MAR 15: St. Bart's/Barth's

We entered a single digit in the time left on vacation today. Following this guy's example, I strove to be cool about it.

My hero. No matter how hot things get, he stays calm.
(seen today in front of a store)

There appeared to be even more superyachts of various designs in the harbor than when we were there on March 04. 

left-to-right: small to extra-large (but no helicopter pad, so not a super-yacht

Today, we went on a 90-minute mini-bus tour of St. Bart's (or, en francais, St. Barth's) and then walked along some of the streets in Gustavia going to and from Shell Beach.

SIRENA was anchored, so we rode in on a tender and then transferred to a taxicab van arranged for the tour. The good news was that it was a Mercedes. The bad news was that three of the seats faced backward, and I was in the middle one. Worse news, for the next 90 minutes, we bumped and twisted along island roads. 

The end of the runway is a popular beach. Only small planes are allowed on St. Bart's.

Even with its exclusive reputation, 500 5-star hotel rooms, and insane prices for everything, the island did not wow us with unusual beauty. It was a place where the rich go to see and be seen, too expensive for mere mortals to enjoy.

For much of the tour, I focused on looking through the back window to avoid the feeling that could come from the 'counting boxcars' eye movement of looking sideways. Unfortunately, to look out that window, I had to peer over either side of an Asian gentleman's head who inscrutably stared back, presumably over my shoulders. It was not a bonding experience.

Although I held it together without discomfort, I did evaluate the ability of my hat to hold liquid should the Asian gentleman succumb, but he was an outlier. My money was on his wife, who spent much of the tour with closed eyes and looked white and green.

When the tour ended, fond farewells with our four Asian companions seemed unnecessary. We thanked our driver and walked along Gustavia's waterfront as we worked our way toward Shell Beach.

There was activity along the waterfront as several sailboats were getting underway for a race. These boats were tied to stern-to, with an anchor holding their bow outward. We watched one boat put in a lot of effort to recover its anchor. Two more had a diver bring up the anchor with a float bag.

Along the way, we passed the scene of the crime where the sign assaulted me (see March 04). Just the bracket was there, the sign probably having slunk off in humiliation. Then again, it being a French sign, it might not have returned to the job after too much celebration for a successful attack on an English-speaking tourist. C'est possible. 

Shell Beach was aptly named with more shells than sand. Opting not to purchase the use of two chaises at €80 (approximately $86 dollars) each, we were left with finding some shade under some plants growing below a ledge. There was considerable competition for these spots, but we got a good one, "good" being a relative term.

After our swim, we returned to the tender landing site along different streets.

We had a nice dinner in the ship's main dining room. While I rarely find myself conflicted about what to have from the offerings that night, there is always something that appeals to me.