Dave Barry spends Christmas with naked French people on St. Barts
Jan 7th 2007, 4:45 pm
#1
Guest
Posts: n/a
Dave Barry spends Christmas with naked French people on St. Barts
http://www.miami.com/mld/miamiherald/16399767.htm
If you can tip $17,000, this is the island for you
BY DAVE BARRY
If you're looking to visit a Caribbean island that you cannot possibly
afford, I highly recommend St. Barth�lemy.
St. Barth�lemy -- more commonly called ''St. Barts,'' or ''St.
Barth,'' or ''The Land of Naked French People'' -- is a tiny exclusive
island located in the Caribbean island chain known as the Lesser
Antilles, which also includes Anguilla, Antigua, Begonia, Barbuda,
Saba, Simba, Bomba, Rhumba, Gazebo, Madagascar, St. Kitts and the Dave
Clark Five. (I may be making some of these islands up; there is no way
to know for sure.)
St. Barts is known as a playground for wealthy billionaire jet-set
celebrities, who go there to relax with other billionaire celebrities
in a relaxing billionaire-celebrity environment. For example,
according to a guidebook that my wife read, Brad Pitt sunbathes naked
there. I am not saying this is the only reason we went there, but I am
saying that, from the moment she read this fact, my wife seemed more
interested in St. Barts than any of the other Antilles.
We went to St. Barts for Christmas week, along with my wife's cousin's
family. Except for the mass vomiting (more on this later), we had a
wonderful time. If you decide to go, here is some useful information:
HOW TO GET TO ST. BARTS
It turns out that you cannot, in fact, get to St. Barts. That is one
of the qualities that make it exclusive. The closest you can get is
St. Maarten, which is another Antilles altogether. We flew there from
Miami, and we were supposed to then fly to St. Barts on a small St.
Maarten-based ''airline.'' I put ''airline'' in quotation marks,
because it did not turn out to be the traditional kind of airline in
the sense of having actual working airplanes that could lift you off
the ground and fly you to another island. It was more the kind of
airline where they truly, sincerely would have LIKED to have a working
airplane for you. We found this out when we got to the ''airline''
counter, where we spoke with a nice lady who communicated primarily by
sighing.
US: Hello. We have tickets on the flight to St. Barts.
NICE LADY: St. Barts. (Sigh.)
US: So where should we go to get our plane?
NICE LADY: (Sigh.)
Eventually the nice lady was able to communicate to us, by sighing in
certain patterns, that there would be no flight to St. Barts for us,
or for any of the dozens of other people who also had purchased
tickets from this ''airline.'' So we all ran outside and jumped into
taxis and raced to catch the last ferry to St. Barts. The good news
was, we made the ferry. The bad news was, we made the ferry.
Here is a very important tip about taking the ferry from St. Maarten
to St. Barts: Before you get on board -- say, 10 minutes before, just
to be sure -- kill yourself. Trust me, this is better. You know those
carnival midway rides that spin you violently around and upside down
so that when you get off you are retching like a dog that ate a
diseased squirrel? Well, those rides are like sitting on a
Barca-Lounger compared to riding the ferry to St. Barts. EVERYBODY was
throwing up. SEAGULLS were throwing up. At one point I was holding my
daughter, who was throwing up, and I looked over at my wife, who was
also throwing up, and my wife shot me this look that said: ``This had
better be one amazing island that we are going to, Mr. Trip Planner.
This island had better be Bali Freaking Hai, or for the rest of your
life you will sleep on a futon.''
Fortunately the ferry ride lasted only an hour and 15 minutes -- or,
translated into Seasickness Time, eight years. Finally, we arrived in
Gustavia, the port city -- basically, the only city -- of St. Barts.
WHAT ST. BARTS IS LIKE
It is fabulous. Seriously. The views are fabulous, the beaches are
fabulous, the food is fabulous, the shopping is fabulous. Many of the
people are fabulous, although to my wife's bitter disappointment we
did not once see Brad Pitt sunbathing naked.
This is not to say that we did not see naked people. St. Barts is very
French.
Q. How French is it?
A. It is so French that one of the restaurants was advertising that it
had ``TV for Super Ball.''
The thing about French people is, they get naked on the beach.
Sometimes they get only halfway naked, and sometimes they get all the
way naked. But pretty much every beach we went to, there were people,
especially women, exhibiting some form of nakedness. Often they would
be in family groups; sometimes you would see clots of them standing
around chatting in French about whatever it is you talk about in that
situation.
FIRST FRENCH PERSON: As you can see, I am making the flagrant display
of my privates.
SECOND FRENCH PERSON: I, too, am as naked as the bird of the jay.
THIRD FRENCH PERSON: Whom are you liking to win the Super Ball?
