St Maarten: Maho Beach Jet Blast Tour & Cole Bay View

3.43

(7 reviews)

What’s the experience like?

The first thing I noticed was the color — that wild blue of the water near Maho Beach, almost cartoon-bright. Our guide, Winston, had already pointed out a few odd little details about Dutch St Maarten (he called it “the friendly side,” which made me laugh), but when we pulled over at Harold Jack hill for a quick photo stop, I kind of just stood there. The view down over Cole Bay and Simpson Bay is bigger than you expect — boats scattered like dice, sun sharp on the rooftops. Someone in our group asked about the man the hill’s named after; Winston grinned and told us a story about Harold Jack that I probably couldn’t repeat right (something about politics and rum), but it felt like a real place, not just a postcard.

Getting to Maho Beach didn’t take long — maybe twenty minutes? The air felt thick with sunscreen and fried food from the bar behind us. You could hear this low buzz of voices, then suddenly everyone’s attention snapped up as someone yelled “JetBlue!” and the DJ announced an arrival. I’d seen videos before but standing there as a plane roared in barely overhead is something else entirely. The sand whipped up against my legs (I’m still finding grains in my bag) and for a second everyone ducked or cheered or just stared open-mouthed. Some people swam, others just waited for the next landing with their phones ready — it’s weirdly addictive.

I wandered off for a drink (the bartender winked when I tried to pronounce “Guavaberry” — pretty sure I butchered it) and watched kids building lopsided sandcastles while another flight lined up to land. There’s something communal about it all — strangers swapping tips on where to stand for photos, locals laughing at tourists who get too close to the fence. We had plenty of time to swim or just sit back and let the chaos happen around us. I thought I’d be bored after one plane but honestly, every landing feels different.

We piled back into the van (AC never felt so good), sandy and sunburnt in patches, sharing photos over free WiFi as we drove back toward our hotels. It wasn’t what I expected — more raw energy than perfect postcard moments. Sometimes travel is just being surprised by how loud an engine can be overhead, or how quickly you feel part of a crowd you’ll never see again.