 

“Yes,” he replied, “There are only a few of us who do it this way.” I got the impression that climbing trees for coconuts was perhaps a dying art, kind of like scrimshaw, but I couldn’t be sure. “I do hundreds of trees on de island.”

“I need to come every six months to get dem down,” he continued, “Or else de residents get upset. Falling coconuts are no good. Kids play here.”

Isla and I finished off the water from our young coconut. Shalom took it from us and with another swift hack, cut it in half, and then pulled off a piece of the husk, handing it to Isla. “A spoon,” he said, “To get out the jelly.”

Young coconuts (often called "water nuts") are very different from the “old” ones that most of us are used to. For one, they are green and not brown. Instead of the tough, dense, white meat (the stuff that we usually eat in chunks or grated), the inside of a "water nut" is gelatinous and slimy, almost like a thin filet of fish. There are hints of the coconut flavor that we are all used to, but the consistency takes some getting used to and is something of an acquired taste.

Isla is not a fan, and immediately upon putting it in her mouth, she spit it out.

Shalom laughed and produced another coconut which he opened for us to drink from. 

Knowing that coconuts were this kind man’s livelihood made me feel guilty for taking from his stash “Oh, thank you,” I started. “Here, let me give you some money for these…” I fumbled for my wallet.

He put up his hand and shook his head emphatically.

“No no no, you need to drink this. Stay strong and healthy!” he started laughing and indicated our three girls seated before him, “You are a busy woman, you need the strength.”

I smiled and thanked him as we finished off the water. We shook hands as we parted.

“See you in six months," he waved with a smile. And with that, he began to summit his next tree.

Park Clean Up: Paying it Forward

Playgrounds are few and far between in these parts, and our girls love them. So when we find one with nice equipment it's kind of like the play-time jackpot. While beaches and the ocean are lovely and standard fun for our girls, going to a park is a nice break from the sandy mess that always ensues after a beach day. And when beaches aren't an option, getting off the boat at least once a day is a must for the ever-important "energy burn".

Last week in Road Town we headed to a park that we've been to before. It's got a nice variety of gear, soft astro-turf covering the ground and we can generally let the girls loose to climb, swing and slide at their leisure. We made our way through the bustling downtown area, wearing all the girls - winding our way through the narrow roads, past the colorful shop windows and finally to our destination.

But this time, the park looked a little different than the last time we were here. This time it was covered - and I mean covered - in trash.

"What the heck?" I muttered to Scott as we walked through the park entrance, my face puckered in disgust.

It literally looked as if someone took a huge garbage bag of cups, straws, plastic cutlery, chicken bones, soda cans, take out containers and bottles and literally emptied it out all over the park. On purpose.

It was disgusting.

"This is so bad it almost looks like a joke" I said to Scott in disbelief. I have seen a lot of trash in these islands because, sadly, environmental education has a long way to come down here, but the sheer amount of condensed litter in this one little park really took the cake. I couldn't believe my eyes.

Garbage was literally everywhere. Everywhere. And no dice throwing it all away in the existing garbage cans (points for having them!) because they were completely overflowing.

"I wish we had a garbage bag" I said to Scott, shaking my head. He wholeheartedly agreed. But we didn't, so we did our best to ignore the filth and tried to make the best of it, making sure none of it found it's way into the mouths of the twins as they explored. The icing on the cake came when I had to dress the wound of a local boy who sliced his bare foot open on a shard of glass.

I mean, come on.

The next day we returned to the park and while we were hopeful that maybe just maybe someone came back and cleaned up the mess, we brought with us a garbage bag.

No one had cleaned up the mess.

So we did.

Forty-five minutes later the park was more or less litter-less and our girls were free to play in a clean environment. I knew that tidying up the park would make me feel better (for better or worse, I am a bit of a neat freak in case you hadn't picked up on that), but I was shocked at how totally gratified I felt. Looking at our giant garbage bag full of trash and then looking at the beautiful, clean playground, gave me a tremendous feeling of accomplishment.

Because, duh, doing good things for no other reason than to do good things feels...well...good.

There is truly something wonderful about taking a little ownership of something and making it beautiful again. Because (and sorry to get all Pollyanna here), we are kind of all in this together.

It was also a fantastic teachable moment for our girls.

Of course our efforts did little to dent what is clearly a much bigger, underlying issue. Our clean up was a temporary fix and we knew it. We returned to the park the next day only to find more trash strewn about. I can't say I was surprised, but it was a bummer.

"Who trashes this park like this?" I asked the old man who runs the little snack shack on the premises.

"You are the ones who cleaned it up yesterday?" he asked lifting his chin inquisitively. We replied that, yes, it was us. "It's the school children," he started with a solemn shake of his head, "...they come here for lunch and then just leave it a mess." He continued sweeping his stoop and shaking his head. I asked for another garbage bag and he gave me one. I collected some more trash, futile as it was. Because the fact of the matter was that no matter how many times we cleaned up this park, it was going to get trashed over and over again.

