West of the Quator

by Cheryl Bartlam DuBois

  By the time they reached the harbor in St. Barth to Sydney’s great relief, the discomfort she was feeling in her stomach had somehow taken away the discomfort she had felt from learning that Alex was an attractive woman. This, for at least a little while, had afforded Rob some semblance of peace onboard, even if it was just a temporary truce.

  Sydney was relieved that the boat had finally reached a calm anchorage just outside Gustavia harbor in Baie de Public, however, a calm anchorage was still not terra firma, and Sydney by this point would have given up her Saks charge card to just get off that floating instrument of torture – swearing she would never set foot on that Godforsaken craft of Rob’s again as long as she lived. But, when she learned that Alex had no intention of docking the Island Fever in the crowded harbor with a broken engine, and that she would have to climb into that tiny rubber raft called a dinghy and be driven ashore, Sydney was not thrilled. In fact, Rob had to carry her kicking and screaming into the Zodiac. Sydney spared no words in making it perfectly clear to Rob that she would be leaving the island via an alternate means of transportation, i.e, the first flight out to Sint Maarten, and would be already basking in the sun sipping a tall rum punch, by the time they had raised their anchor and rounded Rockefeller Point – headed northwest to Philipsburg Harbor. Of course, she had yet to see the island airport, not to mention the fact that she would first have to survive the dinghy ride to the town dock.

  No one, not even Alex, was prepared for what was to happen next when Sydney, still somewhat pallid from the evening’s sail, dipped her hand into the harbor in an attempt to revive herself with a little tepid water on her face. It was her diamond –a rock the size of an acorn which Rob was still paying for, that caught its attention on the second dip. To a hungry barracuda,10* looking for its morning meal, that rock with the early sun glinting through it surely resembled breakfast – a shinny silver fish feeding on the surface of the water. That, or this was one barracuda with very expensive taste. For when it hit, it seemed to know exactly what it was after, which it plucked right out of its setting without leaving even a mark on Sydney’s left hand.

  Of course, Alex could have warned Sydney that this particular harbor was infested with all sorts of carnivorous creatures, due to the fact that the island slaughter house was located on the town dock and the blood and entrails were simply drained straight into the water to feed any and all that cared to partake in the daily feast. But, Alex was making an effort to keep her mouth shut and forego any and all comment, since she knew that her and Sydney were unequally matched in the commentary department. But, it was inevitable that Alex was about to become the brunt of Sydney’s wrath, once reality had sunken in that she had lost her precious four carat, emerald cut, blue diamond and nearly her hand, to a slimy scaly creature that couldn’t tell the difference between a diamond and a zircon. Once the initial shock was over for Alex, she made a beeline in the dinghy for the harbor bar on the Quai de la Republique which had been a landmark in Gustavia for nearly fifty years, but not before Sydney had become hopelessly hysterical.

  Indeed, even I have been known to polish off a bottle of rum or two at the little tavern, known as Le Select, during the years I sailed the waters of the Leeward Islands on an island trader. Le Select was a tradition, frequented by many a sailor and local alike over the years. The little bar on the corner of Rue General De Gaulle had seen many a drama on the island and would have had some outrageous stories to tell, if only its walls could talk. Conversely, although it’s walls may not have been able to, its patrons surely would partake of a rum punch and a story or two.

  As in centuries past, and much like the days of prohibition, St. Barth had been a safe haven to the modern day smugglers of the eighties – those wealthy gentlemen sailors who lived aboard their expensive yachts and dealt in the illicit trade of transporting marijuana from the coasts of Columbia to the inlets of the U.S. Not aboard their own yachts of course, but aboard some other sailor’s boat who was desperate to support their island lifestyle since aside from smuggling and chartering, unless of course one chose to live in the grossly overpopulated American Virgin Islands, Americans could not easily work ashore. No one considered these merchants criminals since they were pre-gun toting cocaine smugglers. They were simply thought of as semi-retired gentlemen who made their livelihood in the business of –let’s call it agricultural import/export – with an emphasis on the import aspect. In fact, these individuals had offered the closest thing to culture that the islands had known since their taste for fine wines and food had inspired the opening of a plethora of gourmet restaurants on St. Barth and St. Maarten./St. Martin over the years – often financed in fact by those very proceeds from their questionable trade. St. Barth had also been considered home-away-from-home for numerous American musicians, stars, and the wealthy bourgeoisie for the latter half of the twentieth century. Over the years, St. Barth had been host to numerous annual sailboat regattas (races) and rock concerts, and to this day remains the place to welcome in the New Year on a hundred and fifty foot yacht on the quai, or at one of the exclusive thousand dollar a night hotels.

