Arrived on the island of St. Martin, Dutch Antilles in the Carribean today. The area had been in and out of "popcorn" showers all afternoon, providing relief to the islanders from the tropical heat. After finding there was no US customs to declare my gear with, and some minor annoyances at the terminal,  Captain Joy Sutton and her freind and Engineer Grant Griffith and I set off for the boatyard where the Titi Nui is in Drydock. The  name Titi Nui is not code for breast augmentation, rather; the indiginous peoples' native name of and incredible bird that hails from Captain Sutton's beloved New Zealand, a magnificent large bird that skims across the surface, with a range of thousands of miles.

Out taxi driver from the airport was a rastafarian named Johan "You say it like YO Hand, Mon, he exclaimed") About twenty minutes out of the terminal, the skipper realizes she that she has left her purse, with her passport and wallet at the terminal.

All of us are paniced. To replace a passport, in a small island freeport like St. Martin would be nearly impossible.

Johan, being the quintesential laid back rasta dude, says "NO problems, mon.   You will get it back!"

He phones up a pal of his back at the terminal. We are hanging on every word. The moments go by slowly and we await the report- is it still there?

Finally the man on the phone reports he has it in his hand. we are elated. Had this occurred in the US, say a busy terminal like LAX, it would have been long gone.

Apparently, crime here is really not that  bad, mostly consisting of alcohol related incidents.