St. Martin and Anguilla: dream beaches

PART ONE

It was April 21, 2001, when we were about to leave for Mauritius and, 365 days later, here we are again ready to take flight and follow the route of the tropics. We will reach the Caribbean island of Saint Martin and, irony of fate, we will be back on May 6, exactly one year after the conclusion of our trip in the Indian Ocean. The alarm clock, merciless, goes off early, indeed very early, and at 3:50 in the morning we are already on our feet. The plane will leave at 7:30 and we should be in Bologna by 5:00, but I think we'll get there later. Sabrina and I get ready, then we wake Federico, who doesn't make a fuss, considering the hour, and immediately gets caught up in enthusiasm and the eagerness to leave, even though his face, on which his unusually red cheeks stand out, has a strange look.

We have a quick breakfast, while outside the window it is still dark, and shortly after the grandparents arrive who, as usual, will accompany us to the airport. Everything is ready, but the little one's face doesn't convince Sabrina and his forehead seems rather warm: we take his temperature and, unfortunately, he has a slight fever. He immediately starts crying, perhaps out of fear of not being able to leave, unaware of the fact that, in reality, we have no other choice but to give him an antibiotic, get on the camper and officially kick off the trip, albeit disheartened by the situation, which is certainly not rosy. We leave home at 5:13 and along the way we try to convince ourselves that it will soon pass, that in the end it will just be a passing ailment, and with difficulty we manage to keep locked in all the doubts and fears that in the meantime assail our minds.

Shortly after 6:00, under heavy rain, we arrive at Bologna's Marconi airport, say goodbye to the grandparents and immediately get in line at the counter for baggage check-in (a long line apparently), then, when it's past 7:00, we face the check-in: I have to take off my watch, jacket and belt, but in the end we manage to get through it. The wait is very short and we immediately board flight Az 360, an Md-80 type aircraft, on which we had never been before, which at 7:43, slightly delayed, lifts off the ground flying toward Paris. We climb above the clouds, which half an hour later thin out revealing the snowy Alpine arc, then we face the endless French countryside, all the same, up to the gates of the capital and of Charles De Gaulle international airport, where we land at 9:13. We get off and start looking for the terminal from which the plane to Saint Martin will depart.

We find it: it's terminal "A" (gate number 49). We head off following the signs, with Federico who first complains of strong stomach pains, making a stop in the bathroom necessary, then, immediately after, along an airport corridor, he starts coughing, combining the efforts of vomiting with the inevitable subsequent retching, while a Japanese lady, noticing the difficult situation, kindly gives us a hand. Our little odyssey ends, shortly after, when we finally reach the gate from which we will board flight Af 3668. The little one's condition, unfortunately, is not encouraging: he is exhausted and, probably, his fever has returned too (darn!!). Fortunately the wait is short and soon we board the Air France Airbus A300 which at 11:17 takes off bound for Saint Martin.

We are in the central seats of the plane and this prevents us from seeing outside, but it doesn't matter much since each seat is equipped with a video with various programs and games to pass the time, and that's no small thing given that the ocean crossing will last about eight hours. We have lunch while the first quarter of the flight slips by, then Sabrina and Federico give in to the temptation to sleep, and it's not a bad idea, so, occasionally, I join in too. We have chased the sun and gained six hours of time difference when we begin the long descent toward Saint Martin or Sint Maarten, whichever you prefer, depending on whether you pronounce it in French or Dutch. Yes, because this Caribbean island of just 88 square kilometers (15 kilometers by 13) is divided into two states, and it is the smallest strip of land in the world to be so!... It's curious!...

Just as, according to legend, the way the territory was divided is curious: two athletes from the respective countries competed in a foot race starting from a predetermined point and, running along the coast in opposite directions, ended up meeting again at another point, which unequivocally established the border, avoiding unnecessary bloodshed (for the record, the Frenchman was the faster, since he won about 60% of the stake). Be that as it may, today we will land in a little piece of Europe overseas and we will be able to use, for the first time, our currency outside Italy, that euro we have been carrying in our pocket for a few months and which, obviously, is also legal tender here.

Outside the window, meanwhile, there are big clouds that several passengers observe somewhat disconcerted, while we, on the other hand, were aware, via the internet, of the not exactly good weather conditions and are not surprised: we just hope the weather improves quickly... and with it, Federico too!

PART TWO

We descend below the clouds, then the plane makes a turn and we catch a glimpse of the island, where we land shortly after, with the clock hands reading 13:45 local time, then the hatch opens and we step out into the open air, facing the metal staircase that takes us definitively to the ground, while a bit of wind blows that takes nothing away from the pleasant ambient temperature. We go through customs, then, as usual, while we are waiting for the luggage, I call home to let them know of our arrival, then, having retrieved the suitcases, we leave the airport in search of the Viaggidea representative (our tour operator). We find him, or rather we find her, and she immediately accompanies us to take the vehicle that will take us to our destination on the other side of the island (the French one).

Less than an hour later we are at the reception of the Little Key Hotel, in the Cul de Sac locality, which will host us for the entire duration of our stay and at first glance makes a good impression on us, although it seems to us rather... empty. We are given the keys to room 419, which we reach immediately: it is beautiful and very spacious, with a magnificent veranda that lets the gaze roam over the sea in front of it (we had paid for a garden view, but this is an upgrade and there's no point in pointing it out). We arrange our things and in trying to put the suitcase on top of a small cabinet I break its glass top: a corner shatters into a thousand pieces and I have quite a hard time picking them all up. More out of desire than necessity we put on our beachwear and go out for a little stroll, with the sky gloomy, covered in clouds, and an annoying wind blowing constantly.

That's how on the beach we meet two guys from Treviso: they've been here a week and the weather conditions have always been, more or less, like this. Tomorrow they will return to Italy and our hope is that they take the clouds away with them... for the moment their words were certainly not encouraging and the whole thing appears to us almost like the continuation of the Lanzarote trip. At 17:30 we return to the room: Federico is burning up and has a high fever... it really doesn't seem like anything wants to go right!...

