The Caribbean!

What is it with me and travelling, seriously?! SERIOUSLY! 

After looking forward to my new job in the warm and sunny Caribbean, I was gutted when my Saturday flight had to be rescheduled to Tuesday, as the courier couldn’t deliver my visa on the allotted day (Friday) due to heavy snowfalls across the UK. Even in Portsmouth the snow was thick and covered the whole boat! 

 

My visa arrived on the Monday and the boat suggested I get to the airport that evening as my flight was incredibly early (I needed to be there at 5am). This was a good idea, as I have Murphy ’s Law when travelling and knowing my luck there would be another snowfall in the night that would prevent the taxi from getting me to the airport or something.

So I get to Heathrow the night before my 7am flight, to ensure I had enough time and reduce the chances of anything going wrong (which, in my case is anything and everything). I spent 68 pounds to stay in a “hotel” inside terminal 4 that was made up of tiny rooms- “cabins” in a long corridor. Well crikey I didn’t expect, for 70 pounds, to be staying in a room that Bilbo Baggins would have had to crouch in. If I ever joked before about the size of boat crew cabins being like Harry Potters “the cupboard under the stairs”, it was nothing compared to this. The bed is in a hole in the wall and the shower rains onto the toilet. 

 If you sit on the loo you can pretty much reach out and almost touch the bed:

Oh well I was happy to put up with it knowing I was literally inside terminal 4, so I could walk straight out and to the check in desk. I was actually proud of myself for being so organized for once. I even went and got my bag plastic wrapped that evening to avoid having to do it in the morning, and rewarded myself by taking a leisurely stroll around the airport later in the evening and getting a Ben & Jerry’s and a Chai Latte. 

I got up in time (4:30am) and was at the check in desk by 5am. I handed over my passport and the kind lady printed my boarding passes. 

And then it started...

“I see you don’t have a return ticket? Do you have an ongoing ticket to another destination?”

 “I don’t have a return ticket as I am working on a superyacht and I get onto the boat in St Maarten. The boat is then sailing to the Mediterranean and then back to Florida, so I only need a one way ticket.”

“Unfortunately you cannot fly to St Maarten without a return ticket or ongoing ticket. Immigration will not let you through as visitors can only stay for up to 90 days”. 

“But I’m not a visitor; I’m going to work on a boat?”

“Yes but the way it works is that your travel agent needs to issue you with a return ticket, even if it is not used and then they can refund it later. This is so that immigration lets you in to St Maarten and is standard practise in your case”.

“But I have a British passport and St Maarten is half French and half Dutch? It’s part of the EU and I have a British Passport, I don’t understand.”

“I’m sorry ma’am that’s just the way it works with St Maarten. You need a return or ongoing ticket.”

“But they haven’t issued me with a return or other ticket and didn’t say anything about me needing one? What am I meant to do?” I croaked, dread now setting in.

The lady looked genuinely sorry for me and said she would find out what my options are and ran off to a supervisor. They both came back and he said that yes unfortunately there was no way they could let me get onto that flight without another ticket, so I would need to purchase one, to the cheapest/nearest destination and would just need to show this to immigration. 

“But I don’t have any money” I said in a small voice. I have been living off day to day pay the last 2 weeks and even had to borrow some from my dad to start me off in my new job. I had 90 pounds on me in cash. “How much is the ticket?” I asked. 

“Its 171 pounds” the supervisor stated with not a shred of sympathy.

“I don’t even think I have enough money to pay that?”

“Well then unfortunately you won’t be able to fly today and you’ll need to change the ticket- it is changeable- with the travel agent who booked it for you and they can sort it all out before tomorrow or give them a ring now and get them to purchase the additional ticket”.

“But they’re in Florida. Its 2am there, they won’t even be awake?”

“Well unfortunately those are your only options. And there is a second problem”

Are you fucking kidding me??

“Ya?"

“You are travelling on a seamans ticket is that correct? Can I please see your seaman’s book?”

A seaman’s ticket is for marine travellers (more expensive ticket) that allows the traveller to take up to TWO hold bags of 23kg EACH. Now most seafarers have what’s called a “seaman’s book” which is a document that pretty much proves that you are a seafarer. Well I (obviously) didn't have one.

