Unlike most of the other musicians in the orchestra, I get up every morning, usually before 8:00. My cabinmate sleeps until well after noon unless something gets in the way, like a boat drill or morning rehearsal (rare).

This morning I got up quite early and walked into Philipsburg (St Maarten, Dutch side) to grab a bus to Marigot (St Martin, French side). I could have taken a cab but it would have cost $12. The bus is only $1.50, and a lot more fun.

St Maarten/St Martin is only 37 square miles, and the drive from Philipsburg to Marigot takes about 20 minutes. But the difference between the Dutch and French sides is like night and day.

Dutch St Maarten, although very nice, is a little funky. That's OK – I like funky. But it's very different in Marigot. What particularly struck me was how much it reminded me of Mediterranean France. The buildings are typically French, with walk-up balconies and solid stone structure. The streets and buildings are very well maintained. Bakeries and sidewalk cafes proliferate. At lunch you can see people carrying home their French loaves from the bakeries.

There's an old fort there, Fort Louis. From below it looks like a substantial historic site, but when you get up there you realize it is little more than a ruin. Some reconstruction is underway, however. They're working on some stone bread ovens at the moment.

I walked up to the fort from town, past a Catholic Church on the hillside. The church was open, so I went in. It contained some very interesting island art. After taking a couple of pictures I continued up to the fort. The vista up there looked for all the world like the Mediterranean – same colours, same light, same style of buildings and town layout. It was uncanny.

After taking a few more photos I wandered back to town and found a cafe where I had a coffee and watched the people coming and going. I noticed how well dressed they were, and how cultured they appeard to be. But soon I was approached by the first “homeless person” I've encountered in the islands.

I've seen beggars of the legless or eyless sort, but this was the first white, decripit but otherwise healthy looking kid I'd run into. He was French speaking, but he'd fit right in at the Spadina exit off the QEW. For some reason I gave him a dollar when he asked. I'm an idiot. I should have given it to one of the real beggars you see in Jamaica. I'll have to correct that on my next stop in Ocho Rios.



View of Marigot and the sea from Fort Louis