TRÉS MAGNIFIQUE
A trip to St. Barts typically begins with a puddle jumper’s kamikaze dive toward the island’s tiny runway, so there is no shame in calming the nerves with a glass of dry Provençal rosé. No local would question such a decision – although the tiny capital city, Gustavia (population 3,000), was named for King Gustavus III during the 94 years the Swedes ran the show, St. Barts is unmistakably French. Unpasteurized cheese? Check. Half a carafe with lunch? Check. Salade niçoise and croque-monsieur alfresco at a harborfront café La Route des Boucaniers? Check, please. It’s so very French that it’s hard to resist the urge to smoke a cigarette with a post-lunch espresso.
First inhabited in 1648 by French colonists from St. Kitts, the island failed to attract a permanent settlement and was abandoned until French mariners from Normandy arrived in 1763. A hospitable port for buccaneers, Gustavia gradually became home to shopkeepers, tradesmen and fishermen as piracy fell out of fashion. The city’s red tile roofs spill up a steep hillside, and boats ranging from small, multicolored skiffs to building-size megayachts bob in the harbor. The tiny town is eminently walkable, with a few narrow streets hugging the harbor, each filled with trés chic look-don’t-touch shops, including Chanel and Hermès – a Champs-Élysées with palm trees and a tropical breeze. You’ll hear a smattering of English, but French is de riguer among the locals, so brush up on your bonjours. Some exploratory window-shopping seemed in order after lunch, so I sauntered into a nearby boutique, took in the 160-euro price tag on a sundress, promptly said my au revoirs and went back to my side of the glass.
Beyond the boutiques, natural beauty abounds. The Jardin du Luxembourg may be Paris’ playground, but here in Gustavia, it’s St. Jean Beach. Anchored on one end by the famed Eden Rock hotel, this creamy stretch of sand is the place to see and be seen on the island, attracting everyone from celebrities like Bono and Chevy Chase to the rubbernecking, sunburned Americans who snap surreptitious cell-phone shots of them.
The hilltop hotel Carl Gustaf is the perfect perch for a sunset cocktail as the harbor lights twinkle on below, though the gorgeous Bali-inspired hillside Villa SIB IKU, on Marigot Bay, is also an excellent choice, and tiny St. Barts makes commuting easy. As night falls, the stars form a canopy in the courtyard of the French-Creole restaurant Pipiri Palace, where the trees are filled with fairy lights and hidden tables à deux. After dinner, a band rocks out at Le Bête à Z’ailes, known as Baz Bar, a chic sushi joint on the harbor and a favorite haunt of Caribbean troubadour Jimmy Buffett, who pops in from time to time for a surprise show. If you’re ready for a snack after a few cocktails, head over to La Crêperie for a banana-and-chocolate crepe to end the day sweetly.
A comfortable island rhythm is colored with the Gallic here, and each morning began with pain au chocolat and café au lait from the local boulangerie, along with a determination to speak more than broken French on the next visit.
Continue to the next Continental Divide...
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| Bridgetown | Santo Domingo | Willemstad | Gustavia |
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