🇳🇱🇸🇽🇫🇷 Saints & Sinters

Hello Adventurers, 

When it comes to photography, documenting something material is way easier than creating an image of a feeling. And I don't know if I've succeeded this week — you'll ultimately have to be the judge of this — so here's to hoping the emotionality of my words hold up. If not, eesh...I may be proving grammar conventions wrong; that two negatives — in this case art and copy — don't combine to make a positive...or a positive reading / viewing experience!

Anyway, after getting physically dented by Panama City's heat and hustle last week, I was relieved to find myself in the easy-going West Indies this week. Here, things are noticeably chiller; from the breezier climate to the slower pace of life. And my mind and body needed both.

But make no mistake, the Lesser Antilles do cater to those seeking greater oblivion; the antifreeze-coloured mixed drinks, the constant blue skies, the endless yellow beaches, the stunning turquoise waters, and the rentable brown horses you can ride into the see-through sea...all forming a powerful mostly pastel palette from which to paint a social media picture of one living their best life.

But me, I'm not that colourful, and I'm certainly not a chiller...I'm a doer...so this issue aims to show — in black and white —  what more the Lesser Antilles has to offer.

So where was I in the Caribbean Sea...Netherlands? Sint Maarten? A constituent of a kingdom? France? Saint Martin? A collectivité d'outre-mer? I really don't how to categorize this single, multi-country island. But what I can say, is that this issue of the newsletter covers four marathons done all over it. I didn't get into its waters, but let's nevertheless dive in.

 - Ben Pobjoy

BUT FIRST, HEAR ME OUT...

My childish ramble about being a rambling man 

I was supremely honoured to be a recent guest on the Endurance Icons podcast, and the episode went up on the interwebz this week. If you're on Spotify, you can listen here. And if you're an Apple Podcasts user, you can listen here. And LOL, my superfan Mum also informed me that you can watch it on YouTube here.

Firstly, I want to thank Mark and Jessica for having me on the podcast. Like Wayne's World, I'm not worthy: Mark is a savage and Jessica is a murderer aka the 2022 Ironman Canada Champion. Secondly, I recorded this on a rooftop in Mexico City and my internet connection crapped out...hence why I abruptly 'ghost' at the end of the episode. Thirdly, it's a fun and informal 45 minute-long convo that offers more context on my Marathon Earth Challenge.

The endurance sports space is a big tent...but I don't have a tent analogy...so I'm going to use a swimming pool one: on one side of the analogical pool are the real athletes like Mark and Jessica. They're swimming quick lengths within lane lines, and on the other side is the shallow end — sometimes yellow-y and occasionally with a floater turd — that idiots like me are splashing in with mouth agape...after being yelled at by the lifeguard 'cause I did a cannonball in the wrong end of the pool.

Mark and Jessica, thanks for humouring me! I'm definitely the oddball guest amongst all the way more accomplished ones...um, especially the Olympians!

2023 TREK TRACKER

Where in the world...record am I?

• Countries visited: 14

• Flights taken: 23...plus one ferry across the Anguilla Channel

• Kilometres flown: 33,843

• Marathons completed: 42

• Kilometres trekked by foot: 1987.1

• Total kilometres trekked since 2015: 65,079

THE LAST MONTH: IN REVIEW

Stats and anecdotes from February 2023

The second month of my Marathon Earth Challenge is done. Not only am I still standing, but I'm feeling pretty darn good (from the ankles down). February was a short month of 28 days...where I also got to see my wife, family, and friends as well as attend my brother's wedding in Mexico City...so I knew the marathons and the kilometres would be fewer than what I cranked out in January.

As such, I only did 17 marathons and 843.5 kilometres by foot in February. However, by month's end, I had done 40 marathons since the start of the year, and that's conservatively what I need to be nailing to nail the record: 20 marathons monthly.

I'm not making excuses for my shortcomings. Rather, I didn't want to disrespect my wife and family by overly marathoning while they were with me...but know this: I will be going HAM in March to get more numbers on the scoreboard.

