By Tom Clifford
Admittedly, as expeditions go it was a modest affair. It was just me and my backpack. No teams of helpers. But the same impulse drove me as it did those brave souls who wanted to explore and chart the planet’s unknown interior in centuries past. I wanted to see it for myself, to be able to tell other humans about its fauna, landscape and inhabitants. I could maybe address geographic societies the world over and impress them with my endeavors. My photo would adorn newspapers, magazines and websites.
And the source of my inquisitiveness? The French side. Philipsburg on the Dutch side and Marigot on the French can lull the unsuspecting first-time visitor into a false sense of comfort. Here, after all, are cities by the sea. The turquoise blue acts like a balm on the gazer. People smile.
You get a sense strolling the streets that all is well with the world. But be warned. There are dangers to the unprepared. The cakes and savory treats in Marigot have snared many a visitor unused to rich buttery delights that tempt them from bakery windows. They act like sirens, especially the apple tarts, luring the wanderer with delights of the flesh. I know. I was nearly a victim. But blessed as I am with a sturdy moral compass I was able to navigate my way to safer territory, namely a hardware store to recover my composure.
With renewed purpose, I found the bus station and in no time I was being bumped along a country road like a hero in a Joseph Conrad novel.
Up north we went, where the people I had been reliably informed were even friendlier. Yes, reader, you are right. This was a cunning plan to let me put my guard down. I decided to alight from the bus and throw my fate to the wind. How could people be even friendlier than in Philipsburg or Marigot? Would I be the first explorer to leave my footprint on the virgin soil? What type of reception would I get? And then, out of nowhere, I was challenged. “Latte or cappuccino?’’
“Sorry” I weakly replied.
‘’You’ve been standing outside my café for the last five minutes talking to yourself. I thought you might like to come inside and have a coffee.’’
Bemused, I had to ask; “Where am I?”
I was told politely.
“Have you experienced tourists this far inland,’’ I asked.
“Oh, yes,’’ came the reply. “Why, just this morning we had a party of tourists, about 20 strong. They ate most of what I had to offer them.’’
Assured, I accepted that maybe people had been this far north before.
“I’ll have a latte, please. And, ah, maybe an apple tart.’’
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Previous column by Tom Clifford:
Taxis & Buses
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