“Um... I don’t actually have one....” I said, squirming a bit.

“But then we can’t let you take this additional bag without paying for it. We have no evidence that you are actually a seafarer”

I was now well and truly panicking but trying hard to calm myself the fuck down. 

“I have my employment contract on me and letter from the boat” I said.

This seemed to be passable and they made copies of it. But the supervisor was still adamant that I had to purchase the additional ticket, so whilst he was photocopying my documents I dashed over the cash machine and inserted every card I owned and milked it dry. Added to the money I had on me, I had enough cash by 19 pounds. What an incredibly close call.

The supervisor came back and gave me my documents and said I had 5mins before the gate closed so I had to purchase that ticket asap. I ran to the ticket desk and flabbergasted and panting, tried to explain in garbled English that I urgently needed this flipping ticket in the next 30 seconds or I was going to miss my flight. I got it and bolted through security and dashed down to the departure gate which was a tube ride and a kilometre of walking away, sidestepping passengers and bags and trying not to knock over old ladies or mow over small children. I was charged with so much anxiety and adrenalin. There was no fucking way I was going to miss this flight after all THAT shit.

I got to the gate and pretty much collapsed at the desk, wheezing and clinging onto it for support, head resting on arm, with my other hand outstretched with my passport and boarding pass. 

“Have I missed it?” I asked, gasping for breath.

“No you’re alright dear, we haven’t actually started boarding yet, we’re a bit delayed today, sorry about that” she said. “Why don’t you just take a seat, you’re all good now” and waved her arm over towards about 30 other people that I hadn’t even noticed in my frenzied dash, also all waiting to board.

Well I said a prayer of thanks right there and then (not the first that day), stripped off my layers from my run and went to get a bottle of water and then collapsed in a heap on the floor to catch my breath and wait for the gate to open. Fucking hell, what a day. The next thing that was worrying me was what to say to immigration. Did I tell the truth about the boat and show my papers or do I show them that ongoing ticket that Air France forced me to buy and say that I am just passing thrugh St Maarten. I hate making up stories. 

Before leaving Amaryllis, we (the crew) spent most evenings watching one of our favourite programmes “Nothing to Declare” which is about immigration and customs at airports in the UK, Sydney and Australia. Mostly it’s people trying to smuggle in drugs and how they catch them out and then they get jailed. But it’s also about people trying to get into the country on the wrong visa or their story just doesn’t match up, and they interrogate them with questions like “Why are you a woman travelling on your own”, “Why did a third party pay for your ticket and who is this employer?”, “If you are only here for a short stay, why do you have so many bags with you?”, “Who are you staying with here and for how long?” And half the time its okay, but the other half of the time the person gets deported because their story doesn’t add up and seems dodgy. So that was now my next concern and was making me really anxious. Absolutely knackered from stress and all the bolting around the airport, I fell into a deep sleep. 

I woke to the tinkle of the food trolley (typical). I had been a little hungry when I had gone to sleep but had shrugged it off. I still wasn’t really fully awake when they put the food tray down in front of me, but I suddenly realized that I’d been up since 4:30am and it was now 12pm and I was starving. Trust the French to put on a good show: Smoked salmon, keftas de volaille (meatballs??) with jus de tomate (Harry that one’s just for you), 2 ciabatta and a small camembert, mini crackers and a chocolate éclair. AND a bottle of red wine. Not offered as an extra, but included in the tray as she pulls it out from the rack. The “optional extra” was juice. Unbelievable. They can be a bunch of total wankers, but the French really do know how to eat and drink well. 

So whilst I’m here I have to tell you that my US visa almost went pear shaped aswell. You have to pay $160 online with a credit card (thanks Dad for organizing) and then you get emailed a confirmation letter and receipt, both of which you have to take with you to the embassy. My appointment was at 9:30am last Monday and I needed the visa by Friday, so it was already cutting it fine for time as the visa usually takes 5 days to process. So you can’t screw up your interview as it could be days before you got another. And they are pretty funny about having all the right info. So I went to London on the Sunday and stayed with my cousin that night.