We, being repressed uptight middle-class straitlaced bourgeoisie
Americans with children and body fat, did not get naked on the beach.
But if we had stayed much longer, we probably would have, because we
would have had to sell our clothes to afford to eat. This brings us to
our next travel tip:
BUDGETING FOR ST. BARTS
You should budget $17,000. I don't mean $17,000 total; I mean $17,000
for each individual item, as follows:
? Travel: $17,000
? Lodging: $17,000
? Lunch for four: $17,000
? Sunscreen: $17,000
And so on. Of course these are just guidelines; all of these prices
have gone up considerably since you started reading this sentence.
TIPPING
St. Barts uses the European system of tipping, under which Americans
are expected to tip on behalf of all other nationalities. The
restaurant bill includes an extra 15 percent for something called
''service,'' which is similar to a tip, but not exactly the same. So
you, as an American, are expected to leave something in addition to
the ''service,'' even though it is never clear that anybody else is
doing this. The recommended amount is $17,000.
GETTING AROUND ST. BARTS
The only way to get around St. Barts is to rent a small battered
Japanese car ($17,000) and grip the wheel in terror as you drive up
and down frighteningly steep hills next to vertical cliffs on bad
roads approximately the width of Julia Roberts with insane French
drivers coming the opposite direction going 500 kilometers per
centimeter. It's actually kind of fun, once you realize that, if you
are killed, there is no way you will have to take the ferry back to
St. Maarten.
THINGS TO DO IN ST. BARTS BESIDES EAT, SHOP AND SURREPTITIOUSLY LOOK
AT NAKED FRENCH PEOPLE ON THE BEACH
You can go to the airport and watch planes attempt to land. The
airport runway on St. Barts was apparently built hastily in a single
very dark night by workers who did not notice that they left a large
hill smack dab in the middle of the incoming flight path. I swear I am
not making this hill up. A pilot wishing to land has to skim very low
over the top of the hill, barely missing it, then immediately put the
plane into a terrifyingly steep dive to get down to the runway, then
slam on the brakes, because the runway is very short and ends on the
beach, so if the plane doesn't stop in time, it will plow through the
thin protective barrier of naked French people and plunge into the
ocean. It's very exciting to watch planes land. Tourists gather at the
airport to take pictures and give thanks to God that they, personally,
are not on the planes. After we saw the airport, we began to
understand why our ''airline'' would not fly us over. The pilot
probably said, ``You want me to land on ST. BARTS? Are you out of your
MIND??''
We flew out of this airport, having located a local St. Barts airline
that had actual, physical airplanes. The takeoffs are not nearly as
scary as the landings, and we had a spectacular view of the islands
and the sparkling blue Caribbean as we made the 15-minute flight back
to St. Maarten, following the trail of vomit left by the ferry. We all
agreed that it had been a great trip, and that we will definitely
return to this magical island, if we can figure out how to do it
without using either a plane or a boat. Also we are going to need a
lot of money, so if you enjoyed this travel guide, please note that
service is not included.
If you can tip $17,000, this is the island for you
BY DAVE BARRY
If you're looking to visit a Caribbean island that you cannot possibly
afford, I highly recommend St. Barth�lemy.
St. Barth�lemy -- more commonly called ''St. Barts,'' or ''St.
Barth,'' or ''The Land of Naked French People'' -- is a tiny exclusive
island located in the Caribbean island chain known as the Lesser
Antilles, which also includes Anguilla, Antigua, Begonia, Barbuda,
Saba, Simba, Bomba, Rhumba, Gazebo, Madagascar, St. Kitts and the Dave
Clark Five. (I may be making some of these islands up; there is no way
to know for sure.)
St. Barts is known as a playground for wealthy billionaire jet-set
celebrities, who go there to relax with other billionaire celebrities
in a relaxing billionaire-celebrity environment. For example,
according to a guidebook that my wife read, Brad Pitt sunbathes naked
there. I am not saying this is the only reason we went there, but I am
saying that, from the moment she read this fact, my wife seemed more
interested in St. Barts than any of the other Antilles.
We went to St. Barts for Christmas week, along with my wife's cousin's
family. Except for the mass vomiting (more on this later), we had a
wonderful time. If you decide to go, here is some useful information:
HOW TO GET TO ST. BARTS
It turns out that you cannot, in fact, get to St. Barts. That is one
of the qualities that make it exclusive. The closest you can get is
St. Maarten, which is another Antilles altogether. We flew there from
Miami, and we were supposed to then fly to St. Barts on a small St.
Maarten-based ''airline.'' I put ''airline'' in quotation marks,
because it did not turn out to be the traditional kind of airline in
the sense of having actual working airplanes that could lift you off
the ground and fly you to another island. It was more the kind of
airline where they truly, sincerely would have LIKED to have a working
airplane for you. We found this out when we got to the ''airline''
counter, where we spoke with a nice lady who communicated primarily by
sighing.
