Haul out in St. Maarten

The bay at Phillisburg is very shallow too.  The depth sounder was going crazy & we touched bottom a couple of times.  It was low tide.  Hmm.  Seem to remember something about that.  Guess we should have checked the tide tables, ya think?  Boats were rafted together double wide at the travel lift, crowding the entrance.  To make it more complicated the cross wind was howling at 20 knots easy.  Serge put her into the slip no problem, but then they told us they'll have to remove the forestay.  There was no way, too much trouble to disconnect the profurl electrical connections, so we opt to go in stern to & remove the backstays.  Easier said than done.  There was no room to maneuver & lots of wind but Serge manages perfectly as usual.  The backstays were tight, & awkward to work on in the burning noonday sun, & we didn't have the optimal tools to do it.  I made lemonade below & put the aloe in the fridge.  As it turned out when she was in the sling, we saw that we didn't need to do any of it.  The usual competent boatyard help.
Boatyards are the most toxic places on the planet.  Between sanding & grinding, bottom paints & glues, it's a nightmare of chemicals, not to mention all the toe stubbing & head hitting hazards.  We're right up against the fence, 14 feet in the air, with boatloads of cruise ship cargo walking by.  I scrubbed cushions by the ditch which doesn't drain properly, which explains the swarms of mosquitoes at night.  We have to listen to locals painting their ferry hull arguing in the local patois of French, English, & Dutch creole.  They are yelling non-stop.  At one point I walk up & tell them they are worse than a henhouse.  And I tell the guy sitting in the shade on 'my dinghy' doing most of the talking that he should be ashamed of himself.  He tells me he's the boss.  Turns out he's not, but anyway, I felt better & made instant friends of the Rasta workers, the oldest of which  wears fluorescent purple Keds high tops.  I'm wondering how he reconciles that with the "natural" lifestyle espoused by Rastafarians.
We become regulars at the "12 Meter Bar" run by a young Frenchman who really wanted to be on the stage, I think.  He's very entertaining & plays old French songs which he & Serge know by heart.  
In the afternoons we go to the beach nearby that is designed for the cruise ships.  You can buy 3 beers for $2.50 & drink on the streets.  We usually shower on the transom in the dark & use the yards 25 cent toilets which close between 10 pm & 7 am so we have a bucket at night, oh joy.  Ask me about the jalepeno burger night.  Man, we are really living the high life, aren't we?  Don't get me started about laundry. 
One day I decide to splurge & wash my hair in the yard's showers which are a dollar to get in & 50 cents for 3 min. That afternoon I roll around in the surf & have a ball & get full of sand while Serge steams on the beach, some kind of argument, I can't remember the details.  I go up to the showers armed with quarters only to find they are out of service.  Serge tried to get all the sand out of my hair but there was still some on the pillow.

Before

After!

Launch day is incredibly windy & the slip is full of pointy parts threatening our new shiny hull.  Some boat is parked right in the slip, obstructing the way out. And he's got 20' of room behind him and he's waiting to get in. But he would not move back to make it easier for us to get out....I guess this guy did not belong on a boat. We've got help on shore but it takes several tries before we can get the bow thruster to come up with the goods & shoot on out of there...into the shallow water at low tide.  Something seems vaguely familiar here.