  There at that very same bar, Rob and Alex plied Sydney with so many petite rum punches to wash down the Valium, she was at last feeling no pain. Rob could tell she was starting to recover from the shock when she asked him for his credit card and stumbled across the rue to one of the many boutiques which lined the streets of town. Rob was impressed by the quaint berg of Gustavia with its red roofs surrounding the pristine port filled with fishing boats and sailing yachts. The streets, it seemed were abuzz with activity as locals went about their business hurrying to get out of town before the day charter boats arrived from St. Maarten and deluged the little village with American tourists. They were the local merchants mainstay, who converged on the island for a three hour lunch and then left for their spinnaker run back to what locals referred to as the mainland – St. Maarten.

  While Rob was busy holding Sydney’s shopping bags and signing charge receipts Alex managed to slip away to the port captain’s office on the dock to officially clear them in through the island’s immigration. She had cleared in on the island many times before but never on the Island Fever. Confidently, she stepped through the door and placed the ships papers and four American passports on the captains desk.

  The handsome French captain dressed in his official French officer’s uniform got up from his seat where he was enjoying his morning expresso, smiled and started to look over her papers. His name tag read – Captain Reneau.

  “Bonjour Capitaine,” Alex said greeting him in her broken French. “Sil’ vous plai. We’ve just arrived from Antigua and I’d like to clear my boat, crew, and my one passenger into the island.”

  “Ah oui mademoiselle Capitaine, no probléme – welcome to St. Barth…” replied the overly friendly captain, who suddenly stopped short upon reading something on the ships documents. “It says here the boat is called Island Fever. Is this the Island Fever?” questioned the captain officially raising his eyebrows.

  “Well, yes, I guess,” Alex said hesitantly not certain where he was going with his line of questioning. God, what kind of trouble has Joey gotten into on the island thought Alex, fully expecting the worst at that point.

  “Where’s my good friend Joey?” asked the Captain in a very heavy French accent. It is still his boat, is it not?”

  Alex breathed a sigh of relief and pointed to the Antiguan boat registration which had been updated with Rob and Joey as co-owners of the vessel. “Actually, Joey has a new partner… Rob Mariner… from Chicago. Joey’s off on business and I’m running the boat for Rob. He’s doing a little cruising with his fiancee. His first trip to St. Barth,” Alex smiled.

  “Wellll…. in that case, we must meet for a petite punch, any friend of Joey’s is a friend of mine. I must give him a little taste of our island’s customs before he leaves. And you, may I please call you, Alexandria? Would you consider joining me for a drink at five when I finish. I must say, you are
the most attractive yacht captain that’s walked through these doors since I’ve been assigned here.”

  Although caught off guard, Alex was quite flattered by his obvious flirtation, not to mention a little embarrassed, since, other than wolf whistles from the native boys, she always presented a facade of unapproachability. “Well… Captain Reneau,” said Alex uncertainly, “It’s Alex.”

  “Please… call me Jacques (pronouncedZock),” he said smiling broadly.

  “I’ll be sure to pass along the invitation to Rob. What if I meet you at Le Select, five-thirty?”

  “Excellent!” replied the Jacques quite happy that she had accepted his invitation. “How long do you stay on our little island?”

  “Unfortunately, only tonight. We’ll be anchoring in Columbier tomorrow, and we plan to head to St. Maarten tomorrow evening for Carnival,” answered Alex sincerely disappointed that she wouldn’t be spending more time on the island.

