Best things to do in Saint Martin: dive into Coconut Island’s tropical vibes with this travel guide.

The Collectivity of Saint Martin — or simply Saint Martin, as most people call it — began life much like many Caribbean islands: first home to Amerindian peoples, then visited by Europeans who brought with them the dark legacy of slavery. The island’s earliest name, Soualiga — “Land of Salt” — honored the glittering pans that once defined its shoreline. When Columbus sailed through the West Indies in 1493, he never set foot on the island but christened it Isla de San Martín, after a saint from his homeland.

Soon the French and Dutch both cast eyes on the island as a convenient stopover between North and South America, while the Spanish came for the lucrative salt trade. Over time, the island became sparsely populated and in 1648 the Dutch and French agreed to divide it in two with the Treaty of Concordia — a rare example of a peaceful colonial border.

Today, visitors arrive seeking a delightful little paradox: France in the tropics. You’ll find luxury boutiques and cafés that feel transported from a Parisian arrondissement, dozens of powdery white-sand beaches (some famously clothing-optional) and a delectable fusion of French and Indian Caribbean flavors. But don’t miss the island’s southern Dutch side — it’s a lively counterpoint and well worth a day trip.

This year, I celebrated my birthday the way I always do: by leaving the familiar behind. Rather than staging another stress-filled party at home, I spent two glorious weeks island-hopping through the Caribbean, letting the sea, the sun and serendipity dictate the celebration.

My journey began on Sint Maarten, a sun-soaked Dutch paradise of powdery beaches, playful parrot sanctuaries and adrenaline-pumping zip lines. Cross to the island’s northern French side — Saint Martin, affectionately nicknamed “Coconut Island”—and the vibe shifts to languid cafés and breezy coastal charm.

From there, I caught a short hop to Dominica, a raw, jungle-cloaked gem where plunging waterfalls, steaming hot springs and dramatic gorges feel untouched by time. I even took a day trip north to the misty Indian River, the real-life backdrop for Pirates of the Caribbean.

My final stop was Antigua: endless white-sand stretches, gentle tortoise sanctuaries and unforgettable stingray encounters that feel like something from a storybook.

Not everything went to plan. A sudden tropical storm in Sint Maarten forced me off the island in a hurry — only to discover my connecting flight to Guadeloupe didn’t exist. I scrambled, bought a new ticket to Dominica and skipped Guadeloupe entirely. Rebooking wouldn’t have allowed me to rejoin my original schedule, a frustrating but valuable travel lesson about flexibility and staying calm under crisis.

Unmissable Charms of Saint Martin

Saint Martin enchants with its delightful fusion of French elegance and Dutch zest, where charming cafés and lively markets sit side by side. In a wonderfully compact island you’ll find an irresistible mix of flavors, shopping gems and vibrant nightlife. Powdery white beaches and crystal-clear turquoise waters beckon snorkelers, while verdant hills and coastal roads offer postcard-perfect drives. With seamless crossings between the two sides, sunshine all year and accommodations ranging from sumptuous resorts to cozy guesthouses, Saint Martin is perfect for lazy days of bliss or spirited adventures.

Brunch Like the French at Marigot's, So Benedict

Though my time was centered on Sint Maarten’s lively southern shores, the island’s other half—French Saint Martin—beckoned with a different rhythm. After a few days of soaking up the south, it was time to master the local transport and head north. The island’s friendly buses became my ticket to a new atmosphere: winding coastal roads, glimpses of shimmering coves and the distinct Gallic flair that marks the French side. What started as a simple transfer turned into a small adventure in cross‑border island life.

Tip / Taxis here will drain your wallet fast, so embrace island life the local way: the bus.

Cheap, frequent and surprisingly convenient, these bright passenger vans thread the main roads and give you a real slice of daily island rhythm. Keep an eye on roadside signs for pickup points and watch for a little destination placard in the van’s front window — that’s your cue. Flag it down, hop aboard, enjoy the scenery, then signal the driver when you want to get off. Have cash ready to pay as you exit; fares hover around $2 USD. Note: some routes don’t run to every nook of the island and service may end early, so plan accordingly.

Buses in Sint Maarten/Saint Martin move at their own island pace: part local shuttle, part laid-back adventure. If you find yourself in the southwest hamlet of Cupecoy or nearby, a ride east toward Philipsburg; a ride that unfolds along sun-splashed coastlines and sleepy residential stretches. At Cole Bay, switch buses and you'll find yourself heading north, crossing the invisible line into the French side and rolling into Marigot, Saint Martin’s charming capital. The system is simple enough — but expect a little patience, a bit of trial and error and heat that will have you sweating by the time you step off.

