Here’s, in part, what Chris Doyle’s The 2004-2005 Cruising Guide to the
Leeward Islands has to say about St. Barts:
Leeward Islands has to say about St. Barts:
With its sharply contoured rocky hills, a picturesque port and
gorgeous beaches, it has become a world famous chic
destination; the favored hot spot for the good-looking, well-to-
do “in” crowd, seasoned with a sprinkling of acting, singing and
sport stars: The Riviera of the Caribbean.
gorgeous beaches, it has become a world famous chic
destination; the favored hot spot for the good-looking, well-to-
do “in” crowd, seasoned with a sprinkling of acting, singing and
sport stars: The Riviera of the Caribbean.
Then we arrived, and now they need to revise the 2006-2007 edition.
Unlike most of the other Caribbean islands, which are either independent
political entities or territories of the “mother” country, the French West
Indies are, politically, fully integrated with France. Also in contrast to most
Unlike most of the other Caribbean islands, which are either independent
political entities or territories of the “mother” country, the French West
Indies are, politically, fully integrated with France. Also in contrast to most
of the other islands, even St. Maarten only 12 miles away, St. Barts doesn't get sufficient rain to support agriculture,
and therefore never hosted a slave-based sugar cane or cotton-growing economy, so the population has always
been mostly European. Its economy has relied on trade, even though some of the trade in the 1600s and 1700s was
illicit … St. Barts, with its well-protected natural harbor and strategic location in the center of the Antilles trade
routes, was a rat’s nest of piracy, the French pirate “Montbars the Exterminator” being the most infamous. It is said
that his treasures are still buried on this island. Today, with a name like that, he’d make a good living tenting houses
for termites in Coronado.
Today, St. Barts is a pretty, little chunk of France (or, as they would say here, “une petite jolie chunque de la
France”) dropped down amidst warm, azure seas, brushed by the trade winds. Stylishly-dressed madames and
madamoiselles stroll arm-in-arm past chi-chi shops, “air-kissing” on alternate cheeks when they rendezvous in
sidewalk bistros, smoky cafes and fragrant creperies. Geeky little “Smartcars,” “motos,” Vespas and other decidedly-
non-SUVs speed through narrow streets honking their annoyingly shrill horns, the drivers holding cellphones in one
hand and cigarettes in the other. Yes, it’s still not just acceptable, but cool, to smoke. Euro-techno-pop blares from
waterfront clubs until well past 3:00 in the morning. Prices are in Euros, although the exchange rate seems to
fluctuate randomly among establishments; the shopkeepers seem to approach it the way we approach figuring out a
tip at a restaurant: “OK, let’s see, what’s 15% of $67.32 … no, make it a little more, maybe 20%; are you sure that
isn’t too much?; round it up to the nearest dollar; OK, does anyone have exact change?”
We have noticed a few key differences, though. You could walk from one end of the island to the other in less than a
day, while walking across France would take considerably longer. We haven’t seen any vineyards. The people we’ve
encountered, while French-speaking, have been reasonably friendly, even when Steve insists on trying to
communicate with them using a bizarre amalgam of remnants of his high school French and Tijuana border Spanish,
although most everyone here speaks perfectly respectable English. They don’t seem to despise Americans, at least
outwardly. Even the government officials have been helpful and non-bureaucratic. Clearing in through Customs and
Immigration was easier than anyplace else we’ve been; heck, the Port official here (nattily attired in a t-shirt and
shorts) didn’t even look at, let alone stamp, our boat papers or passports when we cleared into the port. He did,
however, collect our port fee.
Getting Here …
… was an easy, 3 ½ hour, 18 mile sail from Simpsons Bay, St. Maarten. Our first stop was Anse du Columbier, a
protected bay on the northwest point of the island. We tied up to a free mooring in the Marine Reserve for a two
night stay, fronting a pristine beach that is accessible only by boat or a several-mile hike from the nearest road.
There were four other boats here when we arrived; during our stay it got really crowded, with maybe six other boats
at one time. We moored in about 16 feet of water with a clear view of the bottom. Sea turtles and a variety of reef
fish kept us company. Our first night there, Maddy pulled in a huge horse-eye jack, caught using a chunk of hot dog
(or, as they say here, “une chunque du chien chaud”) as bait. We threw it back.
