Dutch Blonde Beach Bar: Craft Brews and Bay Views in Philipsburg, Sint Maarten

Mark Vogel
May 15
6 min read

Phillipsburg, Sint Maarten ✈

I arrived in Philipsburg, Sint Maarten just as the heat pressed down on Great Bay Beach. The concrete boardwalk radiated warmth, so I looked for higher ground and shade. The heat forced me to find relief, and I climbed the wooden stairs of Dutch Blonde Beach Bar at number 79. The bar sits inside a bright-red windmill façade that rises above the promenade like a beacon. From its open-air second level a steady breeze swept across the deck, turning the noon sun from punishing to manageable.

I leaned on the railing - painted in alternating panels of bottle-green and barn-red - and watched Great Bay’s entire crescent unfold: cruise ships idling to the southeast, the courthouse cupola peering over pastel roofs to the north, and Fort Amsterdam anchoring the far headland. Edison bulbs strung under a pitched cedar roof twinkled even at midday, and woven planters hung at each beam, their ivy spilling toward the view. With a cold drink in hand I let the Caribbean stretch, uninterrupted, to a sharp blue horizon while a fellow guest propped sand-dusted flip-flops on the rail and settled in for the same panorama.

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“Dutch Blonde Beach Bar proves that even in one of the Caribbean’s busiest cruise ports a business can blend craft, sustainability, and a dash of whimsy without losing a sense of place.”

The windmill is more than a playful graphic. Owner Sunil Vaswani chose it as a nod both to Dutch heritage and to the turning of brewery tanks just a mile away in Pointe Blanche. Before he launched Caribbean Brewing Company in early 2019, Sint Maarten imported nearly every pint it poured. Vaswani, an Indian-born entrepreneur who built logistics businesses in West Africa and the Middle East, settled on the island and decided it deserved a homegrown beer. He leased an abandoned warehouse, installed a 20-barrel system, and coaxed brewer Brian Campbell into moving south to run it. Dutch Blonde Ale rolled off the line in test batches by that summer.

Tourism stalled during the 2020 travel shutdown, yet Vaswani doubled down. He gutted the vacant windmill on the Philipsburg boardwalk - once a novelty gift shop - and rebuilt it as a two-level tasting room. He kept locals employed when cruise passengers were scarce, banking on a rebound he believed would come. Dutch Blonde Beach Bar opened quietly that August with picnic tables, beer flights, and a single Bluetooth speaker supplying background music. When cruise ships returned the next spring, the bar was ready with proper taps, live acoustic sets, and seats that rarely stay empty.

Dutch Blonde Ale itself earned wider respect in April 2021, when judges at the London Beer Competition awarded it a silver medal in the Blonde-Pale Ale category - the first time a Sint Maarten label placed in a global blind tasting. Vaswani proudly displays the medal behind the upstairs counter. He told me he keeps one empty bottle from that winning batch in his office as a reminder of how small ideas on small islands can travel far.

I had barely finished photographing the moss-green foliage wall near the entrance - plastic vines studded with yellow and red silk roses - when Vaswani appeared at my table. He introduced himself with the relaxed confidence of someone who believes in his project yet never forgets the island’s easy pace. We talked about brewing in the tropics: the challenge of cold-chaining yeast, the cost of shipping malt, and the satisfaction of rinsing bottles, the old-school way to encourage reuse. He says recycled glass now makes up more than half his bottling run, and the bar’s staff sort empties into marked crates for the next pickup.

Because I keep kosher, the kitchen’s menu was off-limits, but Vaswani didn’t seem put out when I declined the food list. Instead, he recommended a chilled Dutch Blonde poured from the tap. The beer carried light honey notes with an orange-peel finish and tasted brighter than any bottle I had sampled elsewhere. For readers who do not keep kosher, the cooks turn out Dutch pancakes drizzled with Gouda, jerk-chicken tacos finished with mango salsa, deep-fried bitterballen paired with spicy mustard, and an eye-catching slate of frozen cocktails poured into stemmed goblets. I watched servers glide past with turquoise Curaçao slushies topped by maraschino cherries and two-tone mango-orange blends garnished with wedges of fruit - drinks that matched the sea just beyond the rail.

The main bar spans the entire back wall of the upper deck. Shelves of rum and gin line up beside logo glassware; rows of stemmed tulip glasses dangle overhead. An oversized ceiling fan lazily sweeps the air, and the wood-plank ceiling hides speaker cables that feed a soft soca playlist during the day. Wicker chairs with tight-weave backs circle matte-black tables, their legs bolted to the floor to survive the occasional trade-wind gust. Everything feels purpose-built for lingering: the sightline to the anchorage, the constant breeze, the low murmur of conversation never drowned by music.

Dutch Blonde Beach Bar is not all pints and ocean views. Vaswani converted part of the second floor into four escape rooms. A bold banner beside a trellis of faux greenery announces “Dutch Blonde Escapes—the most thrilling escape rooms in the Caribbean.” Inside, players tackle Blackbeard’s Brig, The Lost Jewel of Zanzibar, Lucky Duck Speakeasy, or the eerie Raven Woods. Each game lasts about forty-five minutes, and teams file directly from the deck through a narrow hallway that muffles outside noise. The concept may sound gimmicky, yet the rooms book solid on cruise-ship days, supporting Vaswani’s belief that travelers want experiences that last longer than a single drink.

My own escape that afternoon was the breeze. I spent nearly an hour at the rail watching tenders ferry passengers back to the ships, the sea turning a paler turquoise with each passing cloud. Below, beach vendors reset umbrellas vacated by midday swimmers. Above me, Edison bulbs blinked in the wind, and the playlist shifted to a gentle reggae cover. Patrons chatted in half a dozen languages, staff moved politely through narrow aisles, and somewhere inside an escape-room door clicked open to applause.

When it came time to settle up, Vaswani insisted on a quick tour of the downstairs brew shop. Shelves hold souvenir glasses, logo shirts, and six-packs of every label, yet what caught my eye were the rows of empty Dutch Blonde bottles sorted by color. Each bears a small stamp indicating how many trips it has taken between brewery, bar, and consumer. The record stands at nine cycles. It is a small data point that mirrors the owner’s intention: keep building local systems that serve both visitor and resident, pint and planet.

I stepped outside just as the sun angled west behind the hills. The windmill’s blades cast long shadows across the boardwalk. Tourists queued for sunset selfies against the red façade, clutching plastic take-away cups that glowed amber in the light. I walked down to the sand, the taste of honeyed malt still lingering. Dutch Blonde Beach Bar proves that even in one of the Caribbean’s busiest cruise ports a business can blend craft, sustainability, and a dash of whimsy without losing a sense of place. For travelers who observe kosher laws, the bar remains a drink-only stop, yet it is still worth the climb for its view, its breeze, and a chat with the brewer who turned a windmill into a beacon of island ambition.

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