After the most expensive kilometres in the air, you set foot on Statia. The airport has one runway, one gate, and one luggage belt that barely moves.

The military police? A friendly nod. Sometimes they ask what you’re here for, but usually, they already know.
If you’re lucky, your bag is there and you can walk straight outside — provided the customs officer isn’t feeling overly enthusiastic and decides to unpack everything.

Once outside, the only thing you’ll find is a small sign that says taxi — in a spot where no one has ever actually seen a vehicle with that word on it. But… someone will call their cousin, or you’ll simply be placed in the back of a pick-up, along with a colourful collection of construction materials you can perch on.
The ride to your destination rarely goes directly: first, a side mission like picking up a tyre or filling up with fuel. Sometimes, your ride is also used to take someone else to the airport. Meanwhile, everyone waves at everyone — including you. Your first introduction to the Great Statia Wave.

Welcome to Statia — where every taxi is basically a carpool, just without the planning.