Sint Maarten / Saint Martin did do a bit of a job on me though. It's a hilly place and the descents put a lot of impact on my knees (nothing major, they're just temporarily sore), my time on the trails there jostled my heavy backpack on my shoulders (which makes me dream of a session with a registered massage therapist), and my neck is a little stiff from whipping around when wild chickens jumped out of trees — or bushes — in my direction (it was more startling than anything).

And the thorns of the prosopis pallida really shredded my shins on trails. Shout-out to Mother Natch (I stole that term from the bestest Pattie Gonia)...because this creation of hers in Sint Maarten is bloody effective! Thankfully, my shins are healing...and I'm grateful they didn't get infected 'cause I was routinely smearing sunscreen onto the cuts (which was a bonding agent that attracted trail grime).

And on the same trail, I pushed my 'bald tread' sneakers too hard on a really rocky descent...and totally wiped out. The good thing was that I didn't fall down the cliff to my death, and that the cameras in my backpack didn't break when I landed on my back. The temporarily bad things were: a jammed left wrist for a few days, a gouge on my palm, and this 'impact slap' that made my hand throb for 24 hours.

That said, I am feeling really good overall. My feet are superb, nothing on my body is overly nagging, and my mind is sharp and motivated. And most importantly, I'm really happy.

But I am looking forward to getting new shoes back in Canada...because I'm currently 'drifting' like this classic meme video. It's not that safe or sustainable, and I need to stay 'rubber down' ahead.

RAPID WEEKLY RECAP

A speedy synopsis for time-crunched readers

• The Wildest Thing: Experiencing a 4.5 Magnitude earthquake at 3AM one morning in Sint Maarten🫣 

• The Biggest Obstacle: I've been on the road for eight weeks, and feel like an iPhone that charges to 100%...but then you discover the 'battery health & charging' tab...and see the phone only has a maximum charging capacity of 85%. So I'm looking forward to sleeping in a real bed in Toronto next week, and feasting on nutritious food to repair my body's battered battery😮‍💨

• The Lesson Learned: I bought Palmolive dish soap because my Airbnb didn't have any soap...and it's a shockingly effective body wash (removing sunscreen and trail grime like nothing else)🤣

SOME THINGS TO KNOW BEFORE VISITING

Proceed with caution or throw caution to the wind

I knew some of this going in, but learnt much of it in Sint Maarten / Saint Martin:

• If you suffer from herpetophobia, then this place isn't for you...the island is crawling with harmless lizards and iguanas

• Whether you arrive to the Dutch side or the French side, you pass through immigration once...and then have total freedom of movement because of the Treaty of Concordia

• The island is tight and hilly. Bring shoes with a good tread and/or rent a smaller-sized vehicle

• Watch out for the guard dogs protecting people's property. Many are unleashed and aggressive. I had some close calls and was ready to soccer kick them in the face...and that's coming from a vegan of nearly 30 years

• You may see dead, sun-bloated former guard dogs on the road because they're quite stupid, chase cars, and get themselves run over

• Things operate on the Caribbean clock...service providers often show up late or don't show up at all. Patience isn't a virtue here, it's a pre-requisite

• And I'm not kidding, there's only one intersection with stoplights and it was out-of-comish for two years. Roundabout-filled roads here are tiny and often subject to gridlock. Give yourself ample time to get anywhere important

• This place is shockingly expensive because absolutely everything is imported

• There aren't Ubers, only taxi cabs...and a ride to anywhere significant always seems to cost $25 USD

• The island is only 87 square kilometres in size...and I did 182 kilometres by foot all over it...this is why I can conclusively state that it is expensive AF (especially because I ate — and shopped — where the locals do)

• Ignore the fact that the Dutch side uses the Netherlands Antillean Guilder and the French side uses Euros...both sides prefer American currency (and greenbacks get you more bang for your buck)

• Credit cards seem to be accepted anywhere major

• Both sides of the island are super safe and the locals are nice: Dutch side or French side, man or woman, black or white, rich or poor...I was offered multiple rides from everyone under the sun. It would've charmed my pants off...but I was in running shorts

• The biggest threat to your safety are Europe's 'world-as-my-personal-playground' tourists on the rented scooters and the rented ATVs. I saw one French guy lose a scooter in the middle of the street, and a lost British couple pulled off the road and accidentally bumped into me when they were seeking directions because...