  “Too bad,” said Jacques equally disappointed. “But I insist on you docking here tonight, free of charge,” he said gesturing to the space right in front of his office. “Under one condition though.”

  Alex looked at him almost afraid to ask.

  “Only if you agree to have dinner with me also?”

  Alex froze. It was her first invitation for a real date in years and she was uncertain how to answer. Finally, she took a deep breath and smiled, “I’ll see you at five-thirty,” she heard herself say as she collected her documents and headed for the door.

  Leaving the Port Captain’s office she felt quite excited by the fact that this would be the first date she’d allowed herself in the islands since she’d broken up with Michael – being distrustful of the type of expatriates that the islands tended to attract. Especially, after her experience with Michael and learning of his alias identity. But then Jacques was a government official, how bad could he be if he wore a French uniform? But then again, as suspicious as she was of Joey’s true profession, Alex was a little dubious of the Captain’s obvious friendship with Joey, being that he was on the opposing team. But then in the island, a little payola went a long way in building friendships and working relationships. And then again, Alex felt she needed a distraction for Sydney’s sake. Maybe a shill11* would make Sydney realize that Alex’s interest truly lay elsewhere.

  Knowing that by now Rob would likely need help to pry Sydney away from the shops, she went looking for them to let Rob know that she had arranged a taxi to show them around the island. Alex had guessed right, since Sydney had already done nearly several thousand dollars worth of damage in the French clothing and jewelry stores, and Rob was beginning to sweat about the state of his finances, since Sydney seemed to take the name on his Carte Blanche card quite literally. Even before Alex found them in the Cartier shop, Rob had decided that it was time to find a way to distract her from spending any more of his money and was quite relieved when Alex turned up. At least if she were in a taxi, instead of on foot she may not be able to do quite as much damage to Rob’s plastic. Alex was quite relieved when she finally loaded them into the little VW mini van for the afternoon trip over the hill, telling Rob that she would have the boat on the dock at three-thirty when the charter boats left for the day. She even slipped the driver, Old Yugo, a twenty dollar tip, fully aware of what he was in for. By the time Rob had torn her away from the stores and gotten her settled in the bus with her duty-free purchases, Sydney was as happy as if she were the only shopper at a 50%-off sale at Bloomingdales. Somehow, the morning’s excitement had been forgotten and Sydney was already planning the design of her new engagement ring.

  Alex promised Rob that she would go to the Gendarmerie to report the incident with the barracuda and Sydney’s missing diamond, in hopes that his insurance might actually cover it as a passenger’s loss. So, she had Yugo drop her at the police station on his way to his first sightseeing stop in Corrosal.

  Driving just around the bend to the tiny village of Corrosal, Yugo explained to Rob and Sydney about the unique little fishing village just two minutes to the north-west of Gustavia Harbor – unique in that the woman of the village still dress in starched black puritan-like garb, complete with little white bonnets – many never having even traveled the two kilometers into the main town of Gustavia. They passed their days, when not in church, weaving hats, baskets, and placemats from lantania palm fronds to sell to the tourists who pass through their streets as predictably as the sun rises and sets. Of course, their wares, which were hung from the walls of their homes, were an open invitation for Sydney who spent nearly an hour going from house to house buying everything she could find – even convincing one of the poor little ladies to sell her the cap off her head so that she might have her picture taken with one of them wearing the little white bonnet. Luckily for Rob, it was tough to do too much financial damage since the straw goods were quite inexpensive compared to the chic French boutiques in town. Sydney had been a windfall for those little Puritan women since before she had finished, she had bought more of the local straw handicrafts in one outing than they had likely sold in a year. It seemed that she was finally regaining her strength and feeling her old self again since shopping was the one therapy that never failed to boast her spirits and leave her in a good mood.

  Once Sydney had bought three of everything the Corossolinian women had to offer for her friends and family, she was starting to grow quite bored with the quaint local culture and was once again looking for something a bit more civilized. Her friend she said, had recently returned from a trip with her boyfriend to St. Barth where they had spent a week at an upscale boutique hotel – Manapany, in Anse de Cayes, where she had managed to rub elbows with a French movie star and dine next to a geriatric rock star. This modest little hotel, and one or two others, not to mention a restaurant or two, were the most likely locales to go star gazing during the day or night.

