I was initially worried I wouldn't make it, not after my precious attempt at circumnavigating an island. The night before, I had a feeling my knee was going to start hurting. In fact I felt my knee going a bit funny and my muscles tense up just before sleeping...
But I woke up, ate, loaded up on carbs and water, and got going. A 30+km trip from Phillipsburg to Marigot in a counter clockwise direction. The lovely guy at the bike shop recommended how to bike and which routes to take. He said it's doable, despite several people telling me otherwise (even my friend who's been on the island for over a year said it's crazy because of the steep hills). But the guy at the bike shop said it takes about four, five hours. It took me under three.
I wasn't sure how. I just biked, and in low gear too. It was the first intensive bike ride since my injured knee back in August last year and twisted ankle in December. I was really anxious of biking in the middle of nowhere and having to stop suddenly and being lost and unable to go anywhere and needing to wait for rescue. Luckily, my mind and body triumphed, and I did it.
Sure, there were tough hills and gradients, but I stepped off and walked with my bike, getting on again close to the top of the hill for the thrill of the effortless ride and sound of the wind blowing in my face as I zipped downhill. And I was rewarded with tranquil, deserted beaches, and magnificent views of open bays, aquamarine waters and distant, mysterious islands rising from the horizon.
The roads were not in great condition, especially on the French side. A couple of times, I was suddenly surprised to notice a big van brush by within centimeters of me and speed off. If I had swayed just a little or erratically stretched out my arm or leg, I would have been hit and caught by the, or worse. Besides having pocketed roads, I came across two cats on the side of the road on the French side-- one just lying there not moving, another had its head run over. And I saw a flattened rat too. Seeing those poor, unfortunate creatures I realised why the guy at the bike shop warned me to be very careful biking in "France".
Along the way, I stopped a few times to take in the scenery, and once to refill. As bike guy told me when I asked if it were easy to get provisions on the way, there were many little stores ("depanneurs" as they would call it in Quebec...) run by Chinese immigrants. "Chinezen" (the Chinese) as the locals call them. I stopped at one run by a middle aged guy originally from Guangdong. Though his mandarin was difficult to decipher, we chatted a bit, and he told me around 10% of the island's population of 37,000 are Chinese immigrants. They usually run these corner stores or restaurants which have very Chinese sounding names. I even saw a supermarket with my surname, which made me smile as I took a picture of the sign (later I learned I was walking through a rough Dominican neighbourhood where "macamba's" (a derogatory name for white people in the local slang...) dare not venture into...).
What did I think of as I biked? Very little. Just about biking, and random things that I saw and passed along the way. Again I found my freedom in getting on the "steering bar" and peddling as fast and far as my feet could take me. I was careful not to push it too much, ever so vigilant and on the "feel-out" for sharp pains from the repetitive motion with my knees and ankle. But luckily I came away unscathed, sweaty, tanned but feeling so light and proud of myself.
I reached Marigot before midday, far earlier than I had expected. What was I to do when I could not yet check into the hotel? I boarded the ferry bound for Anguilla.
It was planned for the day after, but why leave till tomorrow what can be done today? Passing through immigration was a breeze. I had to pay a $5 departure tax, filled in a customs declaration form issued by HM Customs, and onto the boat I went with my bike. Within half an hour, the shores of this tiny British overseas territory were beckoning me.
There was to be honest little to do or see on Anguilla. It's famed for empty and undisturbed white beaches and villas full of retirees.
I biked around, initially on the right (and therefore wrong!!) side of the road and had to continually remind myself to keep left and stay left throughout my three hour stay there. I mailed two postcards, to my ex and his parents of all people, as I thought they would appreciate a little warm greeting from the most remote of places, and most interestingly delivered by Royal Mail.
I returned to Saint Martin (French side now!) and still the adrenaline from biking had not subsided, so after checking into my room, I got into my bike again and headed to the south-westerly tip of the island which is renowned for its sunsets.
I biked and biked, rounding off this lagoon and passed beautiful villas and gated mansion estates. Cupecoy Bay is not only famous for its dazzling sunsets, but also for its nudists and gay beaches
There was a cliff edge that overlooked the sea, and you needed to descend at least ten, fifteen metres before you come to the water. I approached the cliff cautiously and quietly and indeed saw several sunbathers lying and sitting naked on the beach below. I don't know if it was me seeing and interpreting things, but men were just looking around and walking up and down. Cruising most likely, seeing if they'd get lucky tonight. It's exciting to think about, so very arousing, so very tempting... But also very creepy. I stayed on the cliff and watched the sun set with my three stuffed animal companions.
I felt my slightly sore muscles, hands and legs, and stared into the distance. A great ball of bright orange was dangling above the water and being lowered ever so slowly closer and closer to the waves rising toward the clear blue skies. I felt a pang of loneliness, I so wanted to share this moment, this view with someone... The loneliness turned to sadness, to sorrow, to longing.
I took out a bar of chocolate and my energy drink and sat for a while as the day was about to end.
The chocolate soothed my emotions, and I reassured myself I am alright. I feel alright, and I reminded myself how far I've come and how long I've been biking all alone and did not seem to mind being alone.
There is a quiet bliss, a subtle contentment being alone and telling yourself you are your own best companion. For I am the only thing I have to a truly close and trustworthy friend at this moment.
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