Marigot greets you with postcard-perfect French-Caribbean flair: pastel facades, hand-painted shop signs and sidewalks lined with perfumeries, cigar boutiques, creperies and bakers puffing out the scent of fresh bread. In the middle of this scene sits So Benedict, a petite cafe doing a brisk trade in breakfast classics. With a very French look — crisp linens, mirrored interiors and tables spilling onto the sidewalk — it’s ideal for people-watching, though the outdoor tables sometimes come with a side of cigarette smoke.

The menu’s namesake is irresistible: eggs Benedict reimagined in several variations. One standout is a tuna-tartar version with smashed avocado, perfectly poached eggs and a generous ribbon of hollandaise. It’s bright, a little briny and perfectly suited to Marigot’s breezy, coastal vibe — a fitting midday pause before wandering the market stalls or exploring the harbor-front boutiques.

Expect a plate dripping with a rich, savory sauce that pools around a perfectly toasted base, flanked by an unexpectedly refreshing side salad and a warm baked potato crowned with chive sour cream — a breakfast combo that feels like a cheeky island upgrade.

The dish leans toward indulgent, melting and ooze-y in all the right places, perhaps a touch richer than some prefer but the flavors are bright and satisfying. The star is the tuna: tender, flavorful and harmonizing beautifully with the creamy, saucy components. It’s the kind of brunch that surprises you — familiar comforts presented with a Caribbean wink.

Wander the Colorful Aisles of Marigot Market

Marigot unfolds like a storybook port frozen between past and present. The capital’s name—borrowed from the French word for “swamp”—is a reminder of its origins: once a patchwork of backwaters and fishing channels, the town grew up around the ebb and flow of those marigots. Today, the remains of that watery history whisper through narrow streets lined with wooden gingerbread houses whose balconies lean over cobblestones and sidewalk bistros that invite slow afternoons with the promise of shade and rum cocktails. Stroll past market stalls and pastel facades and you get the sense of a place that moves at the rhythm of tides rather than clocks—timeless, quietly charming and endlessly photogenic.

Marigot perches along the island’s sheltered west coast, where a crescent-shaped bay spills into a lively waterfront lined with cafés, colorful markets and waterfront promenades. From the bay, the town climbs gently eastward, spreading into the verdant hills that roll toward the island’s interior—an easy transition from seaside bustle to tranquil lanes dotted with colonial villas. To the southwest, the town’s edges meet the calm waters of Simpson Bay, creating a scenic meeting of harbor life and quiet coastal panoramas.

In the 18th century, sugarcane fortunes transformed Marigot, lifting the town into prominence and crowning it the administrative heart of the French side under King Louis XVI. Perched above the bay, Fort St. Louis — the monarch’s sentinel — still gazes over the harbor, its weathered ramparts whispering tales of a time when sugar was the true currency of power. Today, the fort’s silhouette and the town below carry that lively history: wander the cobbled streets, picture the colonial bustle and drink in panoramic views where commerce and memory meet.

Market days at Marigot Marketplace transform the town into a lively hub every Wednesday and Saturday morning. Turning the corner, you’re greeted by a swirl of color and motion: an outdoor market lined with stalls spilling over with local produce, spices and handcrafted goods and food vendors calling out the day’s specialties. The air hums with the chatter of shoppers, the scent of grilled seafood and tropical fruit and the rhythm of vendors arranging their wares—an unmistakable invitation to wander, taste and discover.

Full of vibrant colors and outdoor seating framed by lush green plants, the market felt like a sun-drenched stage waiting for its performers. Though the stalls were mostly empty during my visit, it's easy to picture the scene transforming on a Friday or Saturday night: strings of lights blinking on, tables filling and the air thickening with the warm, salty breeze. Caribbean rhythms would move through the chatter as locals and visitors gather, turning the square into a lively, fragrant mosaic of food, laughter and music.

On the sunbaked promenade, lunch unfolds like a Carnival for the senses: plates piled high with golden fried fish, smoky ribs glazed in island spice, fragrant curried goat, hearty chicken stew and charred steak pass from vendor to vendor. Each bite reflects the island’s blended heritage—Creole heat and French finesse—served alongside cassava, rice and beans, plantain and tangy pickled vegetables that brighten every mouthful.