The time difference begins to claim its "victims" and, one by one, we fall asleep, so later, with difficulty, we manage to find the strength to go to dinner, but immediately afterward we return to the room to continue what we had interrupted: it was a tiring and interminable day, but we must regain the energy that will allow us to overturn the fate of a vacation that certainly did not start in the best possible way.

The time difference is making itself felt, so starting from 3:00 in the morning I begin to open my eyes, and a couple of hours later Sabrina and Federico wake up too. We doze until 7:30, then we get up, while outside the window the sky continues to be full of big gray clouds and the wind blows incessantly. A little disheartened we go to have breakfast, with Federico who, thank heavens, no longer has a fever and seems decidedly better: at least that's good news! At 9:00 we have an appointment with the Viaggidea representative (Bruno), but he doesn't show up and we find ourselves forced to rent a car (very expensive) to avoid spending the whole day in the hotel, so we set off, well after 10:00, in our "new" white Daewoo Matiz (license plate 544 ZAG 971) to discover Saint Martin.

Given the weather conditions we go to the nearby town of Orleans (historically the first village founded on the island), on the outskirts of which is the Ferme des Papillons, a greenhouse where many beautiful butterflies from the most varied regions of the globe live. A very interesting visit but, alas, also very expensive. We are left with the consolation, with the same ticket, of being able to return every day, until the end of the trip, although we hope we won't have to, because that would mean that, in the meantime, the sun has returned to shine and in that case there will certainly be something better to do.

Meanwhile a few rays of sun have filtered through the clouds and it's not raining, so we go to Friar's Bay, a beach located to the north, near the French capital Marigot, and it would also be a beautiful beach if it weren't for those cursed clouds preventing a stronger light from lighting up all its colors, but at least it's not cold and we stay for the whole afternoon, with Federico who can finally have fun playing with the sand (not yet swimming, although all of us hope to have the opportunity soon), while on the horizon the nearby island of Anguilla can be glimpsed, where we will probably go more than once during the vacation. At 17:00 we leave the beach, obviously with some regret for the sun that just didn't show up, but we are optimistic for the future and, for the moment, we give thanks for Federico's quick recovery, now more lively than ever.

We arrive at the hotel and, at the reception, we get information for some catamaran excursions (also very expensive), naturally trusting in a decisive improvement in the weather conditions. There is also a message from Bruno, who has set an appointment for tomorrow even though, at this point, I think we will be the ones not to show up if the day turns out to be beautiful! We go to the room to take a shower, while big clouds continue to pass over our heads... who knows when they'll stop! Later, before dinner, we fall asleep again and having to get up to go to the restaurant is more of a chore than a pleasure, so as soon as we've satisfied our appetite we go back to lying down on our comfortable beds, not before, however, casting a last glance at the sky, where, in the meantime, a few auspicious stars have timidly appeared... let's hope for the best!

At 6:00 in the morning I open my eyes and direct my gaze toward the window: quite a bit of light filters through a gap in the curtain, so I get up and, although without contact lenses, go to look outside. There are still quite a few clouds but, at the same time, several clear patches appear, through which the first rays of the sun peek out. More relieved I go back to spending a little more time between the sheets... who knows!... maybe we'll finally have a good day. At 7:30 we get up and go to have breakfast, while a few white clouds, more like big mounds of whipped cream, wander in the intense blue of the sky and the sun's rays, despite the hour, are already burning on the skin... now we are in the Caribbean! In the bay in front of our hotel is Ilet Pinel, a small island that we intend to visit.

You reach it by means of some boats that depart from the Cul de Sac pier, a service that is, among other things, free for us guests of the Little Key, so we request the tickets at the reception and set off, radiant, for our first real day at the sea. Before heading to the dock, however, by car, we want to reach the nearby Anse Marcel, a beach which, according to our plans, we should have already seen yesterday, incorporated within a large tourist complex gravitating around the Hotel Meridien (a well-known hotel chain of excellent international level).

We go up a hill, leave a check-point behind us and descend to the bay, park the car, pass another barrier and on foot reach the beach, which is certainly not bad, but not exceptional either, and we expect much more from Ilet Pinel, so we take a few photos and retrace our steps along the short stretch of road that takes us back to Cul de Sac. We board a small boat and in a few minutes we arrive on the islet, which at first glance immediately appears to us as a little paradise. A strip of soft sand gently slips into a dream sea and the contrast between the elements leaves us speechless: land, sky and sea blend masterfully in an incomparable explosion of color.

To complete the picture, then, a small grove of palms located behind the beach, where we arrange our things before running to enjoy an unforgettable swim in the warm, crystal-clear waters of the lagoon, with Federico bursting with joy from every pore... now we are really on vacation!!! The morning slips by like a tropical dream and before lunch I go ahead to snorkel at the tip of the island, where there is a large coral rock teeming with fish of a thousand colors. I take a few photos and then return to the beach to report the good outcome of the exploration to the little one, promising to accompany him later.

We are on cloud nine and first we have lunch, then we rest for a while in the shade of the palms, while a fisherman arrives with his incredible load of lobsters to offer to tourists, but it is hard to resist the primordial call of the waters, so I accompany Federico to see the fish, and Sabrina comes with us too: they are beautiful, there's no denying it, and the little one's enthusiasm is clear proof. Time flies and we return to the beach for one last swim before reluctantly leaving the island. Unfortunately at 16:30 the last boat departs and it's early since there will still be almost two hours of daylight, but we have no choice and moreover the sun has disappeared behind the clouds (nothing to worry about for the moment, judging by the wide clear patches on the horizon).

In a few minutes we are back at the hotel, with Federico who, never tamed, insistently asks to be able to take a swim in the pool. We oblige him, while I go to the reception to finally meet Bruno and get a little more information regarding Saint Martin and Anguilla, but I am disappointed because, in practice, I already knew everything and, as if that weren't enough, I am kicking myself, in fact I would eat the person in front of me when he states that if he had come to the first appointment I would have saved a ton of money on the car rental! So, a little annoyed, I go to the room and join Sabrina and Federico to take a shower before going to dinner.

The evening as usual is a bit empty, or rather, there's nothing to do at all, but at least we don't lack sleep and above all Federico barely has time to touch the pillow before he sleeps blissfully, so we lie down on the bed too and, thinking back on the beautiful day just spent, we soon join him in the world of dreams.