US: Hello. We have tickets on the flight to St. Barts.
NICE LADY: St. Barts. (Sigh.)
US: So where should we go to get our plane?
NICE LADY: (Sigh.)
Eventually the nice lady was able to communicate to us, by sighing in
certain patterns, that there would be no flight to St. Barts for us,
or for any of the dozens of other people who also had purchased
tickets from this ''airline.'' So we all ran outside and jumped into
taxis and raced to catch the last ferry to St. Barts. The good news
was, we made the ferry. The bad news was, we made the ferry.
Here is a very important tip about taking the ferry from St. Maarten
to St. Barts: Before you get on board -- say, 10 minutes before, just
to be sure -- kill yourself. Trust me, this is better. You know those
carnival midway rides that spin you violently around and upside down
so that when you get off you are retching like a dog that ate a
diseased squirrel? Well, those rides are like sitting on a
Barca-Lounger compared to riding the ferry to St. Barts. EVERYBODY was
throwing up. SEAGULLS were throwing up. At one point I was holding my
daughter, who was throwing up, and I looked over at my wife, who was
also throwing up, and my wife shot me this look that said: ``This had
better be one amazing island that we are going to, Mr. Trip Planner.
This island had better be Bali Freaking Hai, or for the rest of your
life you will sleep on a futon.''
Fortunately the ferry ride lasted only an hour and 15 minutes -- or,
translated into Seasickness Time, eight years. Finally, we arrived in
Gustavia, the port city -- basically, the only city -- of St. Barts.
WHAT ST. BARTS IS LIKE
It is fabulous. Seriously. The views are fabulous, the beaches are
fabulous, the food is fabulous, the shopping is fabulous. Many of the
people are fabulous, although to my wife's bitter disappointment we
did not once see Brad Pitt sunbathing naked.
This is not to say that we did not see naked people. St. Barts is very
French.
Q. How French is it?
A. It is so French that one of the restaurants was advertising that it
had ``TV for Super Ball.''
The thing about French people is, they get naked on the beach.
Sometimes they get only halfway naked, and sometimes they get all the
way naked. But pretty much every beach we went to, there were people,
especially women, exhibiting some form of nakedness. Often they would
be in family groups; sometimes you would see clots of them standing
around chatting in French about whatever it is you talk about in that
situation.
FIRST FRENCH PERSON: As you can see, I am making the flagrant display
of my privates.
SECOND FRENCH PERSON: I, too, am as naked as the bird of the jay.
THIRD FRENCH PERSON: Whom are you liking to win the Super Ball?
We, being repressed uptight middle-class straitlaced bourgeoisie
Americans with children and body fat, did not get naked on the beach.
But if we had stayed much longer, we probably would have, because we
would have had to sell our clothes to afford to eat. This brings us to
our next travel tip:
BUDGETING FOR ST. BARTS
You should budget $17,000. I don't mean $17,000 total; I mean $17,000
for each individual item, as follows:
? Travel: $17,000
? Lodging: $17,000
? Lunch for four: $17,000
? Sunscreen: $17,000
And so on. Of course these are just guidelines; all of these prices
have gone up considerably since you started reading this sentence.
TIPPING
St. Barts uses the European system of tipping, under which Americans
are expected to tip on behalf of all other nationalities. The
restaurant bill includes an extra 15 percent for something called
''service,'' which is similar to a tip, but not exactly the same. So
you, as an American, are expected to leave something in addition to
the ''service,'' even though it is never clear that anybody else is
doing this. The recommended amount is $17,000.
GETTING AROUND ST. BARTS
The only way to get around St. Barts is to rent a small battered
Japanese car ($17,000) and grip the wheel in terror as you drive up
and down frighteningly steep hills next to vertical cliffs on bad
roads approximately the width of Julia Roberts with insane French
drivers coming the opposite direction going 500 kilometers per
centimeter. It's actually kind of fun, once you realize that, if you
are killed, there is no way you will have to take the ferry back to
St. Maarten.
THINGS TO DO IN ST. BARTS BESIDES EAT, SHOP AND SURREPTITIOUSLY LOOK
AT NAKED FRENCH PEOPLE ON THE BEACH
You can go to the airport and watch planes attempt to land. The
airport runway on St. Barts was apparently built hastily in a single
very dark night by workers who did not notice that they left a large
hill smack dab in the middle of the incoming flight path. I swear I am
not making this hill up. A pilot wishing to land has to skim very low
over the top of the hill, barely missing it, then immediately put the
plane into a terrifyingly steep dive to get down to the runway, then
slam on the brakes, because the runway is very short and ends on the
beach, so if the plane doesn't stop in time, it will plow through the
thin protective barrier of naked French people and plunge into the
ocean. It's very exciting to watch planes land. Tourists gather at the
airport to take pictures and give thanks to God that they, personally,
are not on the planes. After we saw the airport, we began to
understand why our ''airline'' would not fly us over. The pilot
probably said, ``You want me to land on ST. BARTS? Are you out of your
MIND??''
