Club Orient: John-John - June, 2010
Trip Report: Club
Orient, Orient Beach, St. Martin/Sint Maarten, June 2010
Origins: This all got
started on Okracoke Island, North Carolina three summers ago. We would get
up early each morning and drive up the little two-lane highway to a deserted
crossover to the beach on the National Seashore, walk north on the beach
away from any civilization, and drop our swimsuits for a nice nude stroll in
the surf. Every morning though, as we were enjoying surf, sand and sun,
along would come the Park Ranger and we’d scramble into our suits to avoid a
confrontation. After several days of nude hide-and-seek on the beach with
the guy/gal on the ATV with the Smokey the Bear hat, we agreed that we
needed to travel to someplace where we could do this without all the hassle.
St. Martin’s Orient Beach fit the bill and Club Orient seemed to be the
destination that would offer us the most freedom to be, well, naked.
However, the trip was
delayed for a year due to the chaos that was Daughter # 3’s wedding. To
regain sanity, we left for St. Martin the week afterward. As the father of
four (4) daughters, I highly recommend this type of post-wedding, post
father-of-the-bride therapy.
We flew directly from Atlanta to St. Martin/Sint Maarten’s Princess
Juliana Airport on Delta. Mrs. John-John believes that three hours before
departure is a barely enough time to check in and since the flight left at
10 AM, we opted to travel to Atlanta and spend the preceding night at the
Airport Hilton. Hilton’s park-and-fly program allowed us to leave the car
there and pick it up without the airport parking lot hassle. The room at the
Hilton was so comfortable that we broke Mrs. John-John’s three hour rule,
arriving at check-in a scant two hours early.
Euros: While waiting on
our flight, I exchanged dollars for Euros. That was a mistake because the
airport exchange rate was less favorable than that listed in the
Wall Street Journal. I need to
travel internationally more often.
The Flight: The flight
down was pleasant but uneventful, except that Delta charged for food and
alcoholic beverages on an international flight and the 737 aircraft had the
smallest pitch between seats I’ve encountered since my MAC contract flight
to Viet Nam in 1972. However, the absolute best part of the flight came at
the very end: the landing. If you haven’t seen the landings on St. Martin on
You Tube, go check them out. The approach to the single runway comes in over
the water, over an occupied beach/beach bar, over the perimeter road, over
the chain link fence that separates the beach/beach bar/crazy drunks/road
from the airfield and then … BAM! You’re on the end of the runway. As we got
off the plane, the pilot was standing in the door with a huge grin on his
face: it was his first landing at Princess Juliana Airport and you could
tell he was a proud and happy camper.
Travel to Club Orient:
Customs was uneventful and we got our luggage after a short wait and went
outside to find the taxi we had arranged via e-mail. Note: I had done a lot
of research about St. Martin on the internet at another travel site (sorry
Denny) and discovered Mr. Louis Richardson, who came highly recommended by
many travelers as an excellent taxi driver and source of information.
First, a short
geography lesson: the island of Sint Maartin/St. Martin is Dutch/French.
Separating the two countries is a small obelisk by the side of the road, but
what really separates the two is the small mountain that one has to traverse
from the Dutch side (airport/harbor) to the French side. Hats off to Mr.
Louis Richardson and his native driving skills on some very narrow roads,
complete with the French roundabouts and strange signage.
On the way to Club
Orient, Mr. Louis Richardson asked if we wished to stop off at the American
grocery store for supplies. In out eagerness (and stupidity), we said no.
Silly us. Since did cook a bit, we could have saved money (and time) by
shopping for meals on the way rather relying on the small, well-stocked, but
decidedly overpriced store at Club Orient itself.
The Room: Once we arrived,
we were checked in smoothly and were assigned the Mini-Suite we had
requested, which is one of about six choices of accommodations. Mini-Suites
are duplexes and consist of a tiny kitchen, with a bedroom/sitting room
attached and a small back porch with two lawn chairs. A safe is also
provided. Oh yes, it’s got its own bathroom, but no bidet (hey, it
is a French territory …). There
was no TV and no radio, but we managed to find Radio St. Martin on our
laptop once we discovered that the wireless internet service was working.
Mrs. John-John’s cell provider (AT&T) worked but mine did not. Our room was
on the back side of the resort but only a short two minute walk to the
beach. Other mini-suites were arrayed around a central garden-like area and
later in our stay, a sort of impromptu block party broke out among our
mini-suite neighbors, as each patio faced the others.
Getting Used to our Accommodations.
Our room was clean but
smaller than anticipated so shortly after unpacking, we went for a walk on
the beach to unwind from this disappointment. Despite being only a hundred
yards from the water, there was no wind, but a more than ample supply of
bugs. We quickly sought refuge
at dinner at the resort’s open air restaurant, Papagayo, where we used a
gift coupon for a bottle of French wine. I had heard the term “vin
ordinaire” before; this was the first time I actually understood how “ordinaire”
it could be. We trudged back to the room after an adequate dinner and
settled in for our first night. Like smart American overseas travelers (who
– in reality - haven’t traveled overseas since, well, Nixon was in office),
we brought conversion plugs for the electric outlets. Mrs. John-John plugged
her electric toothbrush into the conversion gizmo and suddenly we had killed
all of the power to the room. Great. The interlude that followed can only be
described as a “frank exchange of views” between the two of us, which
ultimately sent me to the office for help. Luckily, the repair guy came over
and found the room’s well hidden circuit breaker in about two seconds. Power
was restored, if not peace, to our room. In addition, whoever was occupying
the other side of the mini-suite attempted to cough up one of his lungs all
night, adding a final grace note to our first night.
