tim
Moderator
It was seven o'clock last evening when I drove into Gustavia and quickly realized I was in the middle of a huge crowd. Sure I'd seen the typical wedding cake-shaped mega-yachts docked stern to the quay, but I didn't think THE SEASON had suddenly started on Saturday, December 3rd. That was my immediate topic of conversation as I sat down to dinner with friends who told me the crowds were due to the evening's Firemen's Ball which attracted hundreds of residents. Indeed our restaurant was filling with locals, and some were even seated at tables out front in the street before we left.
A quick scan of the menu showed me a dish, "Poisson vapeur avec legumes," that sounded good, and I so ordered. My friends were told their pizzas would take thirty minutes which was fine. Their pizzas arrived on schedule shortly after which the waiter approached the table with what appeared to be a mason jar on a fancy plate and a smile on his face in reaction to my puzzled look. Closer inspection of the jar revealed the proud signature of the Mason family, and an opening of their ingenious metal clasp revealed their standard red gasket and my delicious hot meal of "Poisson vapeur avec legumes." Since most readers know me to be supremely cuisinely challenged, I must ask if there was a culinary purpose for this vessel, or was it just another affectation of the quirky owner who annually morphs his restaurant upward but still includes a full sized lighted blue coconut tree among its emblems?
When Mickey's big hand next approached seven, I was bicycling through the parking lot at Saline when I passed a parked Samurai with an unusual motion. After making my standard 180 to exit the parking lot, I couldn't help seeing through the open door of the rocking jeep a nude couple energetically making love.
Tim's first reaction (loaded with guilt) - Gee, I hope I didn't interrupt their rhythm.
Second reaction (with less guilt) - Looks like they'd at least close the door if they wanted some privacy.
Third reaction (with much clearer objectivity) - If the door was open in broad daylight with joggers and others about, perhaps being seen was part of the plan.
If theatrics was what the couple had in mind, I'm happy to have played my rolling role in their proverbial hay roll, but I didn't linger and rolled onward.
My next role was as the punch line of a joke for two falling down drunks in the village of Columbier. I had just turned down a drive seeking the almost invisible path that leads from the village straight down the mountain to Flamands when I encountered these two and asked if that was the path to Flamands. Drunk #1, already crawling on his hands and knees in the dirt, said no. Drunk #2, barely standing and staggering wildly, said yes it was the path I was seeking. With that assurance I proceeded down the hill to quickly discover a dead end. Climbing back up to the location of the two drunks, drunk #2 started laughing so hard that he quickly joined drunk #1 on the ground. Although declining a drink from the bottle offered in an up-stretched arm, I lingered a while to laugh with them and did eventually get directions for the path. Une autre question, why is it that falling down drunks so rarely spill the liquor in their bottles?
Only in St. Barth
A quick scan of the menu showed me a dish, "Poisson vapeur avec legumes," that sounded good, and I so ordered. My friends were told their pizzas would take thirty minutes which was fine. Their pizzas arrived on schedule shortly after which the waiter approached the table with what appeared to be a mason jar on a fancy plate and a smile on his face in reaction to my puzzled look. Closer inspection of the jar revealed the proud signature of the Mason family, and an opening of their ingenious metal clasp revealed their standard red gasket and my delicious hot meal of "Poisson vapeur avec legumes." Since most readers know me to be supremely cuisinely challenged, I must ask if there was a culinary purpose for this vessel, or was it just another affectation of the quirky owner who annually morphs his restaurant upward but still includes a full sized lighted blue coconut tree among its emblems?
When Mickey's big hand next approached seven, I was bicycling through the parking lot at Saline when I passed a parked Samurai with an unusual motion. After making my standard 180 to exit the parking lot, I couldn't help seeing through the open door of the rocking jeep a nude couple energetically making love.
Tim's first reaction (loaded with guilt) - Gee, I hope I didn't interrupt their rhythm.
Second reaction (with less guilt) - Looks like they'd at least close the door if they wanted some privacy.
Third reaction (with much clearer objectivity) - If the door was open in broad daylight with joggers and others about, perhaps being seen was part of the plan.
If theatrics was what the couple had in mind, I'm happy to have played my rolling role in their proverbial hay roll, but I didn't linger and rolled onward.
My next role was as the punch line of a joke for two falling down drunks in the village of Columbier. I had just turned down a drive seeking the almost invisible path that leads from the village straight down the mountain to Flamands when I encountered these two and asked if that was the path to Flamands. Drunk #1, already crawling on his hands and knees in the dirt, said no. Drunk #2, barely standing and staggering wildly, said yes it was the path I was seeking. With that assurance I proceeded down the hill to quickly discover a dead end. Climbing back up to the location of the two drunks, drunk #2 started laughing so hard that he quickly joined drunk #1 on the ground. Although declining a drink from the bottle offered in an up-stretched arm, I lingered a while to laugh with them and did eventually get directions for the path. Une autre question, why is it that falling down drunks so rarely spill the liquor in their bottles?
Only in St. Barth