The alarm goes off quite early and, in fact, it's 7:00 in the morning when I get up to look out the window: the sun is out and so operation Anguilla begins. The island of Anguilla, which is eight kilometers north of our current position, is the northernmost of the Leeward Islands and measures about 26 kilometers by 5, reaching an overall surface area slightly larger than that of Saint Martin. It has a flat morphological profile, profoundly different from the mountainous one of its neighbor opposite, and together with another handful of islets it forms an independent state within the Commonwealth, so in a few minutes of sailing we will reach another land, but, above all, another nation, in which another language is spoken (English) and another currency is used (the dollar). We go to have breakfast and immediately after we set off in our Matiz with destination the port of Marigot.

We get there in about twenty minutes, park the car and stand on the pier waiting for the boat that will take us to Anguilla. We don't have to wait long because, shortly after, it arrives and then departs, almost immediately, facing the short crossing that allows us to disembark, less than half an hour later, at Blowing Point, the small port beyond the narrow but busy stretch of sea that separates the two islands. We carry out some formalities and at the exit from customs we set about renting a taxi so as to reach Shoal Bay East, widely recognized as one of the ten most beautiful beaches in the entire Caribbean region.

The roads of Anguilla are half-empty, after all no more than eight thousand inhabitants live on the island, and yet Etienne, our taxi driver, proceeds (on the left side of the road) with extreme calm and prudence, never exceeding fifty kilometers per hour, so much so that I almost feel like replacing him at the wheel of the vehicle: certainly for us Westerners it's not easy to adapt to these rhythms of life, perhaps healthier but incompatible with our innate frenzy in tackling every matter. Along the way Etienne also tries to give us some general and historical information about the island, but we can only partly understand his speeches, then, finally, we arrive near Shoal Bay East. We get out of the taxi, set the appointment for the return trip and head off, on foot, toward the beach that suddenly appears before our eyes...

We are stunned and literally speechless: it is difficult to describe such beauty and, probably, not even photos will be able to do so. A long strip of very white sand reflects the sun's rays and the light that springs from it is blinding, while the sea, with almost unreal colors, appears to us like an immense pool in which we can't wait to dive. We settle a few meters from the water, with some palms behind us, in what can be defined, without mincing words, as a true tropical paradise, then, obviously, we run to enjoy the crystal-clear reflections of that sea, experiencing extraordinary and indescribable sensations.

We regenerate mind and body, then we return to the beach to set up the beach tent to have some shade, then, with Federico, I go for a walk along the water's edge, but on the way back we plunge again into that irresistible water, dedicating ourselves to exploring the coral bank in front of us: we see beautiful fish and our enthusiasm goes through the roof! We return to shore and smear ourselves with cream, because the sun really burns on the skin, then we have lunch, with a sublime view before our eyes.

We stay for a while in the shade, but we don't resist long and, just for a change, shortly after, we are again basking among the thousand turquoise reflections of the sea, then we go back up to dry in the sun and immediately after we return to the water, and so on for the whole day, until we take down the tent and treat ourselves to one last (umpteenth) swim, before leaving, obviously reluctantly, Shoal Bay. Time has flown, it's almost 16:30, and we head to the appointment with the taxi driver, who was waiting for us and takes us back to Blowing Point in just over twenty minutes. We have a small argument with him when, to our dismay, we realize we have to pay double what we thought for the taxi, but it was clearly written on the ticket (one way) and we hadn't noticed. Shortly after 17:30 we set sail and half an hour later we are, again, in Saint Martin.

We return to the Little Key and stop at the reception to check, on the internet, the weather conditions for the next few days. They seem good and so we try to book a catamaran excursion for Friday (provided there is the minimum number of participants), then we go to the room to get ready for dinner. Around 20:00 we go to the restaurant: there are nine of us customers in all, but maybe the cook is drunk and the waiter certainly isn't helping him, so time passes, with Federico falling asleep from tiredness and almost dozing off on the table, until, after two hours, we go to the room without having eaten dessert... a small mishap that takes nothing away from the beautiful day just spent, one of those with a capital "G", which we will never forget!

It promises to be another splendid day: at 7:30 we get up and go to have breakfast, then we set off following the ribbon of asphalt that runs in the direction of Marigot. A few kilometers before the built-up area we turn toward the interior of the island to visit the green valley of Colombiere, thus covering a short stretch of road that ventures into a suggestive bucolic and, at the same time, tropical landscape. We lose about twenty minutes but it was worth it, then we resume following the coastal road, pass the capital and continue almost to the extreme western tip of the island, where Baie Rouge is located. We park the car and descend to the cove, characterized by very soft sand and bordered, on the eastern side, by a high cliff of reddish rock (hence probably the name).

A landscape with a vaguely Mediterranean appearance, although the sea, but above all the sky, with the classic white clouds, are unmistakably Caribbean. In the part of the beach adjacent to the cliff there are some bars that also rent umbrellas and sun loungers, so we move toward the more central, semi-deserted area, occupying a nice stretch of sand. We immediately treat ourselves to a swim and play among the waves, which here are higher than usual, then we set up the beach tent to protect ourselves from the sun, while Federico goes wild running back and forth from the water. Later I go exploring, with mask and fins, on the rocky promontory to our right: it is scenic, pierced as it is by a natural cave, but the bottom is deep, the fish are sparse and the corals almost nonexistent.

So I return to base and all together we have lunch with, again, a beautiful panorama before our eyes, characterized, in the distance, by the flat silhouette of the island of Anguilla. The afternoon passes pleasantly among countless swims, while the sun burns more and more on the skin. Fortunately, every now and then, some providential clouds pass by to give us refreshment and one of these, more substantial than the others, at a certain point, leaves a few drops on the ground too, then goes away giving space again to the sun which, in the meantime, has slowly approached the horizon line.

In the late afternoon the temperature becomes very pleasant and we stay on the beach until 18:00, then we return to the Little Key, while the sunset light sets the clouds on fire and the landscape takes on color tones that can only be seen in the tropics: the phenomenon lasts a few minutes and soon the shadows of evening take over, but they are intense minutes, that leave their mark, and arouse extraordinary emotions. Happy with how things are going we arrive at the hotel, where they inform us that the planned catamaran excursion for tomorrow has been canceled, but it will take place on Sunday... no big deal: we will certainly find another nice place to spend the day, meanwhile we leave a deposit and go to the room to get ready for dinner, a dinner, we hope, shorter than last night's.

