Being woken by my alarm from a very deep sleep isn’t a problem, just a surprise at gone 7am. Just ten days before I reach the UK isn’t the time to finally adjust to American East coast time.

We’re an hour ahead of that, and the skies are already blue as we pull into the dock at Philipsburg in Sint Maarten. There are already two other cruise ships here, and a super-yacht, the sort of boat that costs around the same as my village.

I find the morning news sheet, check the cricket score, frame it optimistically. We only need another 572 runs to win, we have all our wickets in hand and two full days to bat. It’s on!

We finally tie up just twenty minutes before we’re due to disembark. While accurate timing from a 2 1/2 day sea voyage this is also a poor show after getting used to arriving early on the previous cruise. The previous cruise didn’t need to keep shifting course to avoid bad weather though so I’m more inclined to celebrate the prompt arrival.

The gangway opens a minute before 8am. A quarter of an hour later I foolishly pretend the early rush will be over and head down to find it. Joyfully my optimism was rewarded and I was soon engaged in a curious conversation with two guards at the dock car park.

“Is this the way out?”
“That depends. Only if you don’t kill anybody.”
“I’ll try not to.”

That promise made them laugh and let me loose on their island, striding confidently past a rusting shipyard in the morning sun.

St Maarten, Sint Maarten and Saint Martin is a lovely place, if a little confused about its name. I ignored the signs directing me towards the tourist areas and hit the back streets. On Back Street I walked straight into a joke.

To avoid the dog, of course.

Shops gave way to residential areas, people sitting outside in their gardens, occasional plots of land with ruins in them, probably houses destroyed in the hurricane a couple of years ago.

Reaching the edge of town I cut through to the beach. The shops and cafes on Back Street had been closed or starting to open as I walked through but I found a bar open to the beach, a shirtless man inside, leaning back on his phone. At the bar I asked if they were open, was told, “Depends what you want.”

They weren’t open for coffee, didn’t do it. I asked for a suggestion and got sent down the beach, back towards the ship. It was where I’d planned to go anyway so strolled that way, finally starting to see other tourists.

The recommended cafe was a hut with chairs outside, some in the shade, and a laminated menu on the counter offering omelettes and Johnny Cakes. The customers were almost all locals, the cafe two thirds full and more people stood ordering takeaway. I asked for a large coffee, caused confusion, ended up with a soup bowl full.

Johnny Cakes are apparently a form of bread so I gave it a go, one plain (to see what they’re like) and one with ham and egg.

They’re good. They’re also cheap, two Johnny Cakes and a soup bowl of coffee cost me $5, which a hundred yards nearer the ship the bars were charging just for a normal cup of coffee.

With nothing in the town except shopping, hair care, bars and beach I headed back to the ship. My first Caribbean nation was a brief but enjoyable experience, the locals relaxed and content, not worrying that someone strange was walking amongst them, friendly and smiling in conversation, full of laughter. I guess they’ve seen the cricket score.

Back at the port the dock area was full of tourists. Bringing 2600 of them with us wasn’t great but there were now five other cruise ships also docked. I was glad I’d seen the town while it was still quiet.

Leaving port I struggled to understand why people pay so much to visit the Caribbean.

Dinner was pizza, the lure of cooked to order meat laden cheesy bread easily outcompeting the poor dining room menu. I brought it back to my room, watched an R rated Soderberg movie about strippers. It wasn’t very good, the XXL sequel is much better.

I was in bed before 9pm, albeit with coffee, book and the tablet (so I could write this update). Bringing the coffee back to my cabin my right knee had twinged, a one-off mechanical failure it’s hard to describe but causing sufficient pain to leave me nauseated. The morning walk into town had left me with sore legs but I thought they’d recovered. Another 4km on the observation deck watching Caribbean nations glide past in the sunset wont have helped, 13km for the day clearly just a little too much.

Tough, we’re in St Lucia at 8am tomorrow and the ‘local’ part of town is over a mile walk from the dock. Early night feels justified.