St Maarten / St Martin

St Maarten is the world’s smallest island shared by two nations — the Dutch Sint Maarten (a constituent country of the Kingdom of the Netherlands) and the French Saint-Martin (a French overseas collectivity) — divided since the 1648 Treaty of Concordia by a border you cross without stopping. Entry is visa-free for 90 days for the main Western passports, and crucially the French side sits outside Schengen, so the EU’s EES and ETIAS systems don’t apply.

Air arrivals must file the free St. Maarten Entry Form at entry.sx (mandatory since October 2024) — a quick online declaration.

Use entry.sx and nothing else for the entry form: officials have warned that copycat sites, often the top sponsored search result, charge for what is a free government form — one billed travellers US$139.99. Type the address directly, and ignore any “entry authorisation fee” a third-party site tries to levy.

For such a small island, the two halves feel genuinely different. The Dutch side is the commercial one — Philipsburg’s cruise port and duty-free Front Street, the Simpson Bay casinos and nightlife, Maho Beach under the flight path. The French side is quieter and more epicurean — Marigot’s market and Fort Louis, the gourmet strip of Grand Case, and the long sweep of Orient Bay with its clothing-optional south end.

Because the border is open, you flit between them in a single drive — French lunch, Dutch night out — which is much of the island’s appeal.

• Cruise buzz, casinos, duty-free and nightlifeSkipexpecting quietGothe Dutch side — Philipsburg and Simpson Bay
• Gastronomy and a quieter beachSkipthe cruise crowdsGothe French side — Grand Case and Orient Bay
• Both in a single daySkipworrying about the frontierGojust driving across — it’s open and unmarked

The border is a welcome sign and a monument, not a control — you won’t even slow down — but the two sides keep different currencies, plug sockets and phone networks. Carry a little of both US dollars and euros, and don’t be surprised when your phone flips carrier mid-island.

Maho Beach is the island’s viral set-piece — low-flying airliners skimming the sand on final approach, right over the Sunset Bar at the runway’s edge. It’s a genuine spectacle and a bucket-list photo.

It is also, on departures, dangerous: the thrust from a jet spooling up for take-off can throw a person across the beach, and the warning signs along the fence are not decorative — a tourist was killed there in 2017.

The danger at Maho is the jet-blast on take-off, not the landings — people are injured (and one killed) “fence-surfing” the blast for a thrill. Watch the arrivals from the sand, heed the posted warnings, and get well back from the fence whenever an aircraft is lining up to depart.

The island is marketed on its 37 beaches, and the useful split is by coast. The west/Caribbean side — Mullet Bay above all, plus Grand Case and Baie Rouge — is calm, clear and largely sargassum-free. The east/Atlantic side, headlined by the big resort sweep of Orient Bay (with its clothing-optional south end), gets the surf and the seaweed.

For a reliable swim-and-laze day, point yourself west; Orient Bay is for the scene and the watersports.

If sargassum is running (mainly May–October), it lands on the Atlantic east — Orient Bay and Le Galion — while the Caribbean west (Mullet Bay, Grand Case) stays clear. On a split island you’re never far from a clean beach; just switch coasts.

A single hire car is all you need on the island — you drive on the right on both sides and cross the open border without stopping, so the whole place is a day’s loop. SXM is the regional air hub, which is why so many trips combine it with a neighbour.

The ferries are the bonus: Anguilla is barely 20 minutes from Marigot, St Barths about 45, and Saba a longer run — each an easy day-trip to a very different island.

Take your passport on any ferry day-trip — Anguilla, St Barths and Saba are each a separate country or territory with its own immigration, even though they’re minutes away. The Marigot–Anguilla hop in particular is quick and frequent, and makes a fine half-day.

Aim for the dry mid-December to April window for the calmest seas and the high-season buzz. The June–November hurricane season peaks August to October; Irma in 2017 was the catastrophe, since fully rebuilt — the SXM airport’s new terminal reopened in 2024.

A quirk of the split island is that it runs two Carnivals — the Dutch side’s in late April/early May, the French side’s in the pre-Lent weeks of February or March — so there’s almost always one to time a trip around.

The money is a two-sided affair. On the Dutch side, daily life runs on the US dollar (the local currency became the Caribbean guilder, XCG, in 2025, but tourists rarely touch it); on the French side the euro is official, with dollars taken at poorer rates. Cards work everywhere, so the practical move is to carry a little of both cash.

The island is relatively pricey — imports and high-end French restaurants see to that — but the Dutch-side duty-free on jewellery, liquor and electronics is a real draw.

Spend euros on the French side (Grand Case, Marigot) to avoid the weak dollar-to-euro rate shops apply, and save the duty-free shopping for the Dutch side, where it’s genuinely cheaper. A card covers most things; the cash split just smooths the small stuff on each half.

The island’s best meals are on the French side: Grand Case is styled the “gourmet capital of the Caribbean,” a single street of serious restaurants backed by waterfront lolos — the Creole barbecue grills that are the cheaper, livelier counterpoint — and Marigot’s market for French-Caribbean produce.

The Dutch side brings the nightlife — the Simpson Bay and Maho bars and casinos, the cruise-day bustle of Philipsburg. Put the two together and you get a rare split: French dinner, Dutch night out.

For the real taste of Grand Case, mix a fine-dining restaurant with the lolos — the barbecue grills at the end of the strip are where locals eat, cheaper and just as memorable as the white-tablecloth places. Book the top restaurants ahead in high season; the lolos you just turn up to.