Trip
Report: May 11 - 25, 2003
by TMinatra
Editor's Note: Our 2 week trip to St. Barths can really be summed up thusly: “Eat well, drink better, sleep a lot, laugh more and be at one with the universe. Rinse, repeat.” The longer version follows, really more of a trip diary than a trip report. Tune in and out as your interests direct.
Sunday, May 11. “On the Road Again, Just Can’t Wait to Get on the Road Again…” Willie Nelson. J. and I meet in St. Marten, with the unusual occurrence of my flight from CLT arriving before hers from MIA/DFW. We’ve booked “illegal” connections on Air Caraibes within 35 minutes of our arrival in SXM, hoping for good airplane karma assisted by the fact we’re traveling in first class (thank you frequent flier miles) w/no checked luggage. Although I timely clear SXM security, neither of us is on the manifest for the 2:30 departure as I’ve told the agent J. is behind me on the AA from Miami, and I promised not to leave SXM without her. (This is a rule we made after one year being on Winair flights scheduled 10 minutes apart; being separated and finally finding each other in the Match checkout line 2 hours later: with identical, filled to the brim shopping carts. The clerks didn’t think it was nearly as funny as we did.) The A.C. agent sees us at the gate, smiles and says we’re on the next flight and we settle in to chat with what will surely be the last glass of bad wine for 2 weeks. 45 minutes later, we’re in paradise; we pick up our Terios with full time 4 wheel drive from Maurice's (formerly Thrifty) and the rental agent calls Kim from Saint Barths VIP, the on-island contact for French Caribbean International. Shortly thereafter, Kim arrives and of course, she's darling.
We follow Kim from the airport to the villa, trying to pay attention to landmarks that might permit us to reverse engineer our path to make our 7 pm. dinner at the Tapas Bar at Eden Rock with our friend Tim, part time island resident. (If you’ve ever happened across a totally fit man on a mountain bike that appears to be enjoying the grueling task of biking in St. Barths, it's likely Tim. Particularly if he has a southern accent. Last year he was training for his ride w/the group of Lance Armstrong wannabees that does the same route at about the same time as the Tour de France;, which he said was an awesome, if grueling, experience. This year we think maybe he just likes the challenge of avoiding the traffic, auto and other, on the roads of St. Barths.)
Our first view of L’Enclos is breathtaking; this is a very St. Barths style compound with multiple bright yellow cases trimmed in green and white. The edgeless pool appears to drift off into the ocean, and we note that the sun is beginning to dip in the sky towards sunset. (For more on the villa, please send a PM or your email address.) However, the mosquito population of the island seems to be concentrating on my ankles, so we make a quick run to Match for coils and that DEET-filled roll-on bug goo. Upon our return, we grab some wine from the stash we pre-ordered for delivery, noting that Pascal does good work: some of every flavor is thoughtfully chilled. We ascend to the sunset terrace and enjoy our Chateauneuf-du-pape Blanc, watching the sun slip into the ocean off to our right as the harbor lights in Gustavia begin to blink to our left. We are suspended between endings and beginnings, of day and night, of work and holiday, of leaving home and of coming home to our island.
Before we know it, it's nearly 7. We hurriedly slip into something less travel, more St. Barths and ease over to Eden Rock, arriving on time St. Barths style, which is to say about 10 minutes late. We’re met by the valet, which sort of cracks us up, as the parking is right in front and doesn’t look too challenging. Tim hears us before he sees us, as J. has sneaked up behind him and put her hands over his eyes. We enjoy a great evening, laughing, talking and generally catching up over a couple of bottles of wine and 8 or 9 small plates, including a marvelous smoked salmon and a nice rare grilled tuna. It's not terribly late when we arrive back at the villa, but we forego stargazing for another night for some much-needed shut-eye. However, about 3 am, my eyes pop wide open and I lie very still, just being happy.
Monday. May 12. “Girls Just Want to Have Fun”, Cyndi Lauper. Subtitle: The Dixie Chicks in Paradise. We wake around full daylight, 6ish, and have coffee and juice on the top terrace. Hit the bakery for breakfast, opting to consume on premises as we think through the errands list for the morning. Quiche legume, coffee and Oraginia overlooking the ocean; yep, we’re in St. Barths. We go to the gas station for a replacement charger for the St. Barths cell phone and a phone card, thanks to tips received from posters on this site. Next, we grab our Esthederm sun care regimen from St. Barths Energie Sante, (next to Alain's Photography), euros from the ATM, and then we hit Match, time-tested computerized shopping list in hand. We scratch off “wine” as we congratulate ourselves on the wisdom of engaging Pascal for this task, and recount the fun of having multiple cases of wine there at the villa upon our arrival. Just for fun, we check a price in Match on one of our wines: it's about 40% higher, plus we would have had to carry multiple bottles into the villa, down that steep driveway!