As soon as we sit down at the table the waiter arrives who apologizes and gives us an explanation: the chef wasn't there and his deputy was doing everything in the kitchen, a somewhat slow guy... tonight, on the other hand, the team is complete, so they are fast and amply redeem themselves by offering us a first-rate dinner, then we take a short walk as far as the pier in front of the hotel and afterward, tired but happy, we retire to our "apartments".

Today is also a beautiful day and, once again, we get up with the intention of going to Anguilla. After properly refueling ourselves we reach Marigot, where it rained recently and the streets are still wet, so we sit down on the pier, waiting for the boat, while Federico has fun watching some kids fishing right from the quay facing the docking point. We board the 9:30 ferry and half an hour later we are at Blowing Point. We leave the customs office and take a taxi to reach the nearby Rendezvous Bay, known in local history as the landing point of the French troops who invaded the island in 1796. The beach is beautiful, all soft light sand, lapped by an extraordinary sea that does not, however, reach the stratospheric levels of Shoal Bay. That said, we certainly don't intend to complain, on the contrary...

quite the opposite! The sun is burning, a decent breeze is blowing and we plant the beach tent before running into the water to relax. We let ourselves be caressed for a long time by that warm and incomparable fluid, then we return to the beach which, in practice, is our kingdom, since for several hundred meters, to the right and to the left, no other bathers can be seen. We find some beautiful shells, then, together with Federico, I build a castle, at the end of which the "tragedy" breaks out. I simply ask him if he wants to photograph his sand construction, but he refuses and, for who knows what reason, starts acting "crazy", refusing any alternative proposed to him. He ends up earning a good spanking and only recovers after lunch, when however the sun disappears behind some spiteful clouds, while in the distance, over the sea, a storm breaks out.

In the early afternoon the sky is clear again and the sun shines unchallenged once more: its presence is strongly desired, but when it's there you hope that, occasionally, a little cloud covers it since it burns so much. We immediately take refuge in the water and have a long swim, with the little one who, in the meantime, has become radiant and in good shape again. It's time to go by now, while in Saint Martin, in front of us, another storm breaks out. We put all our things back in order and at 17:00 sharp, as agreed in the morning, we are at the appointment with our taxi driver who in a few minutes takes us back to Blowing Point. We arrive just as the 17:00 ferry is departing, a little late, but we can't manage to get on board and will have to wait for the 17:30 one.

While waiting I ask for and obtain, as a souvenir, from the customs control officer an Anguilla stamp on our passports, since the normal practice, apparently, does not provide for it. At 18:00 we are back in Marigot and shortly after, along the road to Cul de Sac, yet another storm breaks out, this time over our heads, fortunately covered by a roof, the providential one of our Matiz. We arrive at the hotel and, while Sabrina and Federico go to the room, I check on the internet the weather conditions for Sunday, given the catamaran excursion, and they shouldn't be bad. Later, at dinner, strangely we are not the usual ten customers: it seems a sort of company outing has arrived and there is a great bustle of people, which almost bother

Today we will stay in Saint Martin because it is Saturday and therefore, by tradition, market day. So, while a beautiful sun is shining, we reach Marigot to spend some time browsing among the stalls, although Federico is not too enthusiastic about it. We then try to make him happy by first climbing to Fort St. Luis, the ancient fortress built by the French to protect the port, which stands on a hill located at the eastern end of the town and reachable first by means of a steep road, then, in the last stretch, with a short staircase.

Not much remains of the defensive complex, in fact, it is little more than a ruin, scattered with a handful of old cannons devoured by rust, but the panorama that can be observed over the city and the bay below is quite respectable, so we take a few photos, while the little one has fun running among the ancient stones, then we go down, reaching the seafront along which the market develops. We stroll for a while among the stalls, mostly packed with t-shirts and rather banal souvenirs and, unfortunately, the most characteristic area, with spices, fruit and fish, is quite limited. It is therefore not the most classic and genuine of Caribbean markets, but it is what the island can offer us and we take note of it.

We obviously make a few purchases, then we look for an exchange office to turn some euros into dollars, so as to be able to go to Anguilla again in the coming days, and, when it is by now noon, we leave Marigot in search of a beach where to spend the rest of the day. We take to following the road that runs along the coast towards the westernmost part of the island and arrive at Basse Terre, a hilly area, scattered with luxurious villas immersed in greenery, which slopes gently down to the sea. Our destination is Baie Aux Prunes, which we reach by driving along the small roads, partly unpaved, that go into the small region. We leave the car in the shade of the palms and reach the place by means of a short path that cuts through some private properties.

The beach is beautiful, but a notch below those seen so far, and it is very sheltered, too much so, so much so that a light breeze barely blows there, so the heat is almost unbearable. Despite everything it has a characteristic that induces us to stay: it faces west and therefore we will have the possibility of seeing a sunset over the sea. We have lunch in the shade of the tent, then, the whole time, we go back and forth from the beach to the sea seeking refreshment... and the afternoon slips away peacefully. We go, in vain, in search of a coconut, while time passes and the sun gets closer and closer to the horizon line. Meanwhile other tourists also arrive to witness the spectacle and around 18:00 we are much more numerous than in the central hours of the day.

In a few minutes the light changes tone, the clouds redden and the sea begins to reflect the last warm rays of the sun, then, as if by magic, all the colors of the sunset light up, the most classic of Caribbean sunsets, which we enjoy until darkness takes over. In the dark we return to the hotel and when we arrive at the reception we have an unpleasant surprise: unfortunately we are in low season and the excursion for tomorrow by catamaran has also been cancelled, for lack of participants. At this point only one possibility remains: to try to book, for next Wednesday, the same trip with another boat, smaller and therefore with a lower minimum number of participants... we try this too, but by now without much conviction.

