Drift Reality

We awoke the next day and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast of bread, brie, and tomatoes on the veranda while admiring the view of Grand Case. While we ate, we decided that we would spend the first part of the day visiting the northwest beaches in Saint Martin.

We gathered our things together and set off for Friars Bay.

The moment we set foot on Friar’s Bay and observed the huge billboard promoting the latest installment of Pirates of the Caribbean, and the families and children milling about, we decided it would be a better investment of our time to check out the neighboring Happy Bay.

After trudging through a thin path surrounded on both sides by tall grasses for about fifteen minutes, we emerged onto a cliff that overlooked a small rocky beach. There were two locals fishing on the beach.

Could this be Happy Bay?

As I compared our current position on the shore to where I thought we were on the map, I found myself coming to the incredulous conclusion that the craggy plot of sand and rocks was the allegedly beautiful Happy Bay.

Shrugging my shoulders we decided to take a few pictures before returning to Friars Bay.

Is this Happy Bay?

Thankfully, my sense of direction is second to all and the shore we had stopped at was most certainly not Happy Bay. On queue, a trio of small French boys came rushing through the brush.

“Hey guys,” I asked. “Is this Happy Bay?”

“Non!” one responded.

“Happy Bay?” the other questioned.

“Come, come,” the third beckoned.

With that, the trio headed back into the brush, stopping every so often to look back and make sure we were still following them. After just a few minutes of walking, we emerged onto one of the most beautiful, isolate beaches in Saint Martin. We put our towels down nearby and began soaking in the sun.

No, this is Happy Bay.

For the first time since arriving in Saint Martin, there was literally no sound except for the ocean landing on the shore.

After a quick nap to regain some of our energy from a day of sun and shopping, we were ready to head out to dinner at Sol e Luna.

Sol e Luna had come highly recommended to us from Kris, one of the owners of L’Esplanade and she had not steered us wrong up to then so we decided to follow-up on her advice and make reservations at the restaurant.

It was a quick drive from Grand Case and soon we were seated outside on the patio, enjoying the warm Saint Martin evening.

Both the exterior and interior of the restaurant have a slick, romantic feel, as you can somewhat tell from this picture:

Photo courtesy of Sol e Luna Web site

Our waitress, who was also the daughter of the proprietors, was extremely friendly and helpful in assisting us to choose a wine as well as provide insight into the menu.

We ended up order the Lobster Bisque to start, which was tasty but could have used a bit more substance. For the main course my companion had the jumbo shrimp, flammed with brandy and green pepper sauce, and served on a bed of lobster risotto. I ordered the linguini, which was cooked in a garlic and spicy tomato broth with a healthy provision of seafood.

We polished off the meal with some fresh berries and cream and a couple of shots of ginger rum, which I ended up developing quite an addiction to during our trip.

In all, it was a great experience and Sol e Luna lived up to its reputation as being one of the top restaurants in Saint Martin.

After a day of exploring the beaches on the west coast of Saint Martin, we decided to head down to Marigot to check out some of the shops the island had to offer. Apparently, there are two main areas to go shopping: the area around Great Bay, which is great for electronics and Jewelry; and Marigot, which has more of the high-end, boutique clothing shops.

As we were up in Grand Case, I was thankful that I was not made to drive down to Great Bay but was simply forced to drive to Marigot to check out the shops.  My first impression of Marigot was that the traffic sucked pretty bad, as we were slammed from the moment we diverged off the main road into the town.  We eventually managed to find parking and began exploring the shops throughout the city.

It was a bit disorienting to say the least, to see high-end boutique stores in such a localized Caribbean setting.  After walking through the town, we walked along the harbor as the sun set before returning to our car.

Before heading up to Grand Case, we stopped at Match, one of the larger French supermarkets on the island, where we picked up some fruits, cheeses and chocolate to snack on for the remainder of our trip.

After Orient Bay, I felt as though my eyes needed some recovery time so we decided to head down to Le Galion Beach (Baie de L’Embouchure), which Kris had mentioned was normally quite quiet in comparison (although on Sunday apparently, it fills up with little children).

It was only a short drive away from Orient Bay and soon we were enjoying the calm water and relative quietude of Le Galion Beach.