The Market Woman statue stands like a proud sentinel at the heart of the island — a striking tribute to Saint Martin’s market women. Sculpted in the 1970s by local artist Marty Lynn, the original piece captures both the strength and warmth of the island’s vendors: confident posture, baskets balanced as if heavy with fresh catch and tropical fruit, a weathered face that hints at stories told in salt air and early-morning light. Decades later, Marty’s son Robbie Lynn produced a limited-edition replica, helping cement the image as a lasting emblem of the island’s spirit.

For visitors, the statue is more than public art; it’s a cultural landmark. Photographers linger to frame its silhouette against colourful market stalls, while guidebooks point to it as a perfect meeting spot. Locals nod to it with affection — a visual reminder of the generations who have shaped daily life here. Catch it at golden hour, when the bronze seems to glow and you’ll understand why the Market Woman has become one of Saint Martin’s most recognized and beloved symbols.

Marigot wears its creativity on its sleeve — or rather, its walls. Wandering the town reveals an open-air gallery known as the “Wall of Art,” where bold murals and street pieces turn ordinary facades into vivid storytelling canvases. Local and international artists have left their marks here, weaving scenes that echo the island’s layered history and cultural mix. Colors collide, styles vary from intricate realism to playful abstraction and everyday moments are elevated into memorable tableaux. For anyone exploring Marigot, the murals are a must-see: they offer a bright, visual introduction to the island’s identity and a glimpse into the lives and stories that shape it.

Climb Fort St. Louis Like You Mean It

Perched just north of the bustling market, Fort St. Louis crowns a steep, sunbaked hill—an easy day’s adventure for anyone chasing panoramic views. The climb up is a sweaty, sticky affair, the path steep and exposed to the tropical sun but every step rewards you with shifting vistas: market rooftops shrinking into a patchwork, palm trees swaying below,and the town’s pastel buildings giving way to endless blue. At the summit, the fort’s weathered stone walls frame dramatic ocean views and welcome cool sea breezes that wash away the heat. It’s the kind of spot where you’ll linger—camera in hand—to watch fishing boats trace silver lines across the water and the coastline unfurl under a wide, brilliant sky.

Tip / Fill your backpack with plenty of water and sunscreen before the short climb to Fort St. Louis — the sun hits hard — and get ready to encounter giant iguanas (and tiny ones lurking among the rocks).

A bright splash of canary yellow announces the Roman Catholic Church Marigot as you make your way uphill — the sort of cheerful landmark that begs for a pause and a photo. From there, follow the road as it curves left and climbs steadily; the path winds through charming neighborhood scenes and opens up to sweeping views the higher you go. If you prefer a shorter walk, you can also drive and park in the lot near the fort, then stroll the final stretch to take in the panorama and explore the historic ramparts.

At the parking lot a bright canary-yellow cross flags the way beside a modest “Fort Louis” sign and the low stone entrance. Follow the path up, then tackle the final flight of stairs—each step building the anticipation—until you crest the ramparts and the fort’s panoramic views unfold.

Sat high above Marigot Bay like a silent sentry, Fort St. Louis dates back to the 18th century, when King Louis XVI ruled and colonial rivalries carved the Caribbean into contested turf. This French stronghold commands sweeping panoramas of the harbor and the town below, its weathered stone walls offering a dramatic vantage point over the glittering sea.

Far from a mere postcard backdrop, the fort was built to shield Marigot’s bustling settlement and its vital warehouses from British and Dutch privateers who prowled these waters. Those raiders weren’t after treasure chests so much as everyday commodities that shaped island life: sacks of coffee, mounds of salt, barrels of rum and heaps of cane sugar. Imagining the clatter of cannon and the rustle of sails gives the place an edge of adventure—standing here, you can almost hear history whisper through the breezes that sweep the ramparts.

Today, Fort St. Louis blends history with scenery: explore its battlements, take in the sweeping bay views and let your imagination fill in the past skirmishes and smuggling dramas that once played out in Marigot’s harbor. It’s a must-visit for anyone who appreciates history with a view.

By 1765 the harbor was girded with artillery: cannon batteries crowned three commanding promontories—Pointe Bluff, Round Hill and Marigot Hill—each positioned to sweep the approaches and repel would‑be raiders. Today, those sentinel sites still trace the defensive geometry that once guarded the coast, inviting visitors to imagine the thunder of old artillery while taking in panoramic sea views.