After a nice dinner and some wine, I said goodnight and quickly read over my documents. Well, Murphy’s Law, I came across a line from the e-mail print out that stated “.....besides your letter of appointment and receipt, please also bring the confirmation page of the online application”. Online application?? What online application?! Panic setting in, I got out my laptop and clicked on the link- 10 pages of questions and details including parents birth dates, previous dates I went to the states and those visa numbers (all with my dad back home in the safe) etc. So now its midnight and I’m on the phone to SA trying to get all the info put in. Then I see that you have to have a photo- a digital visa photo and upload it to the page. I had to get my cousin to take one the next morning and the laptop wouldn’t read my memory card and it was more swearing and hair pulling as I’d missed the train by now. 

Finally it was done and I caught the next train, with all my extra clothes (summer stuff I’d collected from my cousin who had just returned from SA.I had to give him back ALL the winter things I had just brought from home as I now didn’t need them for a year). I got to London at 9:20am, galloped down the street to my friend Kathy’s office, literally chucked my bags on the floor and then ran down the road to the embassy. I got there at 9:30am huffing and puffing, and seeing a huge queue of 50 people, made my way to the officer in charge and said I was about to miss my appointment. 

“Everyone in this queue has a 9:30am appointment, you’re all good”.

Holy mackerel, the stress of not being organized is just getting way too much for me (hence why I made such an effort with my flight from Heathrow, but even that went pear shaped). It was snowing in London and it was freezing standing there in the cold outside. But all good things come, and after a 2hr wait I was granted a 10 year multiple entry B1/B2 visa- woohoo!

So I finally arrive in the warm and sunny Caribbean! I go through immigration and just say I’m here to get onto a boat and give them my boat papers and they let me through. They didn't even ask for any ongoing ticket and when I went to the ticket desk they said sorry it’s not refundable, so Air France basically screwed me by forcing me to buy a 200 pound ticket that I didn’t even need to use. Then to add insult to injury, I sit waiting patiently for my baggage until everyone has gone and the conveyor belt comes to a slow halt. The bunch of dicks has now also lost my luggage- well actually they’d left it in France. Wankers. Because of the whole last minute buying of the additional flight, my bags were rushed through but they obviously didn't make it to the plane. 

So I arrived in St Maarten a bit pissed off, but was met by my chief stewardess who is so lovely and as soon as I walked out into the 28 degree sun outside, I didn’t really care as much. There are so many superyachts here and the kiffest looking bars and restaurants lining the streets- all kinda ramshackled and Caribbean looking, with palm tree leaves and painted colourfully, with chalk boards boasting different happy hour specials. There are one or two upmarket, modern wine bars but they’re few and far between. The crew all seem really friendly and the girls are loads of fun and all very outgoing. We went out for dinner on my first night to a little Asian place on the main road and sat outside. There was a warm breeze and the sound of drums and Caribbean music wafted down the street. 

Then last night the boys took me to an area called Grand Casa on the french side of the island where we went to the most amazing bar/restaurant. It was literally on the sand and there was a band playing salsa music and a woman singing and dancing. There are lots of tables outside on the sand, going right down to the water and you can see all the catamarans in the ocean in the background.  

There was a little Caribbean girl who must have been only 5, who was there with her parents and she just couldn't get enough of the dancing, so I kheld her hands and danced with her and then later on she just wanted me to pick her up the whole time. She was so cute.

 

It was all exactly what I had pictured. I cannot wait to get out and explore this island. There is apparently so much to see and do and luckily I have 3 months to do it in! The diving is apparently amazing here and the boat has a connection, so I can go and do my PADI open water and I start beginning of Feb. There is a pajama party at a place called Sandbar tonight and then tomorrow I am going with the boys to Pinel Island which is in the marine reserve of St Martin. The beach is apparently beautiful and is considered to be one of the best snorkelling locations (pic below of compliments of Google):

We get a free gym membership to the resort gym which is about 100m away. It has a full gym, tennis courts, a pool and classes including spinning, pilates and salsa (so keen). Boss arrives on 1 Feb and then we work 5 days on 1 day off. But we get a 2hr break each day so you can go to the gym still or go to the resort and just lie by the pool in the sun or go to the beach. So it’s a pretty great deal!  Absolutely loving life right now although I do miss the kiwi boy a bit :)