Samba Christmas tunes blast from the radio making it hard not to dance as I sit here sipping coffee. A stocking hangs from the mast of the schooner moored in the bay. Bright sunshine radiate the long leafs of the Palm trees which dance in the Trade Winds. The waves are barely making it over the reef and the aqua-blue water of the Orient Bay is flat and calm.
Christmas in St. Martin begins on Halloween and it is taken very seriously. You can find fresh Christmas trees but they quickly turn brown in the heat. People don’t care. There are decorated brown trees everywhere! My friend Verna drove me past the best Christmas decoration on the island, a giant inflatable Frosty the Snowman, and she clapped and grinned like a little girl when she saw it for the hundredth time. She still has the wonderment of a child this time of year.
Last night at dark-thirty I wandered over to the Villa where my friends Paul and Nancy were hosting a cocktail party. I was immediately chided for being late. “It’s almost time for dinner,” Nancy scolded. “We didn’t think that you were going to come at all.”
I’d been sitting outside when Nathalie came over after she had gotten off work. She’d asked me to order and bring her pairs of shoes when I came because Reebok doesn’t do international shipping. So I did and she’d come to pay me and collect them. She asked if I wanted to go out with her and her friends which I quickly declined. Nathalie has this habit of staying out all night before stumbling into work the next morning. She once asked me to go get her a cappuccino before giving me a massage.
“You have to peel potatoes tomorrow,” Nancy tells me, “and don’t cut yourself this year.”
I ignore her and talk to my friend Suz and her boyfriend.
At Papagayo’s, the restaurant here, there was a buffet supper of traditional American fare. I sat surrounded by Canadians and a politician from Wisconsin who wanted to talk politics. I left the table and joined another group of Canadians who wanted to dance.
Carlos, the restaurant manager, had found a new D J at the last minute because the one booked was sick. The new guy was having a hard time finding the right kind of music for the crowd. Of course I was no help requesting songs by PINK or the “Black Eyed Peas”. He finally hit on 1950s Rock-and-Roll and the dance floor filled.
I wandered into the forbidden zone where the wait staff wait and danced with Nancy and then Aralias. He was wearing a ring on the finger and I was asking him who he had traded me in for. Nancy grabbed me and started pulling me away before Carlos arrived and told me that I couldn’t be back there. When I stopped and stared at him with mock horror on my face, he burst into laughter shaking his head and giving up.
As the dance floor filled I take it as my cue to leave and wander down the sandy road into the warmth of the night. Brilliant stars fill the sky and the lights of Anguilla dance on the water across the way. I wander down to the beach collecting my thoughts on this very different Christmas time.
Carlos wanders out behind me and puts his arm around my shoulder. “I’ll pick you up at 6:00,” he tells me which can mean anytime after dark.
I nod my head and he hugs me before going back inside to work.
Making my way back to the studio I turn on the computer and am surprised to see numerous greetings and messages from a very diverse group. I fall into late night conversations with a few folks and then realize that there is an hour time difference. What is late for me is not so late for them.
Having spent the better part of yesterday sleeping, I am surprised that I am sleepy. I walk back outside to tell the stars goodnight.
“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire,” is sung by Nat King Cole as the final song from Papgayos. And in the warmth of the night I wish myself a merry little Christmas.
And my heart fills until the tears come.