• ...There are very few curbs or sidewalks here, so if you're hoofing it by foot, know that you'll be on the shoulder of the road with cars whizzing by your side...

• ...But locals only drive like 30-40 km/h because the roads are curvy...and because free range goats often wander onto them

FIELD NOTES: SINT MAARTEN (DUTCH SIDE)

A flavourful stew of sights and cultures

Beyond the 'bushalte' signage affixed to bus stops, Sint Maarten didn't feel too Dutch...and that didn't surprise me because this side of the island is self-governing. 

I actually didn't hear any Dutch being spoken because I was staying in what is possibly the island's cheapest $48-USD-a-night-Airbnb-shithole-that-was-completely-different-than-the-listing-pictures. Anyway, it was located in the non-touristy Madame's Estate in Lower Prince's Quarter. In this specific area, everyone spoke English...but the Dominicans spoke Spanish, the Tortugans spoke Creole, and the Curaçaoans spoke Papiamento. And I was into this multicultural mix. It felt real and local versus how culturally manicured the hotel resort areas are.

Anyway, because this project is self-funded, I was cool with staying where I did: my no-natural-light accommodations had air conditioning, and I liked being in Madame's Estate because I was in wind shot of Philipsburg and Marigot.

Comically, when I opened Google Maps the first time in Sint Maarten to route my marathons, it loaded a map of the Netherlands...which was probably the most Dutch thing I experienced. Anyway, this is what stood out to me on the Dutch side:

I already eluded to it in this issue's introduction, but the beaches in Sint Maarten are second to none. While I personally preferred the excitement of the rougher waters I saw marathoning alongside the ocean in Florianopolis, the supremely clear sea waters here are picture perfect (as are the fine-sand beaches). And the way the sun hits the glittering water...it's near indescribable; like a liquified mix of wavy opal and turquoise gemstones you can wade into.

The beaches on the Dutch side (i.e. Mullet Bay beach, Maho beach, Simpson Bay beach, etc.) are definitely the most commercialized on the island: they're bordered by the fancier hotels, have on-the-beach bars and restos, and have huts where you can rent lounger chairs and beach umbrellas from. They're all touristy, turnkey, and family friendly...meaning I visited but didn't hang-out long.

Philipsburg is the capital of the Dutch side, and home to the island's big cruise ship port. The latter seems like a strike against it, but I found this town to be the best one on the island. It has a population of less than 2,000 people, and Great Bay beach felt like the only beach locals frequented.

While there's some corny shops for the cruisers, the boardwalk was amazing at night: big local chiller vibes, people in the waters, and locals fishing off of the Walter Planz Wharf. Plus, there's all these funky indie casinos with riff-raff gamblers. I don't know what the rates are, but if I were to return with the missus, I'd probably try and stay at the Holland House Beach Hotel there.

If you do make it to Philipsburg, be sure to hike out to Fort Amsterdam at sunrise or sunset. It offers a beautiful view of the bay, the ruins are almost 400 years old, and it is a breeding colony for brown pelicans (and watching the biomechanics of them swooping into the waters to catch fish is fascinating).

If you visit Sint Maarten, you must hike or run the Devil's Cupper trail. Like if you go to the island, and don't do it...Imma unfriend you. The trail is only a few kilometres in length, but offers an unbelievable amount of visual variety.

Firstly, it snakes along the coast: offering ocean views on one side (where you often see catamarans out at sea), and on the other side there's either these windswept long grasses and wind-bent trees that segue into rocky hills full of cacti (depending which direction you hit it from). Secondly, there's a naturally forming 'pool' on the shore of the sea courtesy of a unique rock formation. I took loads of photos of it, but have refrained from sharing them because I'm nudging you to go see it for yourself IRL. Thirdly, there's all these huge-ass iguanas with orange mohawks suntanning on the coastal rocks along the trail. And lastly, there's one sketchy / slanted / narrow part of the trail over a high cliff that — should you slip — you'll prolly plummet to your death. Others stopped at this juncture, but any intermediate trail runner or hiker will be fine, and will find it fun like I did.