But...

BUT...

We returned again the next day and (in the words of those catchy internet articles)...you won't believe what happened next...

When I let Haven out of her carrier to stretch her legs and run around, she walked right over to an empty plastic water bottle and picked up. She looked at us, looked at the bottle, smiled her Haven-bright smile and waddled right over to the garbage can and threw it in. I swear to God. Right into the trash bin. Scott and I could not believe our eyes. Then, she strutted over to a paper bag, picked it up and threw it in the garbage. Then a bottle cap. Then another soda can. Each time she came across a stray piece of garbage, she picked it up and threw it away.

Scott and I were totally gobsmacked. And incredibly proud.

If there was ever any doubt that kids learn directly from watching their parents and/or caretakers, this trumps it. I have never been so awed in my life. I know it doesn't sound like much, but seeing her do that - totally unprovoked and at just over one year old, mind you - (we have video to prove it, sadly internet bandwidth tells me it will take 20 hours to upload) was truly a magical parenting moment for me. One that I will never forget.

And it made that seemingly futile effort of cleaning up that park totally worth it.

Because sometimes, just sometimes, it's nice to be reminded that we as parents are doing something right every once and a while.

It also drove home a meaningful lesson for me:

While we might not be able to change current behavior, we can influence future behavior and there is tremendous power and beauty in that.

It's an important reminder.

So pick up that stray soda can and throw it out. Help that old women out of her car. Give that man the extra dime he needs to make his purchase. Assist that fellow shopper bag her groceries. Help that struggling boater tie up his dock lines. Hold the door. Say hello. Always remember "please" and "thank you". Smile.

And watch with joy as your children pay it forward.

Because no good deed goes undone, and in one way or another, it will come back to you. Karma is a beautiful thing.

The mess. The photos don't really do it justice, but you get the idea.

Our family, taking matters into our own hands!

All better! Isn't it lovely?

We didn't dare leave our garbage bag behind, took it with us to dispose of in a dumpster.

Here's Haven the following day throwing out garbage totally unprovoked and on her own volition. She is one.

And here's Isla doing the same. Proud mama right here!

Maho Beach: Quite A Rush (But not without Side Effects)

Considering this beach is a cars width away from the runway of the Princess Juliana International Airport in St. Maarten, well, I think it goes without saying it's not what you would call "relaxing".  Lounging in the sand while sipping a tropical slushy rum drink and diving into a good book as the surf laps up against your feet is not what you come to this beach to do.  Oh no, you come here for one reason and one reason alone:  to get blasted by the jets of a 747 (or - if you are smart - watch others get jet blasted while you drink tropical slushy rum drinks from the relative safety of a bar nearby).  Welcome, my friends, to Maho Beach...

Our little girl happens to be obsessed, and I mean obsessed, with airplanes so it was a no brainer that we'd take her here.  She was in heaven, constantly pointing up to the sky and saying "ah-rane! ah-rane!" and then, as they flew directly overhead - so close it seemed you'd almost get clipped - she'd let out an excited "WHOOAAAAA!" followed by wide eyes and a look that said "holy crap mama, that was awesome".  Her mind was blown and to see a twenty month old child's mind being blown is pretty much the coolest thing ever.  The look on her face was priceless and made all the toxic fumes we no doubt inhaled totally worth it.

Of course me being the uber documenter I am, just had to experience the blast first hand and try to get some video footage of it.  Granted, I did not "ride the fence" like some other crazy fools (in which they hold on to the fence directly behind the plane and literally bathe in an abundance of toxic fumes and unadulterated jet power) but stood a little farther back on the beach.  When the engines fired up, an incredibly powerful blast of warm air rushed over me, forcing me to lean up against it to counteract the pressure and kicking up a tremendous amount of sand and debris...hats went flying, sunglasses were ripped off faces and a couple people (who were clearly inebriated) actually toppled over.  I had to turn my head and cover my face and, try as I might, I could not keep the camera directed towards the plane.  You can't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole thing.  I mean, who the heck stands behind a plane taking off for fun? I guess I do.  And apparently a LOT of other people too.  Just check YouTube for proof.

Anyway, apparently there is no other place in the world you can get this close to planes as they are landing and taking off (in fact, in most places this would probably be highly illegal but since when do the Dutch care about legality?) and the local Sunset Bar actually posts the times of take offs and landings so spectators can be sure to get in on the action.  I am here to report it's quite the rush and a good laugh (I am sorry, but seeing someone being blown over and rolling down the beach as a result of the jet blast is just hysterical...unless, of course, the person really gets hurt).