With a bit of anger (soon soothed) we go to the room and later to dinner: the presumed "company vacation group" as it had appeared, suddenly, has also disappeared and we cannot give ourselves a logical explanation. We are back to being the usual ten customers and we dine in the most absolute silence, with the clinking of plates and cutlery as background... the evenings are truly unexciting and fortunately we are not lacking sleep, so, soon, we go to the room to sleep and recharge our batteries in view, we dare say, of another beautiful day.

It's already been a week since we left, seven days without a shadow of a doubt positive, after a nightmare start, with Federico sick and bad weather reigning supreme, but everything sorted itself out in no time, beyond our rosiest expectations, and today too we're all in good shape, ready to face another splendid sunny day. It was supposed to be the morning of the sea excursion, but it wasn't possible to do it and we promptly changed our itinerary: we'll go to Anguilla again, where the beaches, apparently, are more beautiful, and more precisely we'll go to Sandy Island, a tiny islet off the northern coast. We arrive at the port of Marigot when the 9:00 ferry, slightly delayed, is still moored at the pier facing the boarding point, but they don't let us on and, much to our dismay, we'll have to wait for the next one, at 9:30.

So we wait, sitting next to our backpacks, while a bit of sleepiness shows in our eyes: we've now digested the time difference and it's no longer so easy to get up at 7:00 in the morning. Punctually, half an hour later, we set sail and face the short crossing with the sea being rather rough, so, thinking about it, perhaps it was lucky that they cancelled the catamaran excursion. Shortly after 10:00 we're in Anguilla and, as usual, upon exiting customs we ask for a taxi so as to reach Sandy Ground, the place from which the boat to the islet we've set as our destination should depart. The taxi driver (Etienne) is the same one as four days ago, and back then he took us to that paradise called Shoal Bay, driving with extreme calm and caution.

In the same way today he takes us to Sandy Ground, but all in all he's kind because, when we arrive, he personally goes to inquire about the possibility of setting sail with the boat, but it's not possible, because, apparently, it only departs once a week, on Tuesdays, and so we have to change our plans again, but we'll be back. With a small price adjustment we have ourselves taken to Mead's Bay, on the western part of the island. The beach, of white sand, is beautiful, caressed as it is by an enchanting sea, almost as much as that of Shoal Bay, and only a bothersome wind blows that, lifting the tiny grains of sand, somewhat annoys Sabrina. But it's hard not to melt before so much wonder, so a swim is enough to restore serenity and raise morale to the skies.

After lunch I go, with Federico, for a walk along the beach to its eastern edge, where there's a small rocky promontory, and along the way we notice a strange as well as ridiculous scene: Anguilla is a touristically exclusive island (almost economically unapproachable), so its accommodation facilities are normally frequented by guests of a certain level, and one of these, a lady to be precise, is lying on her lounger with the ice bucket beside her, from which, with a glass, she takes water to wash her feet, evidently covered in sand... poor thing, who knows for what terrible reason she was forced to come to this dusty and inhospitable place?... To us, to tell the truth, it seems anything but that, and when we return to Sabrina, all together, we throw ourselves again into that water with crystal-clear reflections.

The beach is semi-deserted and peace reigns unchallenged, with the nearest bather at least three hundred meters away, so we enjoy the extraordinary Mead's Bay until 17:00, when we head to our appointment with Etienne to return to Blowing Point. We arrange with our taxi driver friend for next Tuesday when, weather permitting, we'll return to Anguilla to go to Sandy Island, then, punctually, we board the 17:30 ferry which half an hour later docks at the port of Marigot. Another half hour, of road this time, and we're at the Little Key, where they finally confirm that on Wednesday we'll do the long-awaited catamaran excursion. Happy, we go to our room to get ready for dinner since it's gotten late and a certain hunger is starting to creep up.

What keeps decreasing, instead, is the number of guests at the restaurant because starting this evening, apparently, there'll only be seven of us to be served, so, to avoid feeling too lonely, we sit near the other four, who turn out to be Italians! (from Modena)... and we'd never noticed. We have dinner exchanging a few words (literally a few), unanimously expressing a positive opinion on the trip we share, then we reach our room to continue that sleep cure we've been following successfully for a week now.

The pace we've settled into is, to say the least, enviable: one day in Anguilla, one day in Saint Martin, yesterday in Anguilla, today, naturally, in Saint Martin. That's why we get up a bit more calmly, and yet by 9:00 we're already ready to leave. For the first time we head south, pass Orleans and continue along the coast until we reach the Dutch part of the island at Oyster Pond, a curious natural inlet used as a marina. A little past the border we go down to the sea and reach Dawn Beach. The beach, of white sand, faces an ex-village now in ruins and probably destroyed by a hurricane, judging also by the many decapitated palms all around. In front, the sea has a beautiful color, surely the best seen so far in Saint Martin, and in the distance one glimpses the mountainous outline of the island of St.

Barthelemy, another little piece of France in the Caribbean, only a horrendous building, disastrously built on the narrow strip of land separating the sea from Oyster Pond, significantly disfigures the landscape. Dawn Beach is in an area normally swept by wind but today, luckily, a pleasant breeze is blowing and we settle in the shade of a palm before running to refresh ourselves among the waves. In front of us there's also some coral reef, so I put on mask and fins and go exploring: not bad... I take a few photos and go back to get Federico to accompany him in turn. We have fun and it feels great, so I think we'll stay in this spot for the whole day.

Shortly after noon we have lunch and stay in the shade until the sun's intensity decreases, then we move the "base camp" near the water, at the most beautiful point of the beach, and enjoy an incomparable swim: it feels like being in a pool, though there's a very strong current that gives us some stability issues, but, at the same time, it massages our sides with its ceaseless flow and offers a diversion that's all in all fun. We spend the whole afternoon in complete relaxation, until the sun almost disappears behind the mountains behind us, then, calmly, we return to the hotel. When we show up at the reception to pick up the keys, as often happens, they inform us of a small problem: nothing insurmountable and not even regarding the excursion, only the restaurant will be closed on May 1st (Labor Day) and they'll give us a voucher to eat at a place outside the complex...

we can't help laughing because we'd never have imagined such a thing could happen. We leave the reception and, walking among the hotel's bungalows, we meet the couple from Modena, so we tell them everything and they're surprised too: we share another laugh and strike up a little discussion about Caribbean rhythms of life, then we go to our room. A phone call arrives from Bruno (Viaggidea) who explains the restaurant matter better to me, in fact we misunderstood or they explained it poorly because, according to the official version, given the low number of guests present, the restaurant won't be closed on May 1st, but from May 1st onwards, and in short, we'll have to eat out for four evenings.