Atop Marigot Hill, the fortress that dominates the harbor began under the watchful eye of Governor Jean-Sébastien de Durat in 1789. That year saw the construction not only of the hilltop fort but also of the island’s prison and a sturdy bridge — practical works meant to secure and connect the settlement. The fort was christened Fort Louis, almost certainly in homage to King Louis XVI, the monarch Durat served. Now, its stone ramparts and commanding views evoke the island’s colonial chapter, a place where history is as visible as the sweep of sea and sky below.

Fort Louis began life as a simple wooden stronghold before evolving into a commanding stone sentinel by the early 1800s. Today’s ruins hint at its once-formidable presence: the fort once fanned down the slopes of Marigot Hill and boasted two extra gun batteries that reinforced its coastal defenses. Imagine the steady routine within its walls — barracks that housed up to 54 troops, a guardroom where watchmen scanned the horizon, a kitchen sending up the scent of hearty rations and a cistern collecting precious rainwater. Exploring the site now, you can still trace the layout of a small military town in miniature, where strategic design met the raw drama of Caribbean seas and sky.

Some historians speculate that English soldiers may have garrisoned its ramparts during periods of occupation, though hard evidence remains elusive. The stone walls stand more as a monument to mystery than to conquest—inviting visitors to imagine the footsteps and flags that might once have animated its courtyards while the sea keeps its quiet, watchful secrets.

In 1851 the fort fell silent, its cannons stilled and its walls handed back to history as the military formally decommissioned the site. Decades later, in 1993–1994, a new chapter began: the Hope Estate Archaeological Association of Saint Martin led a careful restoration and enhancement project, peeling back layers of time to reveal the fort’s stories and breathe renewed life into its weathered battlements. The restored stones stand as a bridge between past and present, inviting visitors to trace the island’s turbulent history and imagine the lives once lived within its ramparts.

Though long abandoned, the fort still commands attention — a weathered sentinel that lays bare the islands’ tangled history. Its crumbling ramparts and silent bastions tell a tale of shared beginnings, of colonial rivalries played out in stone and cannon and of a slow drift toward separation. Those echoes have settled into two distinct yet unmistakably linked territories, their stories woven together like old masonry, each bearing the marks of a common past. Visiting the fort feels like stepping into that layered narrative: you can almost hear the arguments, alliances and departures that shaped the islands, while the vista from the ramparts frames both the divisions and the connections that remain.

High above the coastline, the fort crowns Marigot Hill for good reason. From this strategic promontory the island unfurls in every direction: a sweep of sparkling sea, sailboats dotting the horizon and, on crystal-clear days, the distant silhouette of Anguilla. The height isn’t merely dramatic — it’s deliberate, offering commanding views that once served defense and now reward visitors with a breathtaking 360-degree panorama.

Ascending the fort’s weathered stone steps, a welcome breeze meets you at the summit — a calm, cooling relief that seems to breathe life back into the island’s hot air. The ramparts unfold into panoramic views of the bay: turquoise water edged by rocky shorelines, fishing boats dotting the horizon and the glint of sunlight bouncing off distant rooftops.

Informative panels dotted the peak, their concise stories peeling back layers of the fort’s past — strategic battles, centuries of watchful guardianship and the quiet ways the structure shaped island life. Cannons stood at deliberate intervals along the battlements, their iron muzzles aimed toward the sea as if frozen mid-guard, hinting at the military vigilance that once defined this place.

But what really brings the scene to life are the island’s resident iguanas. Small creatures scurry over sun-warmed stones, medium-sized lizards lounge in the shade and hulking adults move leisurely across the grass, unbothered by visitors. Between the striking coastal vistas, historical touch points and the lively reptile population, the fort feels less like a relic and more like a living tableau of island history and nature.

Catch Rays at Happy Bay Beach via Friar's Bay Beach

If you’re eager to chase island shores, hop another bus and head north toward Happy Bay Beach. The bus drops you at a tiny stop and from there a seemingly endless dirt track unspools ahead — a ribbon of sun-baked earth flanked by scrub and swaying palms. The walk stretches out under a relentless sky; the hot sun presses down with no shade to break its gaze. Each step feels like an amplification of the island’s raw, untamed character, turning the approach into a slow, immersive introduction to the beach that waited at the end of the road.