  Sydney and Rob stepped from the van in front of the understated lobby, which didn’t appear to be filled at that moment with celestial elite. Disappointed, Sydney led Rob down the walkway to the pool deck and restaurant, hoping to spot a familiar face or two in order that she might be able to return home with stories of lunching with the rich and famous. But, to her great disappointment the dining room was quite void of anyone resembling important personages and the pool deck was equally lacking in celebrity status. In fact, to Sydney’s dismay, the minute boutique was not even open in which she could purchase a few bobbles to prove that she had actually been there. As far as Sydney was concerned, she was quite ready to do lunch at Chez Francine, once of course, she had gotten a glimpse from the hillside of Columbier Bay, where the Rockefellers had built their reclusive encampment which even today, as Sydney pointed out, was inaccessible by road. Obediently, Yugo headed the little van back up the hill to finish the tour around Columbier.

  Meanwhile, Alex stood at the desk in the Gendarmerie filling out an official report, as best she could translate the French questionnaire about the fish that had absconded with Sydney’s twenty thousand dollar diamond. When she had finished, she handed the report to the Gendarme in charge who reviewed it routinely then removed his glasses and looked at Alex.

  “I know this is out of the ordinary,” explained Alex in an attempt to look a little less foolish. “You see, I need a report for our insurance company.”

  “Oui, oui Madamoiselle, but, how do you know zat zis was a Franch fish zat ate ze di-monnnd?”

  Suddenly, Alex didn’t feel quite as foolish anymore as she fought back a snicker, “Well, it was in your harbor sir.”

  “Oui, oui, I unzersand, but we cannot control ze comings and goings of ze fish in our waturs, and onless you can prove zat ze crime was perpee-trated by a Franch fish zen I am terribly afraid zat I will be onaable to pro-cess ze repor,” said the Gendarme with all finality as he handed Alex the report and placed an out to lunch sign on his desk.

  1*EXCESS BAGGAGE – Defined by the airlines as more baggage than one is allowed to check without paying an additional
price. It is unfortunately a fact of life, that no matter how you try to pack it into smaller compartments, check it, or stow it away, everyone carries a fair amount of excess baggage – some more than others. Some it seems are simply sporting manageable backpacks while others, are packing steamer trunks.

  2**CARNIVAL – On the Dutch side Carnival is a two week-long West Indian version of Mardi Gras, which generally commences two weeks after Easter. On the French side Carnival is celebrated forty days before Easter or two weeks before Lent, as in Brazil. Carnival Village on the Dutch side is centered on the Saltpond Landfill3*** on the north side of Philipsburg where an event is held every night such as beauty competitions, steel band competitions calypso concerts and costume competitions. Other festivities include: Bands such as the Mighty Arrow (formally the Mighty Sparrow) which play til midnight prior to Juvé Mornin’ which winds into the Last Lap around the Saltpond finishing at 9:00 AM; and the Jump-up parade to the Village on the last Monday where all participants dress up in flamboyant costumes and dance around town like warring Indians. In St. Barth during Carnival they still burn the evil Voodoo spirit Val Val – a stuffed mannequin which represents the burning of bad spirits. In essence it’s a two week long party during which the local inhabitants stop work, dress up like strange tropical birds, drink copious amounts of rum and act like irresponsible adolescents.

  3***SALTPOND LANDFILL – Literally the island garbage dump which encompasses the entire center of town – more than half of Philipsburg in fact. It was formally a working salt pond where salt was extracted from sea water through a dehydration process. A pond would be flooded by the early settlers with sea water and then allowed to evaporate, leaving of course – salt. This process worked especially well in the Caribbean due to the fact that the waters of the Atlantic are extremely salty. Since salt ponds are no longer used in the islands as a source of salt, the local government determined it the best place to put their garbage in order to create more Real Estate.