barry_h
New Member
I took this photo when I was a teenager and staying on Flamands in summer of 2008. I want to know if anybody remembers the name of this hotel at the end of the beach.
I have memories of grandiose rumors of the hotel's owner. It was endlessly discussed by my parents over dinner all those years. But the vibrant colored roofs and endless terraces of new buildings blossoming from the Earth every summer always captivated me.
I imagined him wearing Gucci loafers with no socks, and wreaking of onions. Maybe he lit his cigarettes with an S.T. Dupont lighter and wore gold chains.
They terrified my friends and I from going to investigate the sprawling and increasingly byzantine structure with rumors of the owner's alleged connections. They told us there were lasers that would activate and alert the gendarmerie. It was always a ghost town. We never listened to them.
When I was last on Flamands in 2024, it seemed the complex had been fully consumed by Cheval Blanc. While the many colored terraces and their pyramid roofs that once animated the rocks have been swallowed by the investment of the barefoot rhythm of the French West Indies, I remember the imaginary Frenchman and his palace. The palace that never stopped expanding.
I have memories of grandiose rumors of the hotel's owner. It was endlessly discussed by my parents over dinner all those years. But the vibrant colored roofs and endless terraces of new buildings blossoming from the Earth every summer always captivated me.
I imagined him wearing Gucci loafers with no socks, and wreaking of onions. Maybe he lit his cigarettes with an S.T. Dupont lighter and wore gold chains.
They terrified my friends and I from going to investigate the sprawling and increasingly byzantine structure with rumors of the owner's alleged connections. They told us there were lasers that would activate and alert the gendarmerie. It was always a ghost town. We never listened to them.
When I was last on Flamands in 2024, it seemed the complex had been fully consumed by Cheval Blanc. While the many colored terraces and their pyramid roofs that once animated the rocks have been swallowed by the investment of the barefoot rhythm of the French West Indies, I remember the imaginary Frenchman and his palace. The palace that never stopped expanding.
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