Nothing bad, in fact maybe it'll be an opportunity to spend time in a different way, since tonight too we go to dinner and almost immediately go back to lie down on our beds, thinking yes about the beautiful day spent, but, all in all, a bit of entertainment wouldn't hurt.

The alarm goes off already before 7:00, since we have to be in Marigot by 8:30 ready to board the boat that will take us to Anguilla, where, at 9:00, Etienne awaits us to accompany us to Sandy Ground and from there, God willing, we'll set sail for Sandy Island. After breakfast we leave but, when we stop to do the usual routine shopping, Federico says, or at least it seems to him, that he has a slight earache. Terrified, we turn back and return to the hotel, so as to put at least a painkiller in the backpack, then, aware of the time lost, we race down the road to Marigot. Our run, however, is immediately slowed by a large truck that we can't overtake, and we end up right behind it for the entire journey. By now it's impossible to catch the ferry and, indeed, we arrive at the port when it, heedless of our delay, is lazily setting sail.

Resigned, we have to wait for the next one, so we arrive in Anguilla around 9:30, while Federico says he's fine and, more relieved, we set out to find our taxi driver. We find him and, with the help of our imperfect English, we try to give him a rough explanation, but there's no time: we get in the taxi and leave, quickly, for Sandy Ground. The situation is rather unusual, because we've managed to hurry a Caribbean local, and now Etienne is almost at risk of a fine, but at least it was worth it and we arrive at the destination when the boat has yet to set sail. Apparently we'll be the only passengers, so, after fixing a price and a return time, we board a small motorboat in the company of a man and a woman, that is, the managers of the only establishment on the island.

About ten minutes of navigation are enough and when we're now close to the destination I observe, on the horizon line, the flat outline of the island, on which there should be a grove of palms, but there isn't. So I ask the girl where they've gone and she answers that the last hurricane took them away... what a shame! A few more minutes and we disembark at Sandy Island, another little paradise that, this time, looks like a tiny mound of candid sand in the middle of the ocean, lapped by turquoise waters of incomparable beauty. In no time we go all the way around it and it feels like being inside a cartoon about the most classic of castaway islands (which would have been perfect if the palms were still there).

We're spoiled for choice and we settle with our towels on the shore facing the tiny lagoon bounded by the coral reef, while a couple of catamarans arrive and dock with the customers of the establishment (which certainly wouldn't have opened just for us). The call of that idyllic stretch of water is irresistible and our response doesn't take long to arrive: first I go snorkeling, then Sabrina and Federico. The seabed is very beautiful too and we're truly enthusiastic. Around noon the girl from the establishment comes to ask if we intend to have lunch: I reply that we'll eat our sandwiches so as to spend as much time as possible on this enchanting beach. Meanwhile, in the distance, a big cloud dumps its load of rain and moves on.

Time flies and we stay in the water for a long time, it's so warm and pleasant, so by the time we have to leave we're completely wet and we change our swimsuits without the help of towels, since we're the only ones left. At 15:00 we leave, leaving a piece of our heart at Sandy Island, and when, shortly after, we set foot back on land at Sandy Ground, we wait a few minutes and Etienne arrives, who, having checked that the day went well, then takes us back to Blowing Point. We board the 16:30 ferry and say goodbye to the extraordinary island of Anguilla, to which we won't return for the rest of the trip, then, when we disembark at Marigot, we immediately head for the Little Key, where we stop to drop off our backpacks before going to Philipsburg, the capital of the Dutch side, in whose streets carnival is taking place, celebrated here to coincide with the queen's birthday.

We watch a bit of the parade, which vaguely recalls Brazilian-style carnivals, then we have to run and shelter in the car because a storm breaks out, and when it stops raining we return to see the remaining part of the event, which, all in all, turned out to be a nice and original experience. It's almost 19:00 when we return, in the dark, to the hotel and I stop at the reception to check the weather forecast, which appears to be good until the end of the trip, then we go for the last time to dinner at the Little Key restaurant, then, tired after the intense but unforgettable day, we retire, to rest our limbs, with the sweet vision of Sandy Island still in our eyes.

It should finally be the day of the long-awaited catamaran excursion and we get up early to avoid the risk of missing it. We're perfectly on time and, after breakfast, we drive to the nearby Anse Marcel from where, at 9:00, the Scoobidoo (that's the name of the boat) should depart for Prickly Pear, a small group of islands north of Anguilla. We haven't quite understood exactly where it departs from, but we're ahead of schedule and go looking for it in the most obvious place: the marina. We waste a bit of time and don't find it, so we ask for information at the reception of the nearby hotel. Indeed it wasn't the right place and they give us directions to reach the Meridien hotel pool, next to which the meeting point should be.

In no time we get there and find a small kiosk covered with photographs and advertisements for the most varied excursions, but there's no one there, so, out of caution, I cast a glance toward the beach... and I see the Scoobidoo setting sail! I start running and, once I reach where the wave breaks, I shout at the top of my lungs, waving my arms: maybe someone will take me for a madman but I don't want to let that boat leave without us! I move forward, step by step, right into the water, while my shouts grow hoarser and the outline of the catamaran grows more distant, as do the hopes of managing to stop it, then a lady appears behind me holding a transmitter. I immediately understand she can do something, so I explain that according to the instructions in our possession we were supposed to depart at 9:00 and there are still ten minutes to go.

She alerts the Scoobidoo by radio and it, thank heavens, reverses course, then, as if it were a mirage, a small dinghy appears and transports us aboard. The crew welcomes us still amused by what happened, but we try to give an explanation, in fact the actual departure was indeed set for 8:30 but it didn't match what we'd been told at the Little Key reception. They show they understand and offer us a drink (a real godsend for my poor throat), then we join the other passengers and finally set sail... but what an effort! It still doesn't feel real to be on that boat I saw inexorably moving away, but now we relax in the sun on the net at the bow, while below us water as blue as ink flows and, as if by magic, everything becomes more beautiful.