We paddled the dinghy ashore, then went exploring. Climbing a set of wood stairs at the north end of the beach, we
set out, single file, on a narrow trail that led up and over Columbier Point. It then traversed the steep north face of
the island, several hunded feet above the breaking surf below. We hiked through cactus, fields of white-star lilies,
flamboyant trees and other exotic vegetation. We passed rugged lava flows and caves. We were surrounded by
butterflies – orange, white, yellow, black – and saw orange-and-black spiders, their webs strung everywhere, waiting
for the unlucky butterfly. Our destination was Anse de Flamandes, an unbelievably fantastic beach on the north side
of the island, with white sand and just enough surf rolling in from the Atlantic to make skim boarding and body surfing
fun for Jay and Maddy.
Clearly unable to just sit and luxuriate in such paradise, Steve made the family do some chores, specifically, flipping
the dinghy over on the beach and scrubbing the bottom clean of all the growth that had accumulated in the month it
was sitting in the water at Simpsons Bay Marina. The bottom of Dakota Rose needed tending to as well, but he’d
exhausted the rest of the family’s good will by then and so resigned himself to doing that by himself.
Our Good Karma Continues to Hold
After two days in Columbier Bay, we motored a couple of miles around Ile de la Point and then southeast to St. Barts’
main town and harbor, Gustavia. Gustavia has a fairly open outer harbor with a few beaches and two main
anchorages, and a narrow, well-protected inner harbor, surrounded by high hills, and crowded with fee-for-use
moorings and “stern-to” quay-wall berths. Our original intention was to drop anchor in the outer harbor, close to one
of the beaches, and save the mooring fees. However, after we’d picked a perfect spot and Steve gave the command
“set the anchor” (ok, well he doesn’t actually really “command” anything, it’s more of a suggestion), our anchor
windlass refused to operate. (It’s always been a bit finicky, generally the problem’s been with corrosion in the control
wires leading to the operating relay, which are constantly exposed to saltwater and spray, not that any but a small
few of our readers really care.)
So, rather than attempt a fix right then and there, or dropping the anchor manually, we changed plans and motored
into the inner harbor, called the Port Office, and requested and received permission to pick up a mooring. This was
a little challenging, since it involved first tying off the bow, then motoring backwards to tie off the stern, in a very tight
space between already-moored boats; Jay helped by jumping into the dinghy and paddling our stern line to the aft
mooring ball before we swung too far in the crosswind.
You may be wondering at this point, “Hey … the title of this section refers to “good karma”; with the anchor windlass
going inoperable at a strategic time, where’s the good karma in that?”
Well, that night, an unexpected thunderstorm roared through the harbor, carrying with it 35+ knot gusts of wind and
torrential rains. It lasted all night, and the following day brought continued rains and high seas. We could see the
boats in the outer harbor rolling and bobbing and swaying like champagne corks in a Jacuzzi. If we’d anchored where
we’d originally planned, we would have had a miserable night worried about our anchor and the boats around us
dragging and swinging, followed by a miserable day. At our mooring we were snug, dry, and Dakota Rose rolled just
enough to rock us to sleep.
What’s To Do in St. Barts?
Dianne and Maddy browsed the latest Paris fashions in the upscale French shopping district in Gustavia, trying on
dresses costing 675 Euros; that is, 675 Euros AFTER the 70% Off, End of Season Sale, since the “in” crowd has
long since migrated to the next chic destination. Jay found two surf shops and worked on customizing his skim board.
Steve found a good marine store and fixed the anchor windlass. We introduced the kids to the luxury of dessert
crepes, which have now become a daily necessity for them. We took a 15 minute walk from town to Shell Beach, a
crescent cove, protected by cliffs at both ends, where the waves wash in bazillions of small shells; Maddy
significantly expanded her sea glass collection, in quality, quantity and piece size. Dianne ogled the displays in the
duty-free jewelry stores, dreaming about expanding her diamond collection, in quality, quantity and piece size.
Dianne and Steve hiked up to the lighthouse overlooking Gustavia harbor. We visited the library, and found the local
museum which was, unfortunately, closed for June.
After two rainy and overcast days, Sunday cleared up enough to make it a beach day. Since there’s no public
transportation here, we rented a car for the day and visited several beaches.