Crazily, Point Blanche Prison sits on the cacti-filled hill above the trail. You would never know this unless you knew. But it probably has one of the best views on the entire island. And because it is walled, it tells you all you need to know about the fake promise of prisons as being rehabilitative.

And one last point of interest on the Dutch side...iconic Maho beach. I didn't know if it'd live up to the hype...but it did; it is wild to see airplanes flying so close to beachgoers as they land on the neighbouring runway. Everything is so questionably close together that there's signage that warns you not to stand too close to the runway (or else you'll get roasted by jet engines). This kind of thing would never exist in scaredy cat North America, and I'm glad it exists here...because it's a one-of-a-kind experience. Anyway, small planes seem to land before noon, and big planes seem to land in the afternoon. Visit accordingly as per your aviation tastes!

FIELD NOTES: SAINT MARTIN (FRENCH SIDE)

Physically and spiritually closer to Europe 

I spent part of my '80s childhood living in a little village in eastern France when my Dad worked over the border in nearby Switzerland. And because of that, a specific-to-me element of France has a very weird and deep resonance with me.

I don't feel it in big places like Paris, but I do feel this sense of enduring calm and comfort in France's smaller communes (specifically in the country's outer departments). And I don't really know why...I guess I just associate it with living very simply and happily alongside my Mum...as she took me to idyllic places that were perennially old, and just unblemished by time or modernity.

And after university, I lived in Montréal for a few years but never felt the feeling there either. Probably because that place was harvested differently; by habitants that created a hybrid. From something that was...into something that is a mutation of its genesis genus. And that's not a knock on the place, it's as genuine as it gets. And is the most cultured place in Canada.

Anyway, when I marathoned my way into Saint Martin — passing the border monument — I strangely felt that resonant feeling of calm and comfort return. And not right away, but as I eased into the kilometres north of the unmanned border. And it was peculiar to have this feeling of familiarity be sparked by an unfamiliar place, especially one that has no geographic semblance to eastern France at all. But, there was that unmistakable esprit here.

It was the smell of bread from the boulangerie (and just the way the rustic loaves looked inside of it), the ruins of Fort St. Louis that harkened back to the castle ruins I played in as a kid, the simple living of the fishermen, and the sound of the French spoken. Not cosmopolitan Parisian. Not provincial Québecois. But that old village 'France French.' I heard it lots, and felt it even more.

For me, it was a spiritual highlight of this leg of my Marathon Earth Challenge, and these were the simple highlights of Saint Martin:

Marigot is on the French side of the island, and it is the capital. Objectively, it isn't that remarkable. There's a market-y strip of food vendors and a decent patisserie, but the big hook is the lookout from Fort St. Louis.

And overall, it's something I've danced around in this issue: the exquisite views from the island's hilltops. I took photos...but the photos don't do the views any justice. Why? Well, because they don't capture the totality of the experience. There's the smell of the sea in the air. The sound of the sea or the sound of the wild chickens clucking...or the lizards scurrying. And there's the way the sun — and the breeze — feel on your skin. You wouldn't feel it from a photo. And you'd only feel some of it from a video. But should you go in-person, I promise that you'll feel all of it.

As an aside, there's a super fun trail at the end of Rue de Concordia just outside of Marigot. It will take you over Mount Flagstaff back to the Dutch side (and vice versa). It isn't that long, but the grade is quite steep in parts. The brush is thick so hit it during daylight, and definitely don't hit it if rainy...it'll be a muddy mess. Oh, and one more nugget for you: go see the Trou de David on the very west side of Saint Martin (you'll have to ditch your car on the street then interlope a private road by foot to access it).

I wondered whether I'd run out of things to do on this tiny island...but that is the creative challenge of my freestyle marathons: create interesting routes and just put myself out there for hours...to function like a net to nab the magical moments.

And Saint Martin's dirt bike boyz provided me with ample moments; hamming it up for my camera. And similarly making their own fun as I was trying to make my own. I'd tell you to keep and eye out for them...but you'll surely hear them coming.

In 2017, the island was hit by Hurricane Irma. Saint Martin took the brunt of the category 5 storm with its 285 km/h winds. Locals told me it only hit for 15-20 minutes, but it damaged 95% of all buildings on the island, and did $7.15 billion USD in destruction. Given the size of the place, and the fact that it only has a population of about 75,000...it's hard to wrap your head around but these photos demonstrate the carnage. 