We round the western tip of Anguilla, raise the sails and continue toward the islands that have appeared on the horizon, sailing on a sea as calm as we'd never seen until now, then, around 11:00 we enter the lagoon of Prickly Pear: a hymn to beauty, an explosion of green-blue in contrast with the deep blue of the sky and the blinding white of the beach. The catamaran stops a few dozen meters from shore and we get off equipped for snorkeling in the surrounding reef: it's wonderful, teeming with fish of a thousand colors swimming among fantastic coral formations. We linger long on that spectacle, then, swimming, we reach the beach, where we find our things that in the meantime have been transferred. We dry off in the sun and afterwards have a good lunch in the shade of a small establishment, then we return to the beach and for more than an hour we literally enjoy the place.

At 14:30 we return aboard and shortly afterwards we set sail, as the other boats do too, leaving, again, Prickly Pear in its innate and wonderful solitude. We sail without hurry and with the sole force of the wind, while in Saint Martin a storm is raging, so, now close to "our" island, we follow a route that passes a bit further offshore and disembark at Anse Marcel avoiding the rain. It was a memorable day and only now that it's over do we realize what we would have missed if we hadn't managed to turn the Scoobidoo around. In a few minutes we reach the Little Key and get ready for dinner, which we won't have at the hotel restaurant, but at the nearby Cottonier, a place on the main road of Cul de Sac.

It was a good dinner, apart from the price of water (four euros and fifty for a bottle!) and with us there were, naturally, also the couple from Modena, whom we say goodbye to before returning to our room, since tomorrow they'll be heading back to Italy, leaving us, unless there are new arrivals, the only (emigrant) customers of the restaurant.

Today we don't risk missing any ferry or catamaran, so we stay lolling between the sheets a bit longer than usual and, in any case, shortly after 9:00 we're sitting aboard our Matiz heading south. We stop at the post office in Orleans to buy the stamps needed for those few postcards we've decided to send... and so far nothing strange, but only apparently, because, in reality, it's a story that's been dragging on for almost a week now. Those tiny, yet indispensable, little pieces of gummed paper, in fact, aren't found, as usually happens, at any souvenir shop, but only, indeed, at post offices, open at absurd hours, never on holidays and normally characterized by long queues, as today in fact, but by now we're at the end of the trip and we can't escape the ordeal, with the result of wasting forty minutes of precious time.

In the end, somewhat annoyed, but with the stamps in hand, we return to the road and reach Philipsburg, the capital of the Dutch part of Saint Martin. We stroll along the streets of the city center, which are nothing special except for some architectural detail reminiscent of the motherland, plus an endless series of trap-shops for tourists disembarked from the numerous cruise ships passing through. One of these shops has a ridiculous name: "Little Switzerland" and it seems to us completely out of place! Now overheated, we leave Philipsburg too, facing chaotic traffic, characterized by long queues due exclusively to the disarming calmness with which the locals drive, then we continue along the southern coast of the island and arrive, near the airport, at Maho Beach.

The beach, not too beautiful, is famous for its location in the immediate vicinity of the runway, so incoming planes literally skim it before putting their wheels on the strip of asphalt. We take a few suggestive photos, then, around 13:00, we set off again in search of a more beautiful and less noisy place to spend the rest of the day. We return to the French part of Saint Martin and reach Baie Longue, a beautiful stretch of sand hit by a few too many waves and characterized by La Samanna, one of the most exclusive hotels on the island.

We set up the beach tent and, before lunch, we treat ourselves to a refreshing swim, then, in the afternoon, while Sabrina isn't feeling too well and perhaps is feeling the effects of the heat from the morning, with Federico I go for a walk to the eastern end of the bay, where we find a particularly calm and attractive stretch of sea, to such an extent that we can't resist the temptation and dive in. On our return Sabrina is slightly better, so we spend the time pleasantly idling while the little one plays drawing with a twig on the water's edge, until the sun drops to the horizon line lighting up the magical colors of the sunset, then we gather all our things and head back to the hotel, where we arrive, in the dark, around 19:00.

We get ready to go out and go to dinner, so, on our return, we can't help but notice the almost ghostly appearance of the Little Key, practically empty and with the lights, dimmed, reduced to the bare minimum: the thing doesn't thrill us but soon we reach the world of dreams and forget about it.

We wake up, as usual, with the sun's rays invading the room filtering through the half-open curtains: it's another beautiful day and how far away that first day with all those big clouds ruining the party seems now, but then, since then, we've always "danced", on land and at sea, leaving out little or nothing, as is right, since the vacation is now coming to an end. We have little left to see and, after breakfast, we set off to reach the last beach that probably deserves our attention. So we go to Baie Orientale, the most touristically equipped on the island, which perhaps for this very reason doesn't satisfy us, with all those umbrellas and bars stuck one next to the other disfiguring the landscape, which otherwise would have been quite another thing.

But our destination is another, in fact we want to reach Green Cays, a deserted islet located a few hundred meters from the shore, so we arrange with a dark-skinned man for the transfer and he, shortly after, shows up with a big jet ski motioning us to get on. A bit perplexed, but above all convinced that in this way we'll get soaked from head to toe, we listen to him, so in the clumsy attempt to get on I slip and really get wet, with the backpack on my back that, luckily, is waterproof enough to save its contents. In less than a minute we're, safe and sound, on the island, with the certainty, at this point, of having tried all possible and imaginable water means, except, perhaps, the submarine. The place, at first glance, doesn't seem exceptional (after all, after everything we've seen...), so we arrange and set the return for 13:00.

The beach, in fact, is a tiny strip of wet sand where we settle before taking a half-swim in water that's too shallow and with a rather rough and muddy bottom. We pass the time capturing some nice hermit crabs, which at the end of the game, free again, go back, staggering, among their rocks, then I go, first alone then with Federico, for an exploratory tour of the island and we return with some large shells that we'll surely bring home as souvenirs, finally we have lunch and right after our man arrives to pick us up: again a race on the water's surface and, in no time, we find ourselves at Baie Orientale. We have no intention of staying on this beach, so we leave and, after a short stop to do some shopping at a market along the road, we reach, for the second time, Dawn Beach.