On the way to St. Jean, the other town on the island, we went by the St. Barts airport. The runway starts at the base
of a cliff and just sort of peters out on the sand of St. Jean beach. The only thing preventing beachgoers or terrorists
from wandering onto the runway is a sign that says, basically, “Please Don’t Wander Onto the Runway.” It’s written in
French and English, but not Arabic.
At St. Jean We met up with a family vacationing here from Baltimore: Dave, Arianne, and their 14 year old daughter
Alexis. We went with them to Saline Beach on the south side of the island. Dave and Alexis invited Jay and Maddy to
go jet skiing with them the next day. Dave is a professor of emergency pediatrics at the Johns Hopkins Medical
School, and we couldn't think of a better-qualified person to be on-scene for our kids' first jet skiing experience. The
evening after jet skiing we had them over to Dakota Rose for cocktail hour, then went into Gustavia for pizza.
There's a bar on the waterfront here named Le Select, and it's reported to be THE PLACE where Jimmy Buffet
hangs out when he's here in St. Bart. Frankly, maybe we're jaded, but we're not impressed. We've found this to be a
very common claim as we've journeyed down through the Bahamas and Caribbean. It's a lot like "George
Washington Slept Here" signs in Virginia. If Jimmy Buffet actually hangs out in as many bars as he's reputed to, it's a
wonder he has the time to run his restaurant chain or write new songs ... oh, wait, has he been writing new songs
lately?
We Stayed in St. Barts for Eight Days ...
... which took us to the middle of June. St. Barts is the furthest we'll venture into the Caribbean chain, and, sadly, it's
time for us to turn back. Dianne and the kids fly home from Tortola, BVI at the end of June. Dianne's brother and
sister-in-law, Gary and Lynn, along with the second of her three brothers, Bob, are chartering a sailboat in Tortola to
spend the last week of the month sailing with us. We're allowing one week to sail from here back to Tortola, via St.
Maarten, Virgin Gorda and, if we have time, a couple of days at Anegada.
A quick look at the map will show that we really haven't made it very far into the islands; we certainly haven't made it
as far as we'd originally planned, when we discussed whether it would be worth stopping in Grenada after last year's
hurricane. While we're disappointed that we didn't get to visit more islands, we don't regret the time we've taken
along the way, getting to know places much better than if we'd dropped in, stayed a day or two, and moved on. This
was really brought home to us here in St. Barts, where a progression of charter boats have pulled in near us in the
late afternoon and then pulled out the next morning to continue on their one-week, forced march through prescribed
anchorages ... when they get home, they'll certainly be able to say that they'd been to St. Barts, but did they really
get to experience much of what the island has to offer?
So, we wish we had more time, but hurricane season is upon us. We'll just have to come back in a few years and
pick up where we left off!
While Sad, and a Natural Ending, This Doesn't Bring Our Voyage Log to a Close
We're sure we'll have adventures to relate from our sail back to the Virgin Islands.
and therefore never hosted a slave-based sugar cane or cotton-growing economy, so the population has always
been mostly European. Its economy has relied on trade, even though some of the trade in the 1600s and 1700s was
illicit … St. Barts, with its well-protected natural harbor and strategic location in the center of the Antilles trade
routes, was a rat’s nest of piracy, the French pirate “Montbars the Exterminator” being the most infamous. It is said
that his treasures are still buried on this island. Today, with a name like that, he’d make a good living tenting houses
for termites in Coronado.
Today, St. Barts is a pretty, little chunk of France (or, as they would say here, “une petite jolie chunque de la
France”) dropped down amidst warm, azure seas, brushed by the trade winds. Stylishly-dressed madames and
madamoiselles stroll arm-in-arm past chi-chi shops, “air-kissing” on alternate cheeks when they rendezvous in
sidewalk bistros, smoky cafes and fragrant creperies. Geeky little “Smartcars,” “motos,” Vespas and other decidedly-
non-SUVs speed through narrow streets honking their annoyingly shrill horns, the drivers holding cellphones in one
hand and cigarettes in the other. Yes, it’s still not just acceptable, but cool, to smoke. Euro-techno-pop blares from
waterfront clubs until well past 3:00 in the morning. Prices are in Euros, although the exchange rate seems to
fluctuate randomly among establishments; the shopkeepers seem to approach it the way we approach figuring out a
tip at a restaurant: “OK, let’s see, what’s 15% of $67.32 … no, make it a little more, maybe 20%; are you sure that
isn’t too much?; round it up to the nearest dollar; OK, does anyone have exact change?”
