St. Martin to Sint Maarten to Guadeloupe: One Island, Two Worlds, and a Passage South

We spent ten days in St. Martin. That’s usually how it goes, you arrive thinking you’ll stay a few days, and ten days later you’re still there, half because the island won’t let you go and half because the boat had other plans.

St. Martin/Sint Maarten is a strange and wonderful thing: one island, split between French and Dutch sides, and the difference shows up in everything — the food, the pace, the language switching mid-sentence depending on which side of the invisible border you’re standing on. Marigot, on the French side, became our home base. Mornings at the market, baguettes that put American bread to shame, and a stroll up to Fort Louis for the view over the bay and the anchorage below — boats scattered like confetti on the water.

We wandered into the Dutch side too, where the energy shifts completely — bigger, busier, more cruise-ship polish. Both sides have their charm, and honestly, having both within dinghy distance of each other is one of the more unique things about cruising here.

In the middle of all that, the boat reminded us — again — that liveaboard life runs on its own schedule. Our watermaker decided it was done working right as we needed it most, which meant a few stressful days, some long-distance troubleshooting with Sea Water Pro, and a part shipped in while we waited it out at anchor. Not the first mechanical curveball this trip, and certainly not the last. We got it sorted, made water again, and moved on — which is basically the liveaboard motto at this point.

Somewhere in there, I also got a haircut — I always get one when there’s a salon available, since on a boat you take that chance whenever it comes. I also took Sophia shopping in some of the local stores for a little much-needed retail therapy — the kind of normal-life errand that feels like a treat when you live on a boat.

What I’ll remember most about Marigot, though, isn’t the to-do list — it’s the slower rhythm we found in between. There’s a point in every long stay somewhere where the projects and routines catch up with you, and you have to actively choose to rest instead of just running on fumes until the next departure. We found that balance here, eventually. Tony and Sophia kept up their tradition of raising the flag at each new stop together, a small ritul that they just enjoy doing. New country diffrent flag and huge sense of accomplishment

When it was finally time to go, we pointed Bogumila south. It took two days, five islands, and one seriously confused sea to get there. We left Marigot and sailed roughly 75 nautical miles past St. Kitts and Nevis, anchoring for the night before pushing on another 80 miles to Guadeloupe the next morning.

Some of the islands we passed were unforgettable just to look at — or in Montserrat’s case, to smell. Soufrière Hills is still active, and the sulfur drifted out on the wind long before the island itself appeared through the clouds. Saba and Statia followed, both with volcanic peaks rising straight out of the sea — Sophia couldn’t get enough of the idea that a volcano could just erupt out of open ocean like that.

We didn’t stop at any of them this time, too busy dodging rain squalls the whole way down. Then, about 20 miles out from Guadeloupe, the seas turned confused — swell coming from two directions at once, turning the final stretch into a proper rollercoaster ride. We made it in salty and a little rattled, but we made it.

Landfall in Guadeloupe came at Deshaies, and it was the kind of arrival that makes the whole leg worth it — a beautiful view waiting for us in the morning, a bakery practically right off the dock, and a village that somehow looks even better in person than it does on TV (yes, that TV show was filmed here). It was the immediate sense that we’d traded one kind of beautiful for another. St. Martin gave us croissants and culture clash. Guadeloupe is giving us mountains, gardens, and fresh bread within stumbling distance. We’re not in a hurry to leave this one either.