We head home, unload groceries and realize that if C., my sister and the third participant in our girls’ week, is successful in convincing the kind Air Caraibes folks to put her on the earlier flight, she will be arriving in about 4 minutes. We dash back to the airport, and as we turn left from the road to Colombier to the airport, an Air Caraibes plane nearly brushes the top of our car. We just know she's on board! We find a parking space and watch as C. and one other passenger deplane and stop briefly at immigration. “Oh, so sorry, no one's there, it's closed for lunch!” Hugs all round. It's nearly 1 pm, so we head back to the villa for lunch. As C. unpacks, we discover a large gecko lizard has taken up residence on the wall next to the safe in the closet of the Verandah Suite. She asks if it is a joke, and I assure her there was no room in my rollaboard for jokes, especially after cramming in 4 large acrylic wine goblets. She gently prods the potentially rubber gecko facsimile with a plastic coat hanger, the response of which is that this real live gecko moves closer to the safe. Lunch follows, poulet, greens, cheese plate and Pouilly-Fume. Pool and sun; C. can’t believe one must screen for mid-afternoon sunning in St. Barths. I settle into a hammock with the house book and am startled to find someone from Knoxville, TN (about 90 miles from me) was at L’enclos in March, and also to find my SBHOnline “handle” with best wishes for a fabulous vacation from Linda! I feel like Steve Martin in “the Jerk” – I’m published!!
Francois arrives at 3 pm for manicures for all and one pedicure, which none of us engages in regularly at home. We’re way into the wine, the sun and the fact we’re three responsible grownups with no responsibilities (save those we choose) for a week. Francois is charming and a lot of fun; she seems nonplussed when we sing along loudly and off key with the Dixie Chicks: “Earl had to die.” Francois is an excellent manicurist. She finishes up around 6:30, and we head to the sunset deck with a bottle of chilled red Mercurey, and some cheese.
During the sunset, we engage in one of my favorite St. Barths pastimes, eating and drinking while talking about what to eat and drink next. Given that C. has traveled on the red eye from SFO-JFK and JFK-SXM, we decide to cook in so that if she falls asleep face first into her plate, it's a shorter schlep to her bed. We pass a very pleasant evening, cooking together in the well-equipped kitchen and listening to music. I pound veal scallops into submission, and whip up a mustard cream sauce. J trims the haricot vert and cooks them down with parma proscuitto. C gets light duty due to possible jet lag: she assembles tomato, mozzarella and basil salad, plays DJ, and keeps the Chateauneuf-du-pape Rouge flowing.
Tuesday, May 13. “Island Girls”, Elton John. Subtitle: C's Welcome to St. Barths Party. The first of the daily massage sessions begins at 9 am today; we are so happy to see our friend Nadia. She is as cute as ever! We set up the table on the top deck, and J. bravely takes the first turn. C. wakes just in time to meander to the top deck for her massage. While C. is in session, J. and I run into Gustavia to pick up our book stash, pre-ordered from Susan at Funny Face books. Randy Gurley happens in while we’re in the shop, and we catch up with him. We score the first of the trip sussie pile, an exceptionally funny book from the children's section called “Walter, the Farting Dog.” (It sounds so elegant in Susan's British accent!) Although the book is allegedly for my 8-year-old nephew, we all read it and hoot. We also find a very cute purse for my 4-year-old niece, who is prone to making announcement in the middle of Wendy's along the lines of “Do you like my new purse? I got it last weekend in St. Barths.”
We peruse and select goodies from Maya's to Go for lunch: some kind of cold seaweed salad, beef rolls w/mozzarella and sun-dried tomatoes, and her famous gateau chocolate w/coconut ice cream and other significant caloric carriers. We note that the shop's 2000 Château Phelan Segur from Saint-Estpehe is priced 45% more than the 1998 vintage recommended and stocked for us by Pascal. We haven’t met him yet, but we’re in love. Sun, naps, pool time follows. On the way back to the Verandah Suite, CJ and I find the biggest caterpillar we’ve ever seen. It's black and white striped with a red head, and it is no shorter than a foot in length. It is systematically stripping leaves off one of the trees in the courtyard area in front of the room. Little do we realize at the time that this is to become a metaphor for us in a short while.
After much discussion as to where C.'s first island restaurant experience should occur, we decide on Ti St. Barths. We are unfashionably early and the music and crowds are quiet, but both pump up after our first course of (what else) hot goat cheese salads w/honey. We are laughing so much that other patrons start participating in our conversation. Alain snaps his first shot of the trip and wags his finger that we can see the proofs anytime after 10 am tomorrow. We then turn our attention to grilled veal prime, fish in parchment, and the Big Ribs. (Did I mention all three of us are originally from Texas and thus can more than hold our own on the carnivore front?) Dessert is something called a Pompom girl, which I want to order for the name alone, but turns out to be quite delightful, a sort of apple tart/crumble cross with some of that terrific smooth ice cream/gelato.
