Next stop St. Barts. The flight to St. Barts was every bit as thrilling as I
was told it would be. The 12-seater plane that we took from St. Martin
literally dropped between the hills, touched down on the runway and skidded
along the tarmac until the nose edged the beach. The beaches are covered
with the young and the tan, and the young and the tan are not covered by
much. The hills are dotted with luxury villas and first class restaurants.
We arrived during the height of Boubou’s Music Festival and town traffic was
fast and heavy with mini-Mokes whizzing in and out and around the Smart Cars
that are gradually taking over St. Barts’s roads. The peaceful Zen of our
villa (the Rothschild’s Gitana Bay, built entirely of precious woods with a
simple yet elegant interior) was a welcome sight at the end of several busy
days of touring villas. Whether it was lunch at the absolutely exquisite
Isle de France or the less refined but no less delicious dinner at Eddy’s,
dining out on St. Barts simply cannot be beat. Beside the delectable
French-Caribbean cuisine, celeb spotting at the island hot spots is a
“national” sport on St. Barts. For those that aren’t quite famous yet, a
stop at the any of the trendy, high fashion boutiques can make you look as
if you are.
Toward the end of our stay on the island we took the morning off to go
snorkeling. After an hour or so of sailing and diving, I sat on the edge of
the boat with the warm sun drying my salty skin and gazed back at the shores
of St. Barts. With a cold drink in my hand and the clear blue sea rocking
beneath me, I knew I’d found a view that would be hard to beat.
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Alison (from our London office) Barbara and Lidy (whose taking the picture)