We had liked the place and decide to spend the rest of the day there, even though today the trade wind blows hard and the sea is rather angry, so much so that Federico doesn't even ask to swim, but plays with the sand the whole time, while we enjoy the warm rays of the sun. Around 17:00, calmly, we head back to the Little Key, with the magnificent colors preceding sunset as a backdrop and characterizing the landscape, which still moves us, even though we're now breathing end-of-vacation air, then, in the evening, we return to dine at the Cottonier, where we're offered an excellent plate of spaghetti, which, as good Italians, we show we appreciate, finally, just for a change, we return to our room to lie down on our beds: soon sleep takes over and silence reigns supreme.

It's the morning of the last day we'll spend entirely in Saint Martin, so, now satisfied with the more than positive outcome of the vacation, we decide to go to a place on the island we particularly liked. We went there on the first day of real sun, that same sun that since then has never left us, and we were ecstatic: it's Ilet Pinel, that small strip of land located in the center of the bay facing the Little Key and just beyond the glass of our window. We show up at the pier where the boats depart when the boatmen aren't there yet, and only two other tourists keep us company, then, around 10:00 we set sail and in a few minutes we disembark on the island.

We arrange our things in the shade of the palms and immediately run for a long and relaxing swim, then we stop in the sun to dry off and before lunch, all together, we go snorkeling, so as to ideally say goodbye to the nice and colorful fish of Saint Martin. We stay immersed in our tropical dream for a few more hours, between games and swims in crystal-clear water, but time passes inexorably and in the blink of an eye it's time to go, so, sorry but at the same time happy, we board, at 16:30, the last available boat and, in no time, we find ourselves at the Little Key. It's still early to end the day so we stop at the poolside and give Federico the chance to take that swim he'd been insistently asking for for quite some time, but it's an unusual afternoon and at 17:30, much earlier than usual, we retire to our room to take a shower and to start, unfortunately, repacking our suitcases.

Thus the last evening and the last dinner at the Cottonier also slip away calmly, then, this time rightly so, we go to rest, in fact, for tomorrow, the long and exhausting day of return to Italy awaits us.

We try to wake up fairly early so we can spend a few more hours of pleasant beach life, before facing the long journey home, and already before 9:00 we're at the poolside, lying on the loungers, soaking up the last warm rays of the Caribbean sun. I take a swim with the little one, then I go to return the car and settle the hotel bill and on my return I go back into the water, but time flies and before we know it it's 11:00, so we go to our room to get ready and tidy up the last things. Meanwhile, on the cell phone, good news arrives: Juventus is champion of Italy for the twenty-sixth time! We cheer and pull out of the suitcase the black-and-white cap to put, with pride, on Federico's head, which he'll wear, perhaps, for the entire duration of the trip.

We have a snack, sitting at the veranda table, with before our eyes, once again, the stupendous view of the bay with, in the center, Ilet Pinel, then we leave the room and reach, suitcases in hand, the reception. The minibus that will take us to the airport arrives immediately, indeed early, so we get on board and say goodbye to the Little Key, which we inexorably leave behind. We cross the island, passing through Marigot, and half an hour later, around 13:00, we're at Juliana Airport ready to check in. We check in our luggage and get in line to go through the metal detector, a long line at the end of which, to get the all-clear, I almost have to undress, and on top of that they ask me to completely empty my backpack to better identify its contents, which didn't appear clear on the x-rays.

Luckily Sabrina and Federico don't have the same problems and, after some adventures, we finally reach the waiting area where we'll have to stay for almost two hours. Shortly after 15:00 we board flight Af 3661 and about an hour later, at 16:15, the Air France Airbus A300 takes off for Europe. Obviously the same eight long hours of travel as the outbound trip will be needed and fortunately today too, as then, every seat on the plane is equipped with a TV and video games: excellent tools to kill time. Meanwhile we have dinner, while the plane flies steadily toward the sunset, so much so that we can see, through the portholes, darkness rapidly taking over: we synchronize our watches to the destination's time zone and in the blink of an eye they read midnight.

We're flying at 11,200 meters altitude and our speed is just under 1,000 kilometers per hour, we cover approximately 6,700 kilometers and in a handful of hours we devour a night, so, as we fly over the English Channel, the first lights of dawn appear and below us there's an immense expanse of clouds. The weather is bad in Paris and we land, at 6:26, seeing land at no more than two hundred meters of altitude. It's not raining, but the temperature is only seven degrees and we get chills thinking back to Saint Martin. We disembark and set out to find the terminal from which the plane to Bologna will depart. We're not in a hurry, because takeoff is scheduled in four long hours and the biggest problem is how to pass the time, especially if you're, like us, thrown off by the time difference. We reach terminal "D", complete the boarding formalities and wait, sitting in the waiting area.

Next to us there's an ugly Arab-looking fellow and September 11 immediately comes to mind, but, luckily, he boards the plane to Malpensa, while we, after a long wait, board flight Az 365: an Alitalia Md-80, apparently not too new. We lift off at 11:00, almost half an hour late, and a few minutes later we're above an immense "sea of whipped cream", then near the Alps the clouds begin to dissolve and now in sight of Bologna the sun is shining. We land at the Bologna airport at 12:29 and set foot on Italian soil again, then we collect, safe and sound, our luggage and exit through the arrivals door noticing in the distance the grandparents who, as usual, have come to pick us up. Federico runs to meet them and hugs them affectionately, then, all together, we head toward the exit.

Along the return journey, on the highway, we chat telling the most varied adventures and expressing all our satisfaction for the good outcome of the vacation, while the strip of asphalt slides under the wheels of the camper and in just under an hour we find ourselves in front of home: it's 14:11. It was a beautiful trip, started not too well but ended wonderfully: we expected a lot from Saint Martin and Anguilla, but they amazed us beyond our rosiest expectations (especially Anguilla), and, usually, when things are like this, an extraordinary and unforgettable vacation can only ensue, surely among the top of a hypothetical top-ten, which perhaps one day we'll bother to compile.