This was to be our final stopping off point in the Caribbean Sea and, as it happens, was to be our last touching land until disembarkation in Southampton.

We weren’t to know it, but a stormy Atlantic would put pay to us calling in at the Azores on the way home. This would give us a horrendous ten days at sea without leaving MS Queen Victoria.

It would be like being stuck on a Victorian-era prison ship for so long. Some folk love being on the ship ad infinitum but, thanks to my lack of vision, it is not for me. I will come onto that in a future episode.

The island was first sighted by Christopher Columbus, who else, on 11th November 1493, during his second voyage, so he named it Isla de San Martin. No surprise there, you might think, it was his want to call these islands after the saint on whose day they were discovered.

One problem, though, he also came across another island on the same day and, forgetting himself in all the excitement, he also called that St Martin.

Sometime later, cartologists mapping the area realised that there were two places with the same name. The other island had been nicknamed Nevis by Columbus’ crew and, in the end, this stuck, fortunately for us in the modern era.

It amazes me how it is old Chris who always takes the credit for spotting these islands first of all. Do you really think he would be up in the crow’s nest, shielding his eyes from a blazing, destructive sun, the telescope wouldn’t appear until 1608, bellowing out, “Land ahoy!”?

I’m not sure I buy that one. Why would he when he had dispensable underlings who could come crashing down to deck for him.

Confusion still reigns. Add a few French and Dutch folk into the equation who divided this tiny bit of land into two. They split the 87 square kilometres, roughly 60 40 respectively. So, in effect you can visit two separate countries in one place that is smaller than the Isle of Wight. In fact, St Martin would fit onto the Isle of Wight about four-and-a-half times over.

We had landed in the Dutch quarter in the port of its capital, Philipsburg. We certainly didn’t tarry when disembarking and were soon mingling with the throngs along the main strip. Incredibly we were greeted by the usual array of artisan traders, somewhat different to a British seaside resort, such as Ganja shops, rum-punch bars and inevitably, the toxic-ink tattoo studios.

Has anyone ever thought to study what effect pumping the skin full of these chemicals has on oncological health? Don’t get me started! Has anyone else ever thought about this?

We strolled along the front, arm-in-arm, not from any romantic bent but more a guiding the blind point of view.

All of a sudden Jane made a beeline for one of the bars. Right, I thought, time to fill one’s boots, rum punches at eight in the morning. Who wanted to see another rainforest, mountain or plantation anyway? They would probably be the same as everywhere else.

Alas, we were not calling in for a libation, she had espied another couple from the ship, who shall remain nameless, knocking back post-breakfast cocktails. How civilised is that? In fact, I am not sure they had even wasted time on breakfast, especially given that we didn’t hang about that morning. Who am I to cast nasturtiums? It is rather unseemly.

In short, we didn’t do much of anything. We sauntered, without the fuel of rum punches it has to be said, through the narrow lanes and streets of this delightful little port. It reminded me of the old seafaring settlements in Devon or Cornwall, except a tad chillier than the summer we have just had.

It is hard to explain to the many souls who left our shores for a better life in Australia, New Zealand or some other faraway place, that the Caribbean, in general, is cooler than an English summer.

That reminds me, did anyone see the advert from the Italian Tourist Board inviting British residents to visit Amalfi to escape our summer heat? How things change! How long will that one last?

I will outline some of the attractions we could have visited had we been so minded and, indeed, you might consider should you find yourself washed up here.

<image: A plane coming in over Moho Beach, Sint Maarten>

Let’s start with Moho Beach. One of the joys of soaking up the sun here is that you can enjoy jetliners coming in, just above your head, to land at Princess Juliana International Airport. If that’s the highlight I am not really sure what the lowlights are.

Returning to your hotel room covered in kerosene doesn’t strike me as a great day out. My opinion only, it might well be right up your street. If it is, knock yourself out, unless the inhalation of fumes gets you first.

One attraction that might hit the spot, and I am truly sorry to have missed this one, is the steepest zip-line in the world, christened The Flying Dutchman.

In a similar vein, there is the tube slide dessent of Sentry Hill. No, me neither. Apparently, it is the joy of going downhill inside a plastic circle or doughnut. There are centres around the UK where you can take part in this recreational joy. Sounds a wee bit on the dangerous side, perhaps after a dose of recreational Ganja it might take on a less daunting feel.

Obviously, it is the island with everything. You do either at your own risk, I am not responsible for what you, as fully-fledged grown-ups, do in your own time.

After taking in the Great Bay Boardwalk, so named because it is a boardwalk that follows the Great Bay, I wonder how long it took them to come up with that one, we did take a turn around the Front Street duty free shopping area.

We had some cigars to acquire for a friend who had kept a watch eye on the house while we were away.

The young lady assistant showed us her wares, and I was bowled over with her knowledge of the tobacco industry. There were all sorts: short ones, long ones, thin ones, fat ones, whatever took your fancy. She offered me the chance to try out what she had to offer.

“No thank you,” I responded, trying not to sound too disapprovingly tart.

I could have them soaked in a spirit of my choice or opt for plain. They could be strong, medium or mild. Talk about baffling. She showed us her favourites, the ones she liked to consume after a stressful day in the shop.

Apparently, there is nothing better than sitting on a terrace watching the sun set behind a cloud of smoke with a cold beer or rum punch. Quite surprisingly, she appeared amazingly healthy. Perhaps there is some unknown benefit to being unhealthy. So, we bought a pack of three, all different sizes and shapes.