Great Bay Beach and Boardwalk, Philipsburg, Sint Maarten: Sand, Shops, and Ships
- Mark Vogel
- May 6
- 6 min read
Updated: Jun 25
Phillipsburg, Sint Maarten ✈
I reached the eastern end of Philipsburg, Sint Maarten just after sunrise and walked the few steps from Walter Plantz Square onto the Great Bay Beach Boardwalk. The wood planks were already warm, but the air still carried a light salt smell that hinted at the long history of this shoreline. Behind me, Front Street’s pastel façades were slow to open, while ahead the boardwalk curved for more than a mile along the crescent of sand. The gentle surf of Great Bay lapped only a few yards from my shoes, and Fort Amsterdam’s silhouette marked the western headland, an early reminder that Philipsburg’s story stretches far beyond tourism.
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“The place is at once old and new, and I left convinced that anyone with a day in Sint Maarten can trace the island’s entire story simply by walking the length of the boardwalk.”
Philipsburg began in 1763 when John Philips, a Scottish captain in Dutch service, laid out a trading town between Great Bay and the Great Salt Pond. The pond held what everyone on both halves of the island called “white gold.” Salt harvesting dominated the economy for generations, shipped north to New England and across the Atlantic to preserve fish and meat. A small courthouse, first built in 1793 and twice rebuilt after fires, still stands on Front Street to prove the town’s commercial roots. By the mid-twentieth century the salt industry had faded, and after 1949 the ponds produced no more export-grade salt. The shift cleared the way for tourism, though hurricanes periodically set progress back. Hurricane Luis in 1995 wrecked much of the waterfront, and when the modern boardwalk opened in the early 2000s it became both a recovery project and a new economic lifeline.
Today the promenade presents a continuous ribbon of weathered hardwood bordered by sea-grape trees, beach cafés, water-sports kiosks, and shaded seating areas. Metal plaques mark distances for joggers; blue-and-white benches let beachgoers rinse off sand before re-entering town; and the boardwalk’s seaward edge is low enough that nothing blocks the view of the wide bay. From the sand you can see planes climbing out of Princess Juliana International Airport about six miles away, but the dominant sight is the anchored cruise fleet: Oasis-class ships rise behind the breakwater at A. C. Wathey Pier, roughly a twenty-minute walk or five-minute water-taxi ride.
Front Street parallels the boardwalk one short block inland. Its narrow, one-way lane is lined with jewelry stores, electronics shops, perfumeries, and the occasional colonial building. The two-story courthouse with its wooden cupola is still the town’s reference point; a Guavaberry rum storefront occupies one corner, and tailors beckon passers-by to try linen shirts cut for the tropics. Mid-morning crowds are mainly cruise passengers clutching shopping bags, but I slip down an alley to reach Back Street. This parallel road feels more local. Small supermarkets, phone-repair stalls, and open-air produce vendors replace the luxury boutiques. The island bus depot sits here too, and minivans fan out across the Dutch side from this unassuming terminus. Walking between the two streets reveals how closely luxury tourism and everyday life sit beside each other in Philipsburg.
Returning to the boardwalk just before noon, I watched water taxis shuttle groups ashore. The boats nose up to a floating dock near Bobby’s Marina, and visitors step straight onto the sand. From my spot I counted four vessels tied up at the cruise pier - two Royal Caribbean giants and two midsize ships - each discharging thousands of passengers who soon filled the streets. The rhythm is predictable: a sudden swell of foot traffic mid-morning, tapering in the early afternoon when everyone heads back on board for a late-departure sail-away. During that brief window, vendors sell chilled drinks, sunscreen, and rent out beach chairs.
The heat forced me to find shade, and I climbed the stairs of the Dutch Blonde Beach Bar at number 79 on the boardwalk. The bar, set inside a bright-red windmill façade, is best known for Dutch Blonde craft beer brewed on the island. From the open-air second level I enjoyed a steady breeze that made the noon sun tolerable. The vantage point puts Great Bay’s entire arc in frame: cruise ships to the southeast, the courthouse cupola peeking over merchant roofs to the north, and Fort Amsterdam at the far point. I ordered a cold drink and let the sea stretch, uninterrupted, to the horizon.
Back on the sand, families floated in chest-deep water that remained calm thanks to the bay’s shelter. Visibility reached the seabed, and beach attendants kept watch from red-and-white towers spaced every few hundred yards. Kayaks and Jet Skis stayed outside a buoy-marked swimming zone. The boardwalk’s upgrades include freshwater showers, and I took advantage before heading inland once more for a different perspective. I followed Hurricanes Alley - a narrow passage lined with murals depicting the 2017 storms that hit the island. Locals painted them as a reminder of how quickly fortunes change here and how much had already been restored.
Late afternoon brought a softer light, and Front Street’s balconies cast long shadows over the pavers. I spent half an hour in the Guavaberry Emporium listening to staff explain how the island fruit, steeped in rum, became Sint Maarten’s unofficial drink. A short walk away, Back Street was still busy with schoolchildren navigating around vegetable stalls. Many residents use Back Street for daily errands because prices run lower than on Front Street, and the makeshift food stands serve johnnycakes and rotis to taxi drivers waiting for fares.
Around five o’clock I returned to the deck of Dutch Blonde to watch the evening shift. The light modules built into the railings came on gradually, and ceiling fans spun overhead. Cruise ship horns echoed across the harbor as each ship prepared to sail west. From above, the sand below appeared almost empty again; in less than an hour, the cruise crowds had thinned to a handful of hotel guests and locals. Downstairs, musicians set up for a live set, and bartenders rinsed glassware. I finished one last drink and descended to street level for a final walk along the shore.
The Great Salt Pond, visible just beyond the courthouse, mirrors the bay at dusk. Although no salt is harvested today, the pond remains central to Philipsburg’s layout and continues to influence drainage and flooding patterns. A monument near the main roundabout honors the enslaved laborers who once toiled in the salt pans. Informational panels outline production volumes - several thousand tons per year in the nineteenth century - and include photographs from the final harvest in 1949. The hillside above the pond is dotted with new residential developments, a sign that land once seen as industrial is being repurposed for the growing population.
Walking back toward Little Bay Road, I passed Fort Amsterdam’s access track. The fort predates the town by more than a century and witnessed skirmishes between Dutch, French, and Spanish forces. From its crumbling cannons, soldiers once protected the anchorage that I had admired earlier from the bar. The layers of defense, trade, salt extraction, and tourism stack neatly here, and the modern boardwalk feels like just the latest addition in a long narrative of adaptation.
Night had settled when I reached the courthouse one final time. Streetlights illuminated the wooden gables, and a light sea breeze pushed reggae rhythms along Front Street. Vendors closed shutters over display cases; a final water taxi puttered toward the pier. I looked across the sand to the boardwalk, its evenly spaced lampposts reflecting off the wet shoreline. Great Bay Beach and the boardwalk show how Philipsburg moved from salt to retail to cruise tourism while keeping history within arm’s reach. I experienced that transition in a single day: entering on century-old streets, cooling off in a bar shaped like a Dutch windmill, and watching mega-liners depart under the shadow of a seventeenth-century fort. The place is at once old and new, and I left convinced that anyone with a day in Sint Maarten can trace the island’s entire story simply by walking the length of the boardwalk.
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