At approximately 3am, I woke up with rather aggravating itches thanks to the copious amounts of sandfly bites. They are just the worst. I was eventually able to fall back asleep, and we started our day a little after 8. Finishing off our last pre-packaged waffles, we went for a stroll along the beach one last time.
We finished packing up and I took another paddleboard around the bay for a bit. With our departure imminent, it was important that I not fall in and get all wet. Nobody wants to pack a wet bathing suit. Just before 1130am, we bid adieu to Mary Beth and were on our way to the ferry dock. Mary Beth, by the way, is from Wauwatosa, Wisconsin. This was revealed when she told us she used to work for Midwest Express, a bygone airline headquartered in Milwaukee and known for its trademark warm cookie served in flight. Small world. She saw us off while she was wearing a Packers shirt. As the saying goes, you can take the girl out of Wisconsin, but . . .
The ferry was on its regular schedule today and it was an uneventful passage over to Beef Island. At this point, we still had not found any souvenirs to remember our trip. The only store on Virgin Gorda that sold anything of this nature was a shop near the Baths selling generic tropical-themed magnets with “Virgin Gorda” written on them in Sharpie. $12. It didn’t seem right. And don’t even get me started on the many missed opportunities for Beef Island merch. Luckily, there was ONE small store open at the Beef Island airport where we somehow managed to get an ornament, a flag pin for Nicole’s bag, and a magnet all at once.
We killed a little bit of time outside the airport cafe knowing that there would be nothing on the other side of security except a very small departure room. Eventually we were summoned to board our Cape Air flight to San Juan, Puerto Rico. It was on a small twin-engine Cessna 404. It was a full plane — meaning 8 of us were on board. Nicole and I were sent to the front since our weights appeared to be the most accommodating for proper weight and balance. Seating was tight, as you can see by Nicole’s womanspreading around the Captain’s chair. I had to sit sidesaddle for a spell until the First Officer moved his seat forward a few inches. Nicole was quick to point out that we had two pilots though she had read that most Cape Air flights are single pilot ops. It did in fact become clear based on the Captain’s gesturing that we were on some kind of training flight. Gulp.
Badly ventilated and unpressurized, it was like a steam room that smelled of old gym socks and sweat, not dissimilar to passing aromas that hit you at the Orlando airport. The flight was less than 30 minutes, and I caught my first glimpses of Puerto Rico. I have never been there before and I was surprised at just how built up it is. I guess I was picturing it differently. Nearly 3.5 million people live on Puerto Rico and I suppose that explains why the airport is so big. The airport had global entry, but since we were arriving with just six other passengers, that didn’t really give us a huge advantage. Our checked bags were on the belt by the time we got there, and we were on our way to check in for our next flight to St. Barthélemy (better known as St Barths or simply St Bart).
After checking in at the Tradewind Aviation counter, we were directed to the airline’s own departure lounge. They had various snacks and drinks for the taking and we took advantage. Tradewind fancies itself a sort of premier airline like JSX, which I wrote about in an earlier post this year. A lot of that is just branding, but compared to the very cramped and sweaty Cape Air flight we had just been on, Tradewind’s treatment was very luxe. They had their own security checkpoint which was pretty easy. There were only four of us on the flight. We boarded the Pilatus PC-12 and were off in short order. The seats were more spacious, but not super posh.
Snacks were available in a small container in the back. It was about an hour’s flight to St. Barths. For those not in the know, St. Barths has one of the most unique and dangerous approaches of any airport in the world. Due to the commonly prevailing winds and undulating terrain of the island, pilots are required to clear a traffic roundabout by a matter of just a few meters and cut the power to drop down onto an airstrip that is only 2000 feet long. It was difficult to appreciate this from our cushy seats, as the pilots made it very smooth. You don’t really see the steepness out the window, but here’s a lil video I shot showcasing the approach to land.
Customs was rather quick given that there were only four of us on the plane. Our bags were again quickly on the belt for collection. I was able to get us a rental car for a pretty reasonable amount considering this is known as the “Billionaire’s Island.” Alas, no one was at the desk for Avis when I arrived, but I called the number listed on the sign. The woman answered in French so I rolled with it, letting her know I was at the airport desk. “Vous êtes Brian?,” she inquired. “Oui, c’est moi.” Apparently I’m the only person renting a car here. And despite a California ID and an American passport, we continued speaking in French throughout the entire rental process. It was all very . . .French.
It was just a five minute drive to the Rêve Apartment that I had booked just a couple hours prior whilst at the Tradewind Lounge in San Juan. Lodgings here are either closed or extremely expensive, so I used some Chase points to get us an entire apartment for the next couple nights. We have multiple bedrooms, bathrooms, and laundry. It would have been much more accommodating to the likes of Mr Poopers aka Greg — unlike his unfortunate sleeping arrangement in Greenland when he was effectively in a sleeping bag on the floor.
An island that prides itself on being French and exclusive had very expensive food options. Nicole thought she found a place near the airport that had croque monsieurs, but it was apparently closed for the season. The lady at Avis warned us that a lot of things were closed, and St Barths is not immune to that. Luckily, there was a Monoprix (French supermarket) next door to the closed croque cafe. We purchased some items to cook since we have a full kitchen. Despite needing to give way to a turtle in the road, we made it back to our apartment in five minutes and had ourselves some pasta with French bread. The French wine I picked out was recommended by Monoprix for its “terroir” and other pretentious things.
I thought a visit to my 100th country was cause for a mild celebration. I do of course have to address that there will always be debate about what actually constitutes a country. I have my own criteria such as having an Olympic team, their own currency, their own unique passport, or a national football team. While St. Barths is a sort of overseas territory of France, I think it goes without saying that if you only went to St. Barths, you couldn’t go around telling people that you had been to France. So that’s that. I’ve reached 100, so there will be no more traveling. No point in doing 101. Spain will just have to sit tight. I kid of course. Can you imagine? Anyway, tomorrow we go to beaches and watch airplanes.
passports & pepto bismol 