We flew out of this airport, having located a local St. Barts airline
that had actual, physical airplanes. The takeoffs are not nearly as
scary as the landings, and we had a spectacular view of the islands
and the sparkling blue Caribbean as we made the 15-minute flight back
to St. Maarten, following the trail of vomit left by the ferry. We all
agreed that it had been a great trip, and that we will definitely
return to this magical island, if we can figure out how to do it
without using either a plane or a boat. Also we are going to need a
lot of money, so if you enjoyed this travel guide, please note that
service is not included.
Jan 7th 2007, 10:51 pm
#2
Guest
Posts: n/a
Re: Dave Barry spends Christmas with naked French people on St. Barts
merryxmas-hny wrote:
>so if you enjoyed this travel guide, please note that
>service is not included.
>
>
<indignant>
Service is not included? *NOT* included?!!!
Why the nerve! The sheer, unmitigated GALL!!!
What sort of sicko would DARE post such a thing to
alt.politics.homosexuality!?!
The lack of a nude Brad Pitt... Well, that's disappointing.
But no service?!?
You're in a lot of trouble once the sweat-shop gets done crafting my
order for that organic-fibre, sequined hanging rope with matching hood
and jock strap...
</indignant>
--
And the Thought of the Moment (TM) is:
Love at first sight is easy to understand. It's when two people have been looking at each other for years that it becomes a miracle.
(Brought to you by SigChanger. http://www.phranc.nl)
>so if you enjoyed this travel guide, please note that
>service is not included.
>
>
<indignant>
Service is not included? *NOT* included?!!!
Why the nerve! The sheer, unmitigated GALL!!!
What sort of sicko would DARE post such a thing to
alt.politics.homosexuality!?!
The lack of a nude Brad Pitt... Well, that's disappointing.
But no service?!?
You're in a lot of trouble once the sweat-shop gets done crafting my
order for that organic-fibre, sequined hanging rope with matching hood
and jock strap...
</indignant>
--
And the Thought of the Moment (TM) is:
Love at first sight is easy to understand. It's when two people have been looking at each other for years that it becomes a miracle.
(Brought to you by SigChanger. http://www.phranc.nl)
Jan 8th 2007, 1:28 am
#3
Guest
Posts: n/a
Re: Dave Barry spends Christmas with naked French people on St. Barts
> We went to St. Barts for Christmas week, along with my wife's cousin's
> family. Except for the mass vomiting (more on this later), we had a
> wonderful time. If you decide to go, here is some useful information:
Sounds like a Laura Linger travel report.
The only difference between this and a Laura report is Dave kept his
clothes on; Laura would have taken off her clothes and flaunted what
she calls "the twins".
> family. Except for the mass vomiting (more on this later), we had a
> wonderful time. If you decide to go, here is some useful information:
Sounds like a Laura Linger travel report.
The only difference between this and a Laura report is Dave kept his
clothes on; Laura would have taken off her clothes and flaunted what
she calls "the twins".
Jan 8th 2007, 3:29 am
#4
Guest
Posts: n/a
Re: Dave Barry spends Christmas with naked French people on St. Barts
Terry Lomax wrote:
> > We went to St. Barts for Christmas week, along with my wife's cousin's
> > family. Except for the mass vomiting (more on this later), we had a
> > wonderful time. If you decide to go, here is some useful information:
>
> Sounds like a Laura Linger travel report.
>
> The only difference between this and a Laura report is Dave kept his
> clothes on; Laura would have taken off her clothes and flaunted what
> she calls "the twins".
Even the name "Laura Linger" is kinda sleezy, it conjures up visions of
dirty bookstores on smarmy side streets and her moniker could be the
name of a line of marital aids or even aphrodisiacs...
--
Best
Greg
> > We went to St. Barts for Christmas week, along with my wife's cousin's
> > family. Except for the mass vomiting (more on this later), we had a
> > wonderful time. If you decide to go, here is some useful information:
>
> Sounds like a Laura Linger travel report.
>
> The only difference between this and a Laura report is Dave kept his
> clothes on; Laura would have taken off her clothes and flaunted what
> she calls "the twins".
Even the name "Laura Linger" is kinda sleezy, it conjures up visions of
dirty bookstores on smarmy side streets and her moniker could be the
name of a line of marital aids or even aphrodisiacs...
--
Best
Greg