Wednesday, May 14. “In the Navy,” Village People. Massage sessions reconvene on the upper deck. From the lower pool terrace, we sight a huge battleship. This momentarily stuns us; how catywampus is the world for anyone's military to invade St. Barths? We realize the multiple white ant-size critters scattered on the multiple decks are navy personnel in dress whites. The ship is headed for the harbor, so we decide to head to the nerve center of the island (Le Select) for lunch and for news. And so it comes to pass that we meet up with the Royal Swedish Navy, on training maneuvers in St. Barths. Tough duty! The leader of the pack is Tony, who complains about the high beer prices on the island and tells us we all need to visit Sweden. Just before our escape, he offers war reparations in the form of a navy blue baseball hat emblazoned w/the logo and initials of the RSN. This instantly marks us, and for the remainder of the day we meet more RSN folks all over the island, from Saline Beach to St. Jean shops. The winds are really up at Saline, and the sand is whirling about in a stinging sort of way, so our stay is relatively short. On the way home, we score floats and noodles for the pool at Casaurina, and additional provisions from Ki-ki-e-mo and Match.
J. hosts a sunset party on the upper deck, with a nice cheese and pate platter and chilled St. Veran. The sunset is nice, with minor amounts of color. We decide that the air around St. Barths is just not polluted enough to offer spectacular colors every day. We check the progress of the giant caterpillar: still eating.
We arrive at L’Espirit Salines a bit after our 8 p.m. reservation, and are greeted warmly by Christoph, who fills us in on island developments since our February trip, including the opening of a spa at Isle de France that he has experienced and found wonderful. He asks when the husbands arrive, and how many will be coming. J. replies “Ideally, three, but we’ll have to see on Saturday.” Of course, the three of us know that C.'s husband is at home with their kids and our mother, and that J. as of this moment does not have a husband. But it's only Wednesday, and we ARE in St. Barths, so who knows by Saturday what the situation will be.
We are coddled and cosseted as we devour tuna sashimi, spinach salad w/parmesan and braesole, and crab cakes made w/risotto on a bed of roasted red pepper sauce served w/asparagus tips. Main courses include perfectly grilled mahi-mahi, a well-seasoned crevettes kabob and lemon grass chicken. A wonderful Pouilly-Fusse accompanies all. We are unable to take advantage of the dessert menu, which is all chocolate that night, but find room for the marvelous lemon grass rum.
Thursday, May 15. “It's a Marvelous Night for a Moondance” Van Morrison, Moondance. Subtitle: Never Eat Anything Bigger Than your Head Twice in One Day. Massage sessions continue on upper deck, again beginning at 9 am. I am a “no mass” today, so I stand by the telephone w/the list of our food/dining wants for the next few days, and suddenly wish for a scheduling board, like the one in “Murphy Brown.” C. is hungry for lobster, and a few phone calls turn up grilled lobster at L’Indigo at the Guanihani (“oui, every day madam”) so I make a luncheon reservation for 1:30. Being Thursday, it's fresh mussels night at La Marine, a not to be missed St. Barths experience made more enticing by the fact that West Coast mussels are currently incapable of consumption and C. loves em. I choose the 8:30 sitting, reasoning any tiny little lunch will be long gone by then.
And perhaps it would have been, but the “medium” lobster that C. and I split approached 1200 grams. It is presented for our inspection prior to preparation, and snaps around a bit as if to escape, but no such luck. It is grilled, well-seasoned and big enough to satisfy any lobster craving. J. enjoys a beautifully composed lobster and crevette salad. The setting here for lunch is lovely, overlooking the pool and the beach. Some windsurfers entertain us as they scoot up and down the beachfront. We are in a “just off the beach” mode, (extremely casual dress) as are most patrons in the restaurant. I can’t resist one crème brulee for a sweet finish, and we are all just this side of “implosion level” full.
Naps, sun, books back at the villa. The caterpillar has stripped the leaves from 3 of the 5 branches of the tree it is working; and it is still eating. What a model of inspiration: never give up! We head into Gustavia around 7 to do a little shopping and walking around before dinner, hoping these small but well-intentioned efforts will somehow produce miraculously empty stomachs. Once at La Marine, C. and I start w/the excellent and heavy on the garlic Caesar salads, while J. continues in search of the “escargots most closely approximating Vincent Adam” search. C. and I then dig into bowls of about 4 dozen mussels in cream sauce, and J. indulges in the grilled lobster of a reasonable size. Alain appears before we are truly miserably full and snaps what is one of the better shots of our holiday. We go straight home, too full for words. We struggle to hoist ourselves to the upper deck for the lunar eclipse. C and I remember aloud that we saw our last lunar eclipse together at the Outer Banks nearly 7 years ago. The eclipse is an amazing sight, with the moon floating above the harbor: now you see it, now you don’t. This is the first night we’ve really been able to see those fabulous St. Barths stars, and we enjoy the darkness for about an hour and a half that makes the starts visible. .