Tucked between the elegant village of Marigot and the lively strip of Grand Case, Friar’s Bay Beach emerges like a picture-perfect Caribbean secret. This crescent of golden sand on the island’s Caribbean side is famed for its calm, glassy waters and gentle shoreline—ideal for families and anyone craving a worry-free beach day. Palm-fringed shade meets wide, sun-drenched swathes of sand and two laid-back beach bars punctuate the scene, serving cold drinks and casual lunches just steps from the waves. It’s the kind of place where kids can splash safely in shallow water while adults relax with a rum punch and a view that never gets old.

But, this shoreline, the one I first stumbled onto wasn’t the stretch I’d pictured. Heat-hazed and parched, with the sun already signing its name across my shoulders, I made a detour to the lone beach bar—mostly to gulp water, partly for directions. The bartender listened, then nodded toward a nearly hidden trail threading into the scrub. “Follow that,” he said, as if sharing a secret map. Through tangled brush and the hush of coastal birds, the narrow path promised a different kind of beach: quieter, tucked away and waiting like a rumor kept by the sea.

Without a moment of hesitation, I slid my toes into Friar’s Bay’s cool water, felt the brief shock of salt and sand, then pushed off—the day was dwindling and my energy with it. The trailhead was obvious, so I set off, each step carrying me closer to where I wanted to be.

Tip / Skip Google’s default route that drops you at Friar’s Bay and sends you on a rough scramble to Happy Bay like I did. Friar’s Bay is lovely but if your destination is Happy Bay, save yourself the bites and head in on Rue Happy Bay. There’s a simpler option: if you have a car, driving up and parking at the trailhead makes access easy and lets you spend more time soaking up the serene, off-the-beaten-path atmosphere.

Winding over the hill and clinging to the coastline, the trail to Happy Bay Beach reads like a test of character rather than a stroll. Vegetation presses in from both sides — dense, scratchy foliage that catches at sleeves and hair — while a mosaic of rocks and exposed roots demands careful footing. Tiny, determined insects hum in the undergrowth, adding a prickly soundtrack to the ascent. And then there are the iguanas: motionless sentinels perched on sun-warmed rocks, casually surveying the glittering sea as if to remind hikers that this rugged path is very much their domain.

The path stretched ahead like a thin ribbon, Friar’s Bay and its crescent of sand shrinking behind me until the beach looked like a postcard tucked into the folds of the coastline. Each step carried me farther from the surf’s steady hiss, the palms and tide pools reduced to distant detail as the landscape unfurled into a new, unknown chapter.

Don’t turn back, continue. The trail pushes on until it spills onto a windswept grassy plain where the blades rise so high they blur the world beyond. The reward, when the trail finally opens up, is a secluded stretch of sand earned by a wild, slightly unruly journey.

Just over the rise, Happy Beach reveals itself in a sunlit hush beneath the canopy — a small, flawless cove that seems to have been tucked away just for discovery. The way there feels like a miniature adventure: twenty-odd minutes of clambering along the cliff edge and picking a route through a lush, jungle-thick path. It’s a rugged, breath-stealing sort of hike — the kind that makes you feel gloriously alive, if a little sheepish afterward — because, as I later learned, a much kinder shortcut had been waiting all along. Still, stumbling upon that hidden shoreline makes every tangled step feel like part of the story.

Nestled on the island’s leeward side, this little beach has the air of a delightful mystery — a small, secluded, clothing-optional cove that feels wonderfully authentic. Picture white sand, turquoise water and leaning coconut palms framing the shore: framed with a wild edge.

The sea here can be lively, the swell occasionally rolling in to churn up the surf and add a frothy drama to the scene. The warm water tempts you like a tropical elixir, though at times it turns a touch murky and playful, tugging and tumbling toward the rocky fringes. It’s the kind of place that invites both sun-soaked idleness and respectful cautiousness — a sunlit, slightly unruly slice of island charm.

A wind-scoured stretch of sand with no beach shacks or bars gives this cove a rare, almost stark quiet — the kind of place that doesn’t invite long stays, only lingering. The shoreline was sparsely populated: a handful of visitors scattered like punctuation in the sun and a few naturists blending into the scene. When the heat finally became too much, two fellow travelers appeared like a timely breeze; after a brief camaraderie, they gave a lift back down island to one of Sint Maarten’s gems, Mullet Bay Beach, where cool surf and familiar sands offered the perfect relief.

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