Yesterday we visited the French island of St. Bartholomew, affectionately referred to as St. Barts. You don’t find any high rise resorts here, just small hotels and villas. The harbor is small, so the larger cruise ships can’t stop here, adding to the feeling of exclusivity.
As we walked around the village, it was clear, as Dorothy said, we weren’t in Kansas anymore. A can of soda and bottle of water at a beach front bistro came to $14. Looking at prices in the shop windows, only Hermes, Tiffany and the like are good enough for St. Barts, $600 for a pair of flip flops was startling, to say the least. Even the souvenir shops weren’t any bargain. A cheaply made tee shirt proclaiming love for St. Barts ran about $40. We didn’t have the nerve to stay on shore for lunch, figured it would take most of Gretchen’s inheritance for even simple fare.
We departed St. Barts last night to begin our trek to Bermuda. Our route is pretty much due north, with our estimated arrival Saturday morning. In the meantime, we will take advantage of the jogging/walking track, catch up on our reading, and enjoy some down time. For the moment, the seas are calm, with 3 to 5 foot swells to remind us we are on the sea.
For Paul, there is the occassional bird, mostly boobies. There are also flying fish to keep him entertained. The young ones don’t fly far, but the adults can stay “airborne” for 100 feet or so.
Technology is causing us problems in uploading photos. Will keep trying.