Friday, May 16. “You Say It's Your Birthday” Beatles. Subtitle J's Birthday Do-over. The sisters wake up feeling poorly, choose Sprite over coffee, and a concerned J. (a non-mollusk eater) engages in a series of questioning to determine whether perhaps the mussels were bad. The sisters assure that if anything was bad, it was only the choice to try to eat them all; we have what can only be assessed as food hangovers. Resolving never to eat again, we decide massages are not the best choice and leave a message for Nadia, whom we know is getting ready for her son's birthday party on Saturday anyway. The caterpillar is still eating, despite the fact it should have exploded by now. C and I laugh nervously; what a real life mirror this fuzzy critter has become!
We move around very slowly, until the idea of a beach breakfast picnic materializes as a way to begin J's do-over birthday celebration. (She was mid-trial in April on the calendar birthday; not a time for celebration.) We grab a chilled bottle of Tattinger Brut Reserve, and hit the bakery, scoring three kinds of pizza, a chicken baguette sandwich, and an almond croissant. When we arrive at Gouverneur beach, we are down one sandwich, pronounced “medicinal” by C., who has consumed it in the back seat in the 5-minute drive. There is only one other person on Gouverneur Beach at 9 am, and he wishes us “good holiday” as he hears the sound of our cork popping. The sisters forget their pledge to never eat again. We sing “Happy Birthday” to J. We picnic, laugh and watch the blues change in the ocean. Some semblance of order is restored in the universe. (Thanks to Ric for reminding us of the loveliness of an early morning picnic at Gouverneur.)
We sun and splash in the pool the rest of the morning. Lunch is on the upper terrace, J's excellent and healing tuna, greens, a cheese plate and some Sancerre. Naps all round, and then some reading time. We dress early for dinner and light candles for Shabbat; then head to town, determined to score some shopping chores before the arrival of “the husbands” on Saturday. Our friend at Laurent Effel welcomes us back; she asks how long we’re staying and what color leather investments we’d like to make this trip. She also tells us that most US bankcards, particularly Visa and MasterCard, begin declining charges from St. Barths after the first two or three. She advises that the best course of action is to call from the shop at the immediate moment of the decline, and work it out on the spot. Sure enough, my BOA Visa is declined despite the fact I called the night before I left and conversed w/the anti-fraud unit about the particulars of the trip. (This happens a few other times to everyone in our party during the trip.) On the way back to the car, we find CD's w/a Ti St. Barths mix at Patti's Made in West Indies store and some peanuts in the shell at AMC. ( For some reason, this is the only place we’ve been able to find salted roasted in the shell nuts for the last several trips; our “husbands” like them w/beverages poolside.)
Having run into the Gurleys’ all over the island for the past several days, we take it as a sign it's time to return to Maya's after a 4-year hiatus. Our reservations are for 7:30, and when we arrive there is a funeral in process at the cemetery. We feel a little bit like intruders as we jockey for a parking place.
We are delighted to find sashimi thon on the menu. We share w/C. the story of how in years past we would call Susan at Maya's immediately upon our arrival on the island and pester her about the sashimi thon; could she please reserve us for whatever night it was appearing? C. makes the mistake of assuming that one plate will serve “la table;” J. gets a murderous look in her eyes as I warn “She’ll fork you; best to get your own.” We follow with fabulous entrees: red snapper, a crevettes creation and a mahi-mahi that I could not finish; surely it must have been in excess of 9 ounces. I know there have been some rumblings about portion sizes at Maya's, but they were just flat out BIG this night. Maya was really one of the first on the island to incorporate West Indies concepts w/French, to serve a small but always extremely fresh menu; and her cuisine remains a happy marriage of ideas that carries well into execution. All in all, our service was excellent, the staff friendly and as always gorgeous. (Is being beautiful a core competency of wait staff here? How exactly does one advertise a vacancy?) We celebrate J's do-over birthday in fine style. Maya and Randy send the justifiably famous gateau chocolat w/a candle, along w/some bubbly and port, with their compliments and best wishes.
Saturday, May 17. “She's a Bad, Bad Girl; She Don’t Ever Behave.” Jimmy LaFave, Bad Bad Girl, Texoma CD. Subtitle: Retail Therapy Interferes with Taxi Service for the Husbands. Rain, rain, rain, and more rain. Not the typical island shower for 10 minutes, followed by a rainbow and clear skies, but constant “real” rain. What to do but shop? We head to Gustavia and park on the harbor. As we work our way into town, Susan beeps by and hangs her head out the window: Pascal is in the shop! UP we go, and quickly figure out that the man insisting he knows nothing of a Pascal is in fact Pascal, our wine consultant, and Susan's husband. We chat a bit and gush over his wine selections for us while he stands a little embarrassed and a lot outnumbered and knows it.
Upon our return to the car, we discover we’ve got a dead battery (lights left on). We call Maurice's on the St. Barths cell, and dispatch one member of the group to AMC for libations to sustain us during the wait. We are just barely into the first 4 oz. plastic cup of bubbly when the Calvary arrives. 4 minutes and a 10 E. tip later, we are headed to St. Jean, where a big “sidewalk sale” is in progress. We score leather goods at Elysee Caraibes, and a huge stash of children's clothes at the little shop in the corner to the left of Andy's (Vaval maybe?) then head to Andy's for lunch.