While much of the island has been rebuilt, the scars remain. There's loads of abandoned houses (because few homeowners had hurricane insurance). And all of these battered structures have missing roofs, making them look like Aeolus' discarded tuna cans.

You don't always notice them when you're on the same plane as them, but when you get up into the hills and look down, the damage really sinks in; especially when you take note of how many buildings have been retrofitted with new roofs that look like skin grafts. I've never been to a recently recovered war zone, but I imagine it feels similar to this place.

Anyway, I don't want to end on a downer note so I'll leave you with this: on the French side of the island I saw goats, cows, cranes, roosters, lizards, donkeys and so many other animals frolicking about.

BEST LOCAL THING-Y

"Ital is vital!" or at least that's what certain Rastafarians say and believe. Me? I was just happy to find the Freedom Fighter's Ital Shack on the outskirts of Philipsburg...because it had vegan food, and wicked reggae tunes blaring at a deafening volume.

While I had a tasty roti there (which I eat near-weekly in Toronto...which has world-class Caribbean food), I was stoked to try Sorrel for the first time.

Essentially, it is hibiscus flower tea that's steeped with a dash of cinnamon, lots of ginger, and — in this recipe —  a generous heaping of cane sugar. It was served cold in a used water bottle and was punchy: like, it had a really big taste that probably did give me some Rastafari Livity...because I haven't had any ginger in weeks!

POBJOY'S GLOBAL PRICE INDEX

This is an on-going documentation of how much things cost in different places around the world. Here are some of the things I bought in Sint Maarten and Saint Martin (all prices converted to USD)

• A 946 millilitre carton of vanilla soy milk, 100 grams of instant coffee, and a single roll of toilet paper from a grocery store: $14.89

• A fresh banana and frozen strawberry smoothie from a hut in an alley off of Front Street in Philipsburg: $6

• A mediocre Americano from a café in Marigot: $2.65

MARATHON MUSINGS

To Whom It May Concern: Cosmic Instructions for My Next Life*

Marathoning through the world — and amongst its lovably weird inhabitants — gives me so much life. And if I die? Well, then I hope it happens on a marathon. Like honestly, what better way to go out than by doing what you love...right as your candlelight goes out?

But I don't know if marathons would be that kind to me. Existence has an eccentric sense of humour. Like, I'll probably die standing still in the checkout line of Loblaws...where I'm price gouged to death. Plus, I once marathoned non-stop for 24 hours...and did 147 continuous kilometres, and lived to tell.

But my god —  the Fated Father, ruler o' the law of averages — he'll ultimately preside over my fate. And given how much time I dedicate to marathoning, death-by-way-of-wandering feels inevitable.

Anyway, I believe that when I die, I die. As in, 'end scene' ala 'that's all she wrote.' But I could be wrong. Like, karma — for instance — could exist.

Should it exist, and should my clock stop as my kilometre tracking app is still counting, do know that I know what I'd like to be reborn as...

So if you have a direct line to whomever — or whatever — pulls the karmic lever on the cosmic slot machine, the aligning reels of which determine one's 'next life' vessel. Well, pass this note along:

I'd like to come back as the big iguana I saw along Devil's Cupper trail in Sint Maarten. It was suntanning on the rocky cliff overlooking the sea as I was marathoning. And it struck me as the ideal existence: peaceful, meditative, and contemplative...and with a killer view.

This life wasn't kind too me. It gave me male pattern baldness. So karma, do me the solid and rebirth me as the iguana with the punk rock hairdo in Sint Maarten. Here, there's heavenly freedom of movement, and it's way better than the hellish constraints of artificial and arbitrary human-made borders. 

And drop me-as-iguana anywhere on the island.

I marathoned the hell outta it in a past life, and know it well.

So I'll find my way to Devil's Cupper.

And I'll once again do it by foot...because the island's taxi cabs are expensive, and I don't want to risk another Loblawian price gouge death. It figuratively killed me in my last life.

*These instructions are only pertinent if karma exists. If it doesn't, then give my organs to someone who needs them, and bin the rest of my body in some eco-friendly way.

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