We have noticed a few key differences, though. You could walk from one end of the island to the other in less than a
day, while walking across France would take considerably longer. We haven’t seen any vineyards. The people we’ve
encountered, while French-speaking, have been reasonably friendly, even when Steve insists on trying to
communicate with them using a bizarre amalgam of remnants of his high school French and Tijuana border Spanish,
although most everyone here speaks perfectly respectable English. They don’t seem to despise Americans, at least
outwardly. Even the government officials have been helpful and non-bureaucratic. Clearing in through Customs and
Immigration was easier than anyplace else we’ve been; heck, the Port official here (nattily attired in a t-shirt and
shorts) didn’t even look at, let alone stamp, our boat papers or passports when we cleared into the port. He did,
however, collect our port fee.
Getting Here …
… was an easy, 3 ½ hour, 18 mile sail from Simpsons Bay, St. Maarten. Our first stop was Anse du Columbier, a
protected bay on the northwest point of the island. We tied up to a free mooring in the Marine Reserve for a two
night stay, fronting a pristine beach that is accessible only by boat or a several-mile hike from the nearest road.
There were four other boats here when we arrived; during our stay it got really crowded, with maybe six other boats
at one time. We moored in about 16 feet of water with a clear view of the bottom. Sea turtles and a variety of reef
fish kept us company. Our first night there, Maddy pulled in a huge horse-eye jack, caught using a chunk of hot dog
(or, as they say here, “une chunque du chien chaud”) as bait. We threw it back.
We paddled the dinghy ashore, then went exploring. Climbing a set of wood stairs at the north end of the beach, we
set out, single file, on a narrow trail that led up and over Columbier Point. It then traversed the steep north face of
the island, several hunded feet above the breaking surf below. We hiked through cactus, fields of white-star lilies,
flamboyant trees and other exotic vegetation. We passed rugged lava flows and caves. We were surrounded by
butterflies – orange, white, yellow, black – and saw orange-and-black spiders, their webs strung everywhere, waiting
for the unlucky butterfly. Our destination was Anse de Flamandes, an unbelievably fantastic beach on the north side
of the island, with white sand and just enough surf rolling in from the Atlantic to make skim boarding and body surfing
fun for Jay and Maddy.
Clearly unable to just sit and luxuriate in such paradise, Steve made the family do some chores, specifically, flipping
the dinghy over on the beach and scrubbing the bottom clean of all the growth that had accumulated in the month it
was sitting in the water at Simpsons Bay Marina. The bottom of Dakota Rose needed tending to as well, but he’d
exhausted the rest of the family’s good will by then and so resigned himself to doing that by himself.
Our Good Karma Continues to Hold
After two days in Columbier Bay, we motored a couple of miles around Ile de la Point and then southeast to St. Barts’
main town and harbor, Gustavia. Gustavia has a fairly open outer harbor with a few beaches and two main
anchorages, and a narrow, well-protected inner harbor, surrounded by high hills, and crowded with fee-for-use
moorings and “stern-to” quay-wall berths. Our original intention was to drop anchor in the outer harbor, close to one
of the beaches, and save the mooring fees. However, after we’d picked a perfect spot and Steve gave the command
“set the anchor” (ok, well he doesn’t actually really “command” anything, it’s more of a suggestion), our anchor
windlass refused to operate. (It’s always been a bit finicky, generally the problem’s been with corrosion in the control
wires leading to the operating relay, which are constantly exposed to saltwater and spray, not that any but a small
few of our readers really care.)
So, rather than attempt a fix right then and there, or dropping the anchor manually, we changed plans and motored
into the inner harbor, called the Port Office, and requested and received permission to pick up a mooring. This was
a little challenging, since it involved first tying off the bow, then motoring backwards to tie off the stern, in a very tight
space between already-moored boats; Jay helped by jumping into the dinghy and paddling our stern line to the aft
mooring ball before we swung too far in the crosswind.
You may be wondering at this point, “Hey … the title of this section refers to “good karma”; with the anchor windlass
going inoperable at a strategic time, where’s the good karma in that?”
Well, that night, an unexpected thunderstorm roared through the harbor, carrying with it 35+ knot gusts of wind and
torrential rains. It lasted all night, and the following day brought continued rains and high seas. We could see the
boats in the outer harbor rolling and bobbing and swaying like champagne corks in a Jacuzzi. If we’d anchored where
we’d originally planned, we would have had a miserable night worried about our anchor and the boats around us
dragging and swinging, followed by a miserable day. At our mooring we were snug, dry, and Dakota Rose rolled just
enough to rock us to sleep.