As we enter, J. bursts out laughing because there is our friend Thierry, the prince of a guy formerly w/Vincent Adam. (also Do Brazil, the Deck and others) We missed him on our last trip in February; but have a history of crossing paths serendipitously nearly every. We find out his twins are 8 years old now; we got them baby presents, how can this be? We console ourselves by ordering a copious amount of food, including beef carpaccio and escargot which J. pronounces the leading contender in the “most like Vincent Adam” intensive study. We enjoy pizzas and Beaujolais before heading to the airport for the first of the three times. No plane, no husbands. Back to St. Jean. 25 minutes later, back to the airport, No plane, no husbands. Back to St. Jean. Each time, the amused Air Caraibes personnel tell us it will be 30 minutes until the next plane.
As we approach the terminal on the third trip back, the cell phone rings. We know who it is, it's Tree, my husband, who claims to have been waiting for half an hour although we are certain it's been less than that since our second trip to the airport. As proof of our return visits, there are three Caribes in the car, in varying stages of chilliness. We head to the villa for sun and pool time, as he works his situation as a forgotten man to the hilt. All shopping bags go to J's room to be sorted later.
We’ve reserved a table for 4 at L’Orchidee at Christopher for 8 pm. As we descend the road from Colombier, we see-- is that lightening?? No, it is a spectacular fireworks display. Since there is no holiday we know of, we conclude that a Saturday night in St. Barths is reason enough for such a celebration. We later learn that the fireworks celebrated a wedding reception at Eden Rock.
It is a quiet night at L’Orchidee; with the exception of one couple having drinks, we are the only patrons. I love the off-season in St. Barths!! (We passed Ti St. Barths on the way in, and it was jam-packed, even at 8 pm.) There is lovely piano music, and we settle in with a Pouilly-Fuisse and a St. Emilion to peruse the menu. No point in J. looking at starters; she is a foie gras girl who has tasted around the world, and this is her favorite place to indulge. She chooses the grilled foie gras; additional starters include a literal VAT of fish soup; shrimp lasagna in brandy cream sauce, and a tuna “sort of” spring roll. Entrees follow: a filet for the Tree; C. has lobster risotto (on the theory that too much of a good thing is wonderful), J. has duck breast with Asian spices and I have lamb tenderloin. We have a third bottle of wine and 2 desserts for the table before we are through laughing for the evening. Service is impeccable as always; we love the anticipation of the silver domes being removed from the presentations.
Sunday, May 18. “Soak Up the Sun”, Sheryl Crow. Tree and J. power walk in the am while C and I undertake the bakery run; there is a traffic jam in the parking lot of the bakery. We park across the street at the entrance to the school/health club and experience pleasant indecision at the glass cases. Champagne breakfast on the pool terrace is followed by sun and pool time; and before long, it's time to slide into some casual clothes for our 1 pm reservation at Le Gaiac @ Le Toiny. We are seated poolside, order up Chateauneuf-du-pape Blanc and plan our attack on the buffet. (I dream year round of those grilled vegetables, particularly the eggplant. No sign of a return on J.'s minted pea salad; we fear it's been permanently retired, as this is its 4th or 5th absence.) Brunch is a 2-½ hour affair and the restaurant is empty by the time we leave. We drive home cautiously, wondering aloud what they put in the food that makes you so sleepy.
Back at the villa, naps all round, some pool time and then sunset on the sunset terrace. The sunset is more colorful tonight; we have contented moments of quiet occasionally interrupted by the noises from the “wa-hoo house” up the mountain. On the 3 or 4 nights that this house was inhabited during our stay (none of them sequential), it was by some large crowds having a great noisy time. With each new drink or additional dunk in the pool, a loud “wa-hoo” rang out. (First-nighters; we’ve all been there.) We wonder if perhaps one of the agencies uses this house as a “way station” if the villa of choice isn’t available upon arrival.
Eventually we start thinking of dinner, and decide to eat in once J. volunteers to make her from scratch champagne risotto to which we add fresh Portobello mushrooms. We roast a pan of asparagus and cherry tomatoes with sea salt, cut up a poulet for anyone so inclined, and uncork the 1998 Gran Vin du Château Phelan Segur, St. Estephe. Are we in heaven or just as close as we can be on earth? We stargaze for a while, but crash pretty early, high on carbohydrates.
