When I told friends I was going to sail on a Dream Yacht Charter around St. Martin and St. Bart’s for six days with a small group of passengers I had yet to meet, they made lots of references to “Below Deck,” the Bravo reality TV show about yachts and yachties. I wasn’t familiar with the show, so I tuned in.
Whoa! Was I going to be onboard with inebriated women jumping into the sea for a midnight swim in their designer cocktail dresses and middle-aged men suffering from the delusion they are Justin Timberlake on the dance floor? Would the crew dismiss us as a bunch of snobs and talk trash about us behind our backs?
Fortunately, the answer was no.
When I boarded the Dream Baliceaux at the marina in Anse Marcel, a lush island at the northern tip of St. Martin, I met my delightfully drama-free sailing mates — a couple from Delaware who were proud grandparents, a 30-something woman from Florida who loved snorkeling and a Frenchman who was a professional photographer.
Come hell or high water — and I really hoped there would be no high water — these were my companions for the next week on the Lagoon 620, a 62-foot catamaran with six cabins for guests and crew.
That’s how it works with this cabin charter. Each passenger or couple rents one cabin that starts at $1,115 and shares the common spaces, such as the dining area and spacious decks, with their fellow sailors.
Bottom line: Your name doesn’t have to be Elon Musk or Jeff Bezos to afford a yachting vacation in the Caribbean.
Another option is renting the entire boat with only friends and family aboard. Sail with a full crew, or if you are an experienced sailor, no crew.
In my case, there were two crew members: the skipper, David, and an exceptionally talented French cook named Natalie. I still dream of her coquilles St. Jacques, a traditional French dish of scallops poached in white wine.
I’ve cruised many times on large ships with thousands of passengers, but this was my first overnight yacht experience, and it was unlike any of my other seafaring adventures.
There’s a lot of waiting on a massive ship, especially for shore excursions. A snorkeling trip may mean waiting in the ship’s auditorium for half an hour, a 45-minute bus ride and then an hour actually snorkeling before you board the bus for another 45-minute ride back to the ship.
On a charter, if you want to go snorkeling, just jump in. Stay as long as you want.
Anse de Colombier, a pristine beach that’s part of the St. Barts Marine Reserve is a snorkeler’s paradise. I was greeted by a southern stingray flapping its wing-like fins to propel itself gracefully along the ocean floor. Stingrays aren’t aggressive creatures, but they have barbed tails to protect against predators. I didn’t want to be mistaken for one, so I swam away.
My next companion was much less threatening. An amiable sea turtle floated alongside me as I admired fish in a kaleidoscope of colors.
Back on board, we all learned the importance of using extra clothes pins when hanging our bathing suits to dry in the wind. I asked Tina, the woman from Florida, if she had seen the bottom to my bathing suit. No, had I seen the top to hers? We joked about the mismatched pair keeping each other company at the bottom of the sea.
The tiny island of Pinel off the French side of St. Martin was a favorite stop, not only because of its postcard-perfect beaches, but because of the bounty of seafood.
“I’ll take that one,” I said, pointing to a Caribbean spiny lobster wriggling in an underwater cage with its companions, all destined to become lunch for hungry day-trippers.
A man hauled the cage out of the ocean, and with a gloved hand, wrestled the crustacean into a bucket. It was whisked away to the kitchen of Yellow Beach restaurant, where it would be grilled to perfection.
I waited for my meal at a table in a thatched-roof cabana that offered a view of beachgoers frolicking in the emerald-hued waves of the Caribbean Sea.
St. Martin, split between the Netherlands and France, is widely heralded as the culinary capital of the Caribbean, and grilled lobster is a local specialty.
Unlike the Maine lobster most familiar to Americans, Caribbean lobster doesn’t have large front claws. It’s prized for its densely packed sweet tail meat, which is slightly firmer than its New England counterpart.
Instead of the usual melted butter, the lobster was served with a piquant Creole sauce, a nod to St. Martin’s West Indian culinary influence.
After a hearty lunch, a dinghy ferried me back to the Dream Baliceaux. Skipper David raised the sails, and off we went.
We went ashore in Gustavia, the capital of the island country of St. Barts, a tropical paradise with French finesse that has long been an oasis for the rich and famous. It was off season, so I didn’t come across Leonardo DiCaprio hanging out with supermodels on one of the island’s unspoiled beaches or run into Jennifer Lopez shopping on the chic Quai de la République, home to luxury stores that include Hermes and Louis Vuitton; but celebrity spotting is always possible.
This fashionista will never spend $50,000 on a handbag, but window shopping is free.
On Rue Samuel Fahlberg, I serendipitously strolled into CED & ROD, an elegant boutique, to escape the heat, and was instantly captivated by the delicate silks and other light fabrics destined to flutter in a tropical breeze.
Rodolphe Ayer welcomed me in, and even let me peek at the atelier, or workshop, in the back. It was thrilling for someone who is a bit of a clothes horse. A wall was covered in sketches featuring next season’s fashions, and Cedric Fahey, the “maestro,” as Ayer calls him, sat at a sewing machine bringing couture and bespoke designs to life.
One day I kicked back on the boat’s sun-splashed deck, observing brown pelicans dive bomb into the ocean and soar off triumphantly with wiggling fish. It was a choppy ride to Grand Case, a laid-back village on the northwest side of St. Martin that’s celebrated for lolos, the affordable, open-air restaurants centered around a grill.
To find one, just follow your nose. The smoky aroma of meat hangs thick in the air, enticing hungry passersby. Practically any creature that walks, crawls or swims can be spotted sizzling on the grill.
At the Rib Shack, I took an oceanfront seat and soaked up the breathtaking view. As the last sliver of sun sank into the horizon, a patchwork of purple and orange clouds provided an ethereal backdrop for the illuminated yachts docked for the night.
I tucked into a plate piled high with enough food to feed half the island. The ribs were the star of the show, but a supporting cast of delicious sides that included curry rice, plantains and Johnny cakes — fried cornmeal patties that are a Caribbean staple — rounded out the down-home meal.
Later that evening, the boat rocked gently as I sat beneath a canopy of stars admiring the lights on Grand Case in the distance. I realized that for once, I didn’t feel compelled to check my phone.
I was a lucky girl — living the yachting lifestyle without owning a yacht. Thankfully, nothing about the experience remotely resembled the histrionics of “Below Deck.”