What’s To Do in St. Barts?
Dianne and Maddy browsed the latest Paris fashions in the upscale French shopping district in Gustavia, trying on
dresses costing 675 Euros; that is, 675 Euros AFTER the 70% Off, End of Season Sale, since the “in” crowd has
long since migrated to the next chic destination. Jay found two surf shops and worked on customizing his skim board.
Steve found a good marine store and fixed the anchor windlass. We introduced the kids to the luxury of dessert
crepes, which have now become a daily necessity for them. We took a 15 minute walk from town to Shell Beach, a
crescent cove, protected by cliffs at both ends, where the waves wash in bazillions of small shells; Maddy
significantly expanded her sea glass collection, in quality, quantity and piece size. Dianne ogled the displays in the
duty-free jewelry stores, dreaming about expanding her diamond collection, in quality, quantity and piece size.
Dianne and Steve hiked up to the lighthouse overlooking Gustavia harbor. We visited the library, and found the local
museum which was, unfortunately, closed for June.
After two rainy and overcast days, Sunday cleared up enough to make it a beach day. Since there’s no public
transportation here, we rented a car for the day and visited several beaches.
On the way to St. Jean, the other town on the island, we went by the St. Barts airport. The runway starts at the base
of a cliff and just sort of peters out on the sand of St. Jean beach. The only thing preventing beachgoers or terrorists
from wandering onto the runway is a sign that says, basically, “Please Don’t Wander Onto the Runway.” It’s written in
French and English, but not Arabic.
At St. Jean We met up with a family vacationing here from Baltimore: Dave, Arianne, and their 14 year old daughter
Alexis. We went with them to Saline Beach on the south side of the island. Dave and Alexis invited Jay and Maddy to
go jet skiing with them the next day. Dave is a professor of emergency pediatrics at the Johns Hopkins Medical
School, and we couldn't think of a better-qualified person to be on-scene for our kids' first jet skiing experience. The
evening after jet skiing we had them over to Dakota Rose for cocktail hour, then went into Gustavia for pizza.
There's a bar on the waterfront here named Le Select, and it's reported to be THE PLACE where Jimmy Buffet
hangs out when he's here in St. Bart. Frankly, maybe we're jaded, but we're not impressed. We've found this to be a
very common claim as we've journeyed down through the Bahamas and Caribbean. It's a lot like "George
Washington Slept Here" signs in Virginia. If Jimmy Buffet actually hangs out in as many bars as he's reputed to, it's a
wonder he has the time to run his restaurant chain or write new songs ... oh, wait, has he been writing new songs
lately?
We Stayed in St. Barts for Eight Days ...
... which took us to the middle of June. St. Barts is the furthest we'll venture into the Caribbean chain, and, sadly, it's
time for us to turn back. Dianne and the kids fly home from Tortola, BVI at the end of June. Dianne's brother and
sister-in-law, Gary and Lynn, along with the second of her three brothers, Bob, are chartering a sailboat in Tortola to
spend the last week of the month sailing with us. We're allowing one week to sail from here back to Tortola, via St.
Maarten, Virgin Gorda and, if we have time, a couple of days at Anegada.
A quick look at the map will show that we really haven't made it very far into the islands; we certainly haven't made it
as far as we'd originally planned, when we discussed whether it would be worth stopping in Grenada after last year's
hurricane. While we're disappointed that we didn't get to visit more islands, we don't regret the time we've taken
along the way, getting to know places much better than if we'd dropped in, stayed a day or two, and moved on. This
was really brought home to us here in St. Barts, where a progression of charter boats have pulled in near us in the
late afternoon and then pulled out the next morning to continue on their one-week, forced march through prescribed
anchorages ... when they get home, they'll certainly be able to say that they'd been to St. Barts, but did they really
get to experience much of what the island has to offer?
So, we wish we had more time, but hurricane season is upon us. We'll just have to come back in a few years and
pick up where we left off!
While Sad, and a Natural Ending, This Doesn't Bring Our Voyage Log to a Close
We're sure we'll have adventures to relate from our sail back to the Virgin Islands.
St. Barthelemy
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