Mike darted ahead to meet our driver, and I had a sneaking suspicion he was making sure the secret of our destination stayed under wraps. I lingered just outside the airport, still showing scars of Hurricane Irma, and let my skin drink in the thick, tropical air. When I finally strolled over, I was greeted by a driver with a warm smile and a welcome that instantly put me at ease. Bags loaded, van doors shut, we were off, ready to see the place we’d call home for the next seven days.

As we drove, he shared stories about the island, how Irma had left devastation in its wake, and just as recovery was beginning, COVID brought everything to a halt. But it wasn’t a tale of sorrow. Instead, it felt like a love letter to his home, a gentle “please excuse the mess while under construction.” To us, the island was already breathtaking. And the few locals we’d met so far? Beyond welcoming. We felt at home in an instant.

Since the airport is on the Dutch side, we had to cross over to the French side where we’d be staying. Our driver made a quick stop right at the dividing line between the two countries, grinning as he declared in his best (and worst) French accent, “Now I am in France, while you are still in the Netherlands.” His delivery was so terrible that we all burst into laughter before he carried on toward our destination.

The ride took about 30 minutes and was smooth sailing…until the final mile. That’s when things got interesting. First came the steep climb up a mountain road that felt nearly vertical. And just when I thought my nerves couldn’t take more, the road narrowed, hugging the edge of a drop so sheer the valley below looked like it was made for ants. My palms were sweating, my heart was racing, and I was convinced gravity might betray us at any second and send us tumbling into the jungle below.

We obviously made it safely down into the valley and rolled up to our beautiful accommodations. The moment we stepped out of the van, we were greeted with an ice-cold welcome drink, before we even checked in. Let me tell you, it was exactly what I needed to calm my frazzled nerves.

As I wandered into the stylish, tropical lobby, taking in the décor, I finally noticed the name of the place. Secrets Resort & Spa. HA! So that was the big surprise all along: Mike had literally been telling me the name, and I never caught on.

Like I mentioned in a previous post, we took this trip just as the world was opening back up after COVID, and the resort was practically a ghost town. Honestly? It was perfect. There couldn’t have been more than six other couples staying there, which made the whole week feel like a once-in-a-lifetime escape. We were pampered endlessly, never waiting for a thing; it was like we had rented out the entire resort, living out our own little Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous moment. I LOVED IT.

The staff were beyond friendly, and they didn’t just take care of us; they shared their stories, their island traditions, and little pieces of history throughout our stay. By the end of the trip, it felt less like we were visitors and more like part of the island family, and that meant everything to us.

(For anyone planning a trip now: the resort has since changed hands and is now called St. Martin Beach Hotel, and it’s family-friendly.)

After our first dreamy night’s sleep, we met another couple at breakfast who raved about renting a car to explore the island at your own pace. At first, I thought, Great idea! But then the memory of our nail-biting drive up the mountain came rushing back, and just picturing myself or Mike behind the wheel made my palms sweat all over again. After a little convincing from Mike, I gave in, and thank goodness I did. Having that freedom was the best decision ever, and it’s how we truly fell in love with the rest of St. Martin.

✨ Next up: What happens when two island newbies get behind the wheel in a place where the roads are half adventure, half obstacle course? Let’s just say… the journey was just as unforgettable as the destination.