Unfortunately, I did not escape Maho Beach unscathed as the very next day I came down with some sort of eye infection.  And there is no one, and I mean no one can make a wonky eye look good.  According to the medical clinic which was (thankfully) right on the marina premises, I suffered a clogged duct of sorts.  It was painful, yes, but more than that it was pretty unsightly as my right eye was completely swollen.  While Scott tried to convince me that I was pulling of the "Christie Brinkley" look (I guess her eyes are squinty?) my friend Darcy could not look me in the eye without busting out into full-belly laughter at my awkward Quasimodo face (it was DEFINITELY more Quasi and Christie, I promise you that).  Luckily, after a dose of antibiotics and some specialty eye drops, I am back to normal.

Thanks to Maho Beach I will never take facial symmetry - and the power of a jet engine - for granted again.

The flow of planes is steady, and not all are big air busses.  Plenty of small planes too - all very cool to see.

Isla and Stormer being their adorable selves.  They are so in love!

Take off.  Note the man rolling down the beach.  Again, hysterical.

It's all fun and games until...

A True Artiste in Les Saintes

Sometimes you meet a person who just makes you want to hug them.  Such was the case upon meeting Ulrich on the tiny Ilet a Cabrit in Les Saintes.  He lives alone on this small island, a mere dinghy ride away from the main town, a deal he made with the powers that be when he allowed his land on a nearby island to become a wind farm.  Born in Bordeaux, France he moved to Les Saintes in his early twenties and has lived here ever since.  He has resided on Ilet a Cabrit, alone, for the past seven of those years and fills his days living a very simple and sustainable life growing herbs and produce and creating dynamic clay masks from the earth he harvests from outside his door step.  His dwellings are modest: a simple concrete home and a small sailboat tied to a ramshackle little dock at the water's edge, but his life is no doubt full.

The thing that is immediately apparent about this man is that he is kind.  The sort of person who immediately makes you feel at ease.  If you set foot on this little island and he is there, he will most certainly greet you with a smile.  His face is warm and his eyes are gentle and in the constant half-moon shape of a soft grin.  When we approached him he was quietly working, painting one of his beautiful clay masks which he makes from molds and fires in a rudimentary clay oven in his workshop.  Once he saw we had little ones in tow, he immediately got up with a beaming grin and asked in his French accented english, "Would the children like to paint?"  Yes.  Yes they would.

What followed was an hour of painting and working with clay with our new artist friend.  He was so sweet and patient with the kiddos, helping them use a few basic tools (bottle caps, forks, marbles and what not) to make shapes and designs in the clay and assisting them in painting their little masterpieces.  All the while he continued working on painting his masks alongside them with a content smile on his face.

When we left with the art Isla and Stormer had created and our thoughtfully selected masks of Ulrich's to adorn our walls, he called out to us eagerly asking when and if we would return.  We assured him we'd be back, but that next time we'd have not one but three little girls in tow.  He laughed and smiled warmly as he waved us goodbye and resumed his painting in content solitude.

Isla's masterpeice

Our new mask, made and painted by Ulrich

Baby's First Hash

Things have been slow around here, I know.  Lack of activity on the blog however does not mean lack of activity in life...in fact, quite often it's the opposite.  We've been busy, working on ways to enjoy the outdoors without completely melting and/or going insane, all to get Isla off the boat.  It's amazing the impetus kids are to get out and do something interesting for their sakes.  If it was just me, I would happily waste away these excruciatingly hot months in the belly of our (air conditioned) boat surrounded by books and popping my head out of the companionway now and then to take a breath of fresh air and accept gifts of food.  Alas, we have a little one whose brain is growing exponentially before our very eyes and we want to keep feeding it.  So out we go...

Yesterday, we took Isla on her first "hash".  Scott and I have participated in these "hashes" before.  In it's most basic form, a hash is a hike (or run for the insane/extremely ambitious) through barely-marked trails in the countryside.  Typically these "hashes" are enjoyed with throngs of people and the treks always include copious amounts of beer drinking afterwards (for those so inclined).  If you've never done a hash - they are definitely worth experiencing for not only is it a great way to get exercise (yesterday's walk was about two hours and included some of the steepest hills we've ever walked!) but it's an even better way to get to see a place.  The hikes usually have a few different options (one for the hard-core runner types and one for the "namby-pamby" walkers - we are the latter) and are almost always "off the beaten path" offering spectacular views that you'd be hard-pressed to see any other way.

Unfortunately, we had to duck out of this hash a bit early because little Isla needed to eat dinner and get to bed before 7pm (this was a LONG one clocking in around 7 miles and baby sleep is sacred!).  We were lucky that this route took us to a main road (not always the case with hashing) where we could hop on the #1 bus back to our marina to get showered up and fed.  It was a great way to kill an afternoon, see some new places and meet some really great people.  Not to mention the fact that Isla's brain grew approximately 3%* during the afternoon activity, deducting - of course - what she sweated out in the extreme heat.

*I have no scientific basis for this whatsoever.