Monday, May 19. “I Got a Caribbean Soul I Can Barely Control, and Some Texas Hidden Here In My Heart.” Jimmy Buffet, Migrations. Subtitle: The St. Barths Tennis Challenge. We have coffee on the sunset terrace; the sleepy moon is still visible and the mourning doves are cooing. C. and Tree discuss tennis as an option; they play each other once or twice every 2 or 3 years when we are on vacation. They ask “one of their French girls” (I can ask for the check in poorly accented French; J's skills are much more advanced) to make some calls. Since it's my husband and my sister, I call around and determine that the closest courts that also rent racquets is the Manapany; where they can have it all and have a ball for a mere 20 euros. Since it's nearly 9 already, and the closest they’ve come to getting ready to play in talking about it, I reserve the court for 10. They depart the villa at about 9:40; water bottles, towels and swimsuits in hand. The saner two, J. and I, remain at the villa and have massages again with Nadia.
Our tennis champions return home at 11:30, having declared a 6-all tie. They are red-faced, hot and a little squeamish, so they fall into the pool and swill water and Caribes, not necessarily in that order. Lunch is at the villa, J's famous bread salad, and is followed by books and naps. C. and I head to St. Jean for the last of the trip sussies, as she must return to real life tomorrow. We return to the villa w multiple bags, and just in time for the most spectacular sunset yet. My chair holds small surprise package: a marvelous necklace of the island from Diamond Genesis that I had previously admired in an ad. It is in honor of my birthday, which is actually until the following Sunday, but who wants to celebrate your birthday as you’re leaving St. Barths? It is stunning and I am (temporarily) speechless.
Eddy's for dinner; the vanilla fish is outstanding but our tennis players are suffering a little heat exhaustion. Tree can rally enough to eat dinner, but C. can not. At all. We eat quickly, assuring the distressed waitresses that our hurry is no reflection on the food. Somewhere in this blur, Alain snaps a photo just as the food arrives, so at least C. can see what she would have had for dinner had she been able to enjoy it. We “medivac” C. home to bed and force Sprite in her while J and I pack her bags.
Tuesday, May 20. “Are You Going to San Franscisco?” Jimmy LaFave, Texoma CD. Subtitle: Team Change Day. C's plane for SXM is to leave at 8 am; there is a 6:45 bakery run for traveling provisions and breakfast. We leave the villa at 7:20 and arrive in plenty of time for the requested 7:30 am check in. J and I sit in the departure lounge w/C. and talk to distract her from the facts that she still doesn’t feel well and that she is leaving St. Barths. I realize I haven’t had this much time with my sister since she had her first child nearly 9 years ago, and am overwhelmingly grateful to have had it at all, that much more that we were in St. Barths. C. is duly impressed with the “gate agent” system at SBH: he opens the door and points at the passengers for the relevant flight. She is through the doors and off the island in a matter of minutes, and J. and I return to the villa to do what else: eat, drink, and piddle with the jigsaw puzzle. (Virginia Bob-it's in the breakfront, under the glasses storage area. Bluebonnets of Texas, knock yourself out!!)
To ease the transition to 3, we decide to cook. We create the “Bad, Bad Girls in St. Barths” pasta: sauté proscuitto and Portobello mushrooms w/chopped onion, minced garlic in a combination of olive oil and butter; add cherry tomatoes cut in half, black and green olives, toss over cooked penne pasta with tons of champagne cream sauce. Serve w/chilled red Mercurey and blast Jimmy La Fave's “Texoma” CD as you cook. Follow with giant naps. Wake just in time for sunset on the sunset terrace.
Having had limited success at staying awake after dinner for stargazing, and having made no particular dinner plans, we decide to stargaze before dinner. (Actually we are unsure we can be hungry again, but given our history we wisely decide against rash declarations.) Tree sees a shooting star. No such luck for J or I.
About 9, we throw on some very casual clothes and motor over to Andy's. The joint is jumping. Andy and Thierry move a rectangular table in a round space for several minutes, sort of a living geometry lesson, before being satisfied with its placement. We order up a Pouilly Fusse and Beaujolais while we peruse the menu. J. starts with the escargot again; I fall back on the carpaccio again; and Tree digs into a large and beautiful green salad as he and Thierry chat. J. progresses to ribs and frite; I groove on the goat cheese pizza and Tree has a fish platter with assorted varieties. J. announces the perfect meal here would be escargot and frite, and resolves to order only these next time. I can’t commit as I love the pizza and the ribs are truly charcoal grilled and quite tasty. We decline dessert; pleading with Thierry that we are so full we are almost ill. He responds with “Thierry's special medicine”, a bottle of vanilla rhum. We are cooing over a little dog sitting in a chair at a table next to us; we are all in puppy withdrawal and missing our dogkids back home. A few vanilla rhums later, Tree whispers loudly “Thierry, help me get them out of here!” He does and we head home; I am asleep in the back seat before we get out of the parking lot.
Wednesday, May 21. “What's Going On?” Marvin Gaye. Subtitle: The Chef Proposes and Is Proposed To. Our first morning without C. Wah. Nadia arrives a little before 9 am to start massages. Post-mass late light (HA!) lunch at Le Select; then a quick stop in Funny Face so Tree can say hallo to Susan. Back to the villa for the most perfect pool day: breezy, warm, air and just slightly cool water. We note that the beach holds less allure than in trips past, and credit this entirely to the amenities of the villa and the positioning of the pool, tables, hammocks, etc. such that any time of the day there is always sun and always shade available.
