I’m leaving myself wide open to charges of racism, but I’ll chance it.
Some years back, I won a trip to St. Martin in a trivia contest, and had a good time there. The beaches and the water are beautiful. There are some great places to shop and to eat on the French side (which is infinitely nicer than the Dutch side in almost every respect). BUT…
The weird thing about St. Martin is, it’s the one place in the world where you HOPE the restaurant you’re eating at is staffed by French waiters! Seriously, whenever I went to a shop or restaurant where I was waited on by French people, I was treated like royalty. On the other hand, if you require service from a black islander… well, in my experience, you’re out of luck.
I’ve never been to any other tourist destination where service personnel were so BLATANTLY lazy and contemptuous of their customers. Ask a black casino employee to make some change, and he’ll roll his eyes, cast a heavy sigh, and act like he was having a great day until YOU showed up. Ask a black waiter for a refill of your drink, and he’ll stare at you scornfully. Try to rent a car, and a black clerk will treat you like a major nuisance.
Look, I don’t idealize American tourists. I know we can be a major pain in the backside. And I can understand why impoverished black islanders may be resentful about having to wait on rich white foreigners. But given that they RELY on us white foreigners for their living, couldn’t they wait until we’re gone and then flip us the bird and mock us or curse us behind our backs? Or just spit in our drinks surreptitiously?
There is, however, one plus side to the disdainful attitude of black islanders on St. Martin. Once you KNOW that black islanders hate you, you know that when a black islander approaches you with a smile on his face, you should run as fast as possible in the other direction, because it can mean only one thing: he’s going to try to sell you a time share!!!
Did I encounter ANY nice black people on the island? One. Exactly one. He was so friendly, so helpful, so courteous, my then-girlfriend asked him, "Are you from St. Martin? “No,” he replied, “I moved here from Haiti.”
Ahhhhhh… that made sense.