Marigot

Tintamarre Island-where volcanic geology collides delightfully with spa decadence in a sort of geological slapstick routine-is the Caribbean's cheeky response to regimented mud treatments and starched masseuses. Located a quick bounce by boat off Saint Martin's shores, the island's volcanic mud baths offer visitors the pleasure of lounging in warm, mineral-rich muck, a luxurious pastime once favored (possibly) by pirates nursing hangovers or French colonists lamenting their powdered wigs in the humidity. Go early morning or late afternoon-beating the day-tripping selfie hordes ensures you'll avoid photobombing someone's honeymoon album while still securing the freshest mud ("fresh" being subjective). Pack drinking water, old swimwear you won't mind turning permanently taupe, biodegradable sunscreen, and perhaps a friend willing to excavate you when your earthy cocoon hardens. Planning a few days ahead is smart-boat charters average around $100 per head, but group discounts exist for those lugging friends or unsuspecting relatives along. Trust me, immersing yourself in volcanic slime isn't just Instagram bait-it's a primordial reconnection, a weird and slippery baptism into island eccentricity, and worth every squelching step simply for the conversation-starter alone.

Hidden in the lush hills of Rambaud, the Loterie Farm Zipline isn't just your average eco-adventure-it's the Caribbean's answer to a midlife crisis, delivered one exhilarating leap at a time. This place has history: once an 18th-century sugar plantation, now it's evolved into an adrenaline-fueled playground, where you soar above mango groves and guavaberry shrubs that probably witnessed colonial shenanigans centuries ago. The best time to strap on your harness and glide through this tropical canopy is in the morning, when island breezes are fresh and the mosquito armies have yet to fully mobilize. Be smart-call ahead to book at least a day or two in advance, as spontaneous decisions on this island rarely pan out as romantically as imagined. Bring about 60 euros and a sturdy pair of sneakers (flip-flops are for tourists nursing pina coladas, not jungle superheroes). And when you find yourself hurtling through the treetops at questionable speeds, just remember: even if you're terrified, sunburned, and insect-bitten, you'll return home with a story impressive enough to silence your most obnoxious, Instagram-savvy friends.

Every full moon, Friar's Bay emerges from its laid-back Caribbean somnolence to throw one delightfully unhinged lunar party. Forget the manicured resorts of Saint Martin's tourist trail; for one glorious night each month, this little stretch of sand sheds its modesty to embrace rhythmic drums, free-flowing rum punches, and barefoot dancing under a moon bright enough to shame the streetlights. Historically speaking, humans gathering beneath the full moon usually meant serious witchcraft or at least a tasteful pagan ritual-but at Friar's Bay, the only worship you'll see centers around straightforward hedonism and the wildly hopeful belief that saltwater cures hangovers. Arrive around sunset to nab a comfortable patch of sand, ideally with a towel, mosquito spray, and spare cash (budget at least $30-$40 to keep your belly full of grilled jerk chicken and your spirits swimming in local rum). Plan just a week or two ahead, but prepare your morning-after excuses now, since things rarely wind down before dawn. Trust me, the Friar's Bay Full Moon Party is one of those rare gatherings that you might regret temporarily during breakfast the next morning-but you'll cherish the bragging rights (and fuzzy memories) for years afterward.