Sunset terrace for sunset and beyond; I spot the evening's first star and make a wish. (It's that haricot vert to be on the menu tonight at L’Espirit Salines; I am instantly ashamed of my poor performance as a citizen of the world and vow to move to grander global concerns in tomorrow's star-wishing.)
We scoot into town for a quick email check (Tree) and a little shopping (girls). We meet a couple from Knoxville, Tennessee at Manuel Canovas. Of course he's a lawyer, too; he and his truly lovely wife are in St. Barths for their 5th anniversary; their first trip back since their honeymoon. We play the “do you know…” game about folks back home and then the “where have you eaten….” on the island game as well. Return to the villa, showers, and then head off to L’Espirit Salines.
Christoph welcomes Tree back to the island, commenting that “the same team” is back together. He describes the menu for us, and as he is painting a vivid picture of the New Zealand rack of lamb with rosemary and lavender, he reaches down to the table and crushes some lavender between his fingers and inhales deeply. We’re in love again, and obviously both J. and I will have the rack of lamb. Tree opts for mahi-mahi pan-fried w/basil, and the table will share the haricort vert. (yippee!) We start with zucchini soup (no cream; unusual on St. Barths); mache salad w/Roquefort dressing and walnuts, and purple fingerling potatoes topped w/sweet and sour cabbage encircling cold thin sliced smoked mahi-mahi. The charming and competent Frederick assists the pouring and ordering part of our endeavors. .
We made our dinner reservations for 9 pm, congratulating ourselves for finally getting on island time. However, by 10:15 we have some droopy eyelids. We persist through a rice pudding dessert pronounced wonderful and the last of our wine, another Pouilly-Fume and a St. Emilion. However, we are unable to accept the lemon grass rum, and for us, that is some degree of “sweepy”. As we are concluding the evening, the chef comes by the table to inquire whether the food was satisfactory. Tree and I immediately reply in the affirmative; J. is more precise. She holds out both her hands in the direction of the chef; he puzzles and hesitates but for a moment before he places his hands in hers. He asks, “And yours?” She replies: “Marry me.” Tree drives us home the “back way” through Lurin and Gustavia in a torrential rainstorm; the car's headlights beautifully illuminate the large droplets.
Thursday, May 22. “What a Wonderful World”, Louis Armstrong. Subtitle: Nature Day Alerted by Linda's entry in the house book, we’ve been on the alert for sea turtles. Today, binoculars in hand, Tree spots several swimming in the ocean just in front of the house. Immediate discussion ensues about proper name for a group of sea turtles. (unresolved as of this writing). J and I are not so good w/the binocs, but enjoy just watching the turtles from a distance. Tree stands on his blue noodle in the pool to get a better view; when he moves slightly the noodle pops out and flies over the pool wall into the briars and trees and who knows what on the naturalized hillside below. We procure a replacement shortly thereafter, but J. hikes cross-country to retrieve the blue one. In her bikini and flip-flops. Hiking St. Barths style.
Lunch is on the sunset terrace; we make homemade Caesar salad dressing, using a raw egg from the island chickens purportedly “brought forth” just the day before; we would not attempt this in “civilization.” We piece together the ingredients from collective memories of various tableside preparations, as the recipe on the bag of romaine is decidedly unhelpful. (“Toss w/one-quarter cup low-fat Ceaser dressing.”) We top w/poulet and a ton of shredded parmesan from Kiki-E-Mo. Sancerre to go with. AHHH.
This is the day that the caterpillar disappears; although we’ve been expecting it, we are a little out of sorts about it when it occurs. We wonder how big a butterfly a foot long caterpillar will morph into?
Pool, books, naps, and then we have the absolute best sunset of the entire trip. It is masterfully colorful, lasts a long time and lights up parts of the sky in an extended semi-circle back towards the harbor. We linger, taking in the quiet.
Paradiso calls back to confirm our 8 o’clock reservation; we’ve decided one late “French” night is all we’re up to. We are among very few patrons in the restaurant, and are seated at our “usual” table. We catch up; when we tell Alain (we have some disagreement in our group if we are remembering his name correctly; if you know differently please advise!) we are at L’Enclos, he nods. I ask if this means in French a sort of retreat, or hideaway. He smiles and says, “Yes, but not like Andy's Hideaway.” We laugh, and he tells us Andy was in a few nights before; that they are friends.
For dinner, more “usuals”: J. and I opt for the fresh pasta w/bolognaise sauce and Tree has the nightly special, lobster ravioli w/caviar. Starters include Creole crab mousse, beef carpachio (how many different ways can I spell this word in one trip report?) and a chilled tomato soup that is to die for. This chef never met a tomato he couldn’t make sing. Desserts include mousse cake for Tree and for J. what is described as coffee sorbet w/a chocolate sauce, but arrives in a GIANT old-fashioned parfait glass, complete w/whipped cream topping and a straw. We stagger home.
