Bonus Post - Where Idiots Go to Frolic
Inspired by Alison Acheson's request for travel writing
Maho Beach — Where Idiots Go to Frolic*
*I can say that because I was an idiot…
I’m not sure what happens to me when I go traveling. My usually quite sensible self stays at home and I find myself saying things like, “I’m here anyway. I might as well do this thing because I can’t do it once I get back home. Don’t be a wuss. You’ll regret it forever.”
It’s all part of my live life to the fullest philosophy. But somehow, when I’m on a trip, my willingness to go all in ramps up and I find myself doing stuff I’d never dream of trying back in my regular life.
Which is how, back in 2015, I found myself on Maho Beach on the island of St. Maarten along with a bunch of other crazy tourists who had temporarily lost all sense of self-preservation.
Maho Beach is a Legit — if Insane — Tourist Destination
People from around the world make a pilgrimage to this plane-spotting haven to watch jets drop in low over the beach and onto the extremely short runway at Princess Juliana International Airport.
A whole industry has sprung up to provide sun-baked, sand-blasted tourists with frosty beverages just outside the jet blast zone… If I had known then what I know now, I would have parked my backside under an umbrella and shot my footage from a safe distance!
But, no. I thought it would be pretty cool to stand on the beach and watch the planes land. To be honest, that was actually quite awesome, to feel as if I could reach up and grab some landing gear as plane after plane skimmed just above en route to making a neat and tidy landing.
Takeoffs and Landings
Along with dozens of others, we stood around and watched groups of tourists being sand-blasted, half-expecting police officers to move them along.
This did not happen so, despite the signs posted everywhere, we did a quick risk calculation. People seemed to be getting up again after the planes departed, blowing them onto their backsides. Mostly, they were laughing as they got back onto their feet. How bad could it possibly be?
The fun (not!!) really began when we decided to see for ourselves what it was like to stand behind a jet plane when it was taking off. Because, you know, why not?
The blast zone, as it turns out, isn’t all fun and games. Tourists are injured when they are slammed into immovable objects or get pelted with debris flung rearward by the powerful blast of the engines. In 2017 a woman from New Zealand was killed as a result of injuries suffered in the blast zone.
Danger! Danger! Danger!
We considered where we could stand that would be more or less ‘safe’ (if there could be such a thing as a safe area directly behind a departing plane).
Some people clung to the fence at the end of the runway, which seemed like a terrible idea. Lose your footing there and pavement rash is likely to be the least of your worries.
We made our way to a spot on the beach where, we reasoned, we could flatten ourselves on the sand should things get too wild. We spotted a massive 707 taxiing down the runway in our general direction. We turned to face the music as it trundled in a slow arc until it had turned away from us.
In my defense, all I can say is that I figured if it was really, really dangerous, surely the authorities would have closed the road. And the beach. And the pilot wouldn’t have waved at us in such a cheerful manner before, yes, he pointed his 707 down the runway and gunned his engines.
Positioned as we were directly behind the plane and across the road on the beach so we would have an awesome view and great camera angles, the roar of wind and that horrible ear-splitting wail of jet engines were the first things we noticed.
The wall of noise was followed immediately by the stench of jet fumes and a wave of heat that carried with it a gazillion particles of sand and other debris traveling at velocities fast enough to embed themselves in our skin so deeply we were still picking stray grains of grit out days later!
Bodies flew past us and in the panic of people fleeing and being blown off their feet we lost track of my nephew who, it turns out, was knocked over, rolled down the steep sandbank and into the ocean. The worst part of that unexpected conversation with Poseidon was he had his phone in his pocket and said phone did not survive the dunking.
The rest of us collapsed into the sand, half laughing and stifling screams. By clinging onto each other we managed to stop our retreat before being plunged into the sea, but we all felt somewhat foolish and slunk away along with the other sand-encrusted tourists who had met similar fates.
Tourist Tip of the Day:
Talcum powder is a pretty good antidote when it comes to removing sand, say when you want to put your shoes back on after a stroll on a beach. It does little, however, to help when sand particles have lodged in your scalp beneath your long hair. Swimming off the back of the boat does not help. Neither does showering at the nearest marina. Nor does picking at your head with tweezers. Don’t even waste your time with a hairbrush or head shaking. Scraping bits of sand out with fingernails is a task worthy of Sisyphus. Best to just stay far, far away from the back end of departing airliners.
Would I do it again? Nope. Not on your life. I might consider having a frosty beverage and watching from the sidelines. But the other side of my ‘what the heck — you only live once’ approach to vacationing is a sober, ‘once was quite enough, thank you.’
I have, as they say, been there, done that.
Now that I’ve revealed my inner chump for all to see, what’s the silliest thing you’ve ever done while traveling? Tell us all about it in the comments — I can’t be the only one who temporarily loses her mind while traveling!
This was originally published over on Medium. Reposted here in response to a prompt/challenge from Alison Acheson. You can find her Substack here:
Oh my!! I am SO GLAD I made the time to read! Quite the story. Humans are the strangest people... comes to mind. Self included.
I've been home for my own travels a couple weeks now, and still catching up, it feels. Today, sat down to visit all the travel stories posted.
Thank you, Nikki!
Oh and I love that title!