By dawn’s early light, we began to make plans to truncate our trip
and head back to the land of screened porches and Alabama Power. I walked
the office and created a story about our teenager than they graciously
accepted at face value and promised them I’d have a decision about an early
departure in a few hours. “No problem,” they said.
And then a miracle – to our minds at least – occurred.
The offshore wind began
to blow, the sun came out, and our clothes came off.
We decided to stay.
(Literary note: if anyone’s read Ian Fleming’s James Bond novel,
Dr. No, you will recall his
discussion of the “Undertaker’s Wind” – an onshore wind that brought
mosquitoes, etc., and the off-shore “Doctor’s Wind.” Now I get it)
The Beach: Orient Beach is
about a ¾ mile crescent, with Club Orient anchoring a stretch of about 500
yards at one end and prominently set off from the commercial sector by a
large sign announcing “La Plage
Naturiste” - which sounds a lot better in French than “Here Be Nekkid
People on the Beach” in English. “La
Plage Naturiste” is at once a notice and an enticement for the cruise
ship people, who schlep – fully clothed – the length of Club Orient’s happy
sector of the public beach in order to gawk. Cruise ship folks: get a life.
Club Orient’s section of the beach is further defined by a little
rock wall at the property’s edge as well as by its signature bright yellow
umbrellas. As guests, we were
allotted chairs (our names and dates of departure were attached) under one
of them close to the water’s edge and this became our home. Some umbrellas
and chairs were available for rent and they appeared to be a hot commodity
during our stay. The beach itself is white sand, clean, and it slopes gently
into the water. Club Orient’s part of the beach is further protected by an
offshore reef, reducing the waves to gentle swells and allowing for three
swimming rafts to be anchored offshore. Water sports boats were available
and a nude cruise is also offered – both for additional fees – but we opted
to remain rooted to our chairs, occasionally heading to the Perch bar near
the public beach end of the property for one of Willie the bartender’s
concoctions. She is a jewel.
We met a delightful assortment of people – older, younger, and in
between - under the yellow umbrellas, most of whom were returning guests to
Club Orient. While most were nude, none considered themselves stateside
nudists; just folks who liked the freedom once a year to visit Club Orient.
In fact, we were the exception to the rule, being veterans of Caliente,
Paradise Lakes, and several other venues of greater and lesser repute. In
sum, there were no discernable swingers, no hidden agendas, and damn little
nightlife. In fact, the shops, restaurants and bars on Orient Beach itself
seemed to close up about 5:00 PM and we were advised not to walk on the
beach off of the property after dark.
We talked to folks who went off-property (clothed, of course) to eat
at the many fine French establishments nearby, but we did not venture forth
since we didn’t have a rental car, didn’t feel like haggling with a taxi,
and were content to stay “home.” See other St. Martin/Sint Maarten travel
boards for detailed restaurant discussions, advice on tipping, rental cars,
etc.
One agreeable aspect of early nights to bed – aside from the obvious
– was the chance to walk the entire length of Orient Beach nude the
following morning. The only people we ever saw before 8:00 AM were fellow
Club Orient guests who were similarly attired. Update: I’ve since
noted that St. Martin’s gendarmes
have begun a sporadic crackdown on nude walkers (read: ticketing) after
years of benign neglect. Like the Man says: “It’s the economy.”
Happily, the whole
beach – all day, all the time – is still topless, which made for delightful
lunches down the beach.
The Trip Home:
Right on time, Mr. Louis Richardson arrived
with his mini-van and we were off to the airport. Check in was simple,
customs was simple, but then we waited…and waited. Food choices behind
security were limited and expensive, and numerous flights were all leaving
at the same time. We literally had to stand for an hour before our plane was
called (late). Same-o, same-o service and accommodations on Delta back to
Atlanta. Once on the ground, we discovered that several flights had landed
at the same time, overwhelming Customs on a Saturday afternoon. Long story
short: it took as long to get through customs (which included rechecking our
bags to the terminal baggage claims) and to get to our car as it did to
fly from St. Martin to Atlanta.
Customs in Atlanta was rude and at one point officials were yelling at
passengers to “hurry up!” Welcome to the USA…
Some lessons learned:
-
Check around
for airlines that fly to St. Martin. I used Delta miles and was stuck.
-
Likewise fly
out of some other airport if you can.
-
If you stay
at Club Orient, opt for the largest room you can afford. As usual, price and
location (near the beach) go hand and hand.
-
Plan to go
out to eat while you’re there, but also stock up on supplies on the way in.
It’s cheaper and you may decide not to leave the property (or get dressed)
as we did.
-
Bring your
laptop with CDs/DVDs
.
-
Don’t expect
a Hedo-like atmosphere. The word “tame’ came to mind during dinner, drinks,
and dancing at Papagayo.
-
Don’t wander
off down the beach at night, but be comforted to know Club Orient has
fulltime security on the property.
-
Don’t sweat
the Euro-Dollar exchange rate. By the time you land, it will change. Lunch
on the beach was paid one-for-one in both Dollars and Euros.
Will we go back? Yes.
It was the perfect
laid-back vacation.
Will we avoid Atlanta?
Damn right.