Friday, May 23. “Every Little Ting Gonna Be Alright,” Bob Marley. Today is required re-confirmation day, but at least it is no longer an in-person chore. We call Air Caraibes and get this nasty downer out of the way immediately. There are some errands in town; Tree is in charge of lunch, and he scores mahi-mahi kabobs, fresh corn salad and ratatouille from Maya's to Go. J. runs next door to Tropic Video and finds the dance mix she liked from dinner last night. (Nonstop Hits, 5 for those of you into such things; we particularly grooved on a remake of Prince's “KISS” by Glouster.)
At dusk, all adjourn to the sunset terrace to join in Shabbat prayers with candles, bread and wine. We enjoy a great sunset at a relaxed pace, and then all pitch in to cook and assemble for our tradition of “steakie” night. Chef Tree grills filets; we devour w/caramelized shallots and drunk mushrooms, baked potatoes swimming in beurre and crème fraiche, and haricot vert. We dine on the sunset terrace by candlelight; a task that could have been made easier if either we’d had one or two more hurricane lamps to shelter our candles or the big light wasn’t shining directly in my eyes. It's sort of like having a scavenger hunt from your own dinner plate! We enjoy again the red from Saint Estephe and also a Chateau Cadet-Piolat 1997 St. Emilion. The latter is absolutely fabulous, but it is entirely too big and too dry for stand-alone drinking. We think it should carry a warning label: consume w/food only.
Saturday, May 24. “Oh, What a World We Live In, But It's the One We’re Given…” Paul Brady. We’re getting tinges of dread at the thought of leaving, and remind ourselves we still have one whole day and a morning on the island. We exhort ourselves to “Live in the moment”, each one that occurs. We’re all relaxed beyond recognition; it seems to be an effort to think in linear or logical fashion. We’ve been “Barthsi-ed”, no question. We choose to honor the quiet that is our day: we pool, sun, nap, read and have aperitifs with Susan and Pascal before dining at the Wall House. It is a crazed place, packed to capacity. We’re a little too laid-back to think this is fun; it reminds us too much of “real” life. We have lobster salad and also scallops carpaccio to start; then continue to veal tenderloin on potato gallette, duck breast w/red wine reduction, and grilled mahi-mahi. Dessert is a crème brulee, torched tableside. I start in on J and Tree again about how much I want a blow torch like this one to use in my own kitchen back home, and they again look at each other meaningfully and say “uh-huh, but we like you better with eyebrows.” Stargazing back at the villa over a glass of red wine. I murmur a grateful “goodbye” to this trip's last St. Barths night sky.
Sunday, May 25. “Closing Time,” Lyle Lovett and “Too Much Stuff, ” Delbert McClinton. The fact we are leaving today is made somewhat bearable by the surprise bundle of still warm croissants that Nadia leaves on our table with a note she’ll come to say good-bye around 9 am. We are also anxious to see our respective dogchildren. Beyond that, we’re thinking that if we stay much longer our next vacation may need to be at the Betty. Every appetite is saturated. We are rested, full of cheese and good wine, respectably bronzed and our stomach muscles tightened not by sit-ups in our villa's gym, but by constant laughter, the kind that lifts up the cobwebs of your heart and reminds you that life is very, very good.
J. whips up some of her famous omelets: smoked salmon and jambon with frommage and we add the surprise croissants and one of the last bottles of Tattingier in our captivity. We eat on the pool terrace, overlooking what we’ve come to think of as “our” ocean, enjoying “our” view on “our” island. I think of my e-mail pals from sbhonline, particularly the lucky ones who are renting L’Enclos this summer, and take delight in knowing they will have a fabulous stay here.
As we are finishing up breakfast, Nadia arrives to say goodbye; it is Mother's Day in France and she shows off her gifts from her babies. Susan and Pascal arrive, too; and we finish the last of the coffee and bubbly together, multiple conversations in French and English going at the same time. Before we know it, it is nearly 11 am and we’ve yet to finish packing for our intended noon arrival at the airport. We sit on our rollaboards to close them while Pascal packs up what is left of our wine stash. Susan and Pascal give me Peter Mahle's “French Lessons, Adventures with Knife Fork and Corkscrew," which I read on the flights home. Besides making the already pitiful airline food looks worse, it made me homesick for the food and wine of St. Barths. On the positive side, I’ve found the one marathon in the universe that I might possibly be persuaded to train for and participate in.
We throw our luggage in the car and stop at the bakery to snag lunch for the SXM airport (we’ve already emptied a few bottles of wine into water bottles for the same purpose). We arrive at the airport, and it is the official beginning of the end of our fabulous vacation, and the beginning of the planning of our next visit to our island. As we stand in line at the Air Caraibes desk, Christoph happens to be in line in front of us. He asks if he will see us in November; and we wistfully reply “If not before.”
Fade to black, music
up - “I Want to Go Back to the Island, ” Jimmy Buffet, Tin
Cup Chalice.
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