Le Galion Beach

Le Galion Beach turned out to be my favorite beach in Saint Martin.  It actually sits on a sand bar so you can walk out a fair distance in the calm waters.  There is a nice little restaurant that sits on the beach where you can get drinks and snacks.  All-in-all, it makes for a perfect destination if you are seeking a more calm, relaxed experience in Saint Martin.

On Saturday morning we woke up bright and early, feeling fully recovered from the previous day of travel. Opening the curtains revealed a stunningly bright and sunny day that helped drive us out of our grogginess.

We stopped in the reception and chatted with Kris briefly. She recommended Coconut Grove (Baie del L’Embouchure) but we had heard some good things about Orient Bay so we decided to stop there first.

After about a 15-minute drive, we arrived at the south end of Orient Bay, which is a bit dumpy, and began driving north until we reached the Coco Beach Bar and Restaurant. After parking outside, we started strolling south along the beach.

Orient Bay is one of the more well-known beaches in Saint Martin, and part of its reputation is derived from the optionality of clothing that is associated with the beach. I’m certainly no hater of the human body, but the sights we saw along Orient Bay made me contemplate poking my eyes out with a spoon and spending the remainder of my life in androgyny.

That being said, the beach itself was quite attractive:

In general though, I have to admit I wasn’t overly impressed with Orient Bay. The beach is nothing spectacular compared to some of the others in Saint Martin, the restaurants are over-priced and over-commercialized, and there is the aforementioned issue with naked nastiness.

We had a quick and forgettable lunch at the Coco Beach Bar and Restaurant, where the service was sub-par, before heading off to greener pastures.

After relaxing for a little while we decided to explore Grand Case and see if we could get a little beach time before the sun set. The receptionist at L’Esplanade told us about a small beach near the hotel called Le Petite Plage. After a short walk we discovered that Le Petite Plage was in fact, truly petite so we decided to walk to the main beach in Grand Case and check that out.

Grand Case has a truly local feel that differentiates itself somewhat from some of the more touristy destinations on the island. There are a number of small, quaint restaurants along the path (I’ll write about one of the better ones a bit later) as well as some small boutique and souvenir shops.

After walking for several minutes we arrived at the Sunset Cafe, where we had a couple of drinks while we watched a group of children playing in the water while the sun set over the horizon.

After about a 30-minute drive through Saint Martin, we miraculously arrived at L’Esplanade and I sort of held my breath as we drove up the steep incline that lead to the hotel’s reception area.

I was holding my breath because I was not entirely sure what to expect from the place. Sure, Trip Advisor had ranked it as the top hotel in Saint Martin and had awarded it the Traveler’s Choice award in both 2005 and 2006. Sure, it had a snazzy Web site and an amazing photo gallery.

I was still nervous that we were driving into a dump.

My fears instantly disappated the moment we parked and entered the reception area and were presented with this view:

“Your room will be ready in just a few minutes, would you like a drink while you wait? Perhaps a Carib?”the receptionist asked.

“You had me at Carib,” I thought to myself and nodded affirmatively.

After a few minutes of basking in the Saint Martin afternoon, our room was ready and we were delighted to see that the pictures from the Web site were not all smoke and mirrors.

The owners, Kristen and Marc, had really paid attention to the little things - the fixtures in the kitchenette, a painting on acrylic tiles in the patio, and small flowers sprinkled throughout the room.

There was even a little kitchenette that would come in handy after we discovered the French market near Marigot.

The pièce de résistance however was clearly the view from the patio. As far as things to wake up to in the morning, you could do worse:

 

After the long trip it was nice to catch our breath for a few minutes while gazing out over Grand Case.

We arrived at Juliana Airport in Saint Martin at about 3PM on Friday afternoon. The moment we stepped off the plane and I could feel my stress dissolve into the warm Caribbean air. After grabbing our suitcases we headed to the car rental place to pick up the “convertible” I had reserved the previous night. I was a bit surprised but undaunted when the car rental manager pulled up in an old white jeep wrangler.

“This is our convertible?” I asked.

“Yes, these are what people drive on the island,” he responded.

I turned and could see my companion skeptically eyeing up the car.

“Err…is this okay with you?” I asked, to which she responded in the affirmative. I turned back to the rental manager and asked, “Can you help me take the top off?”

After a few minutes of struggling with a mess of latches and zippers, a struggle I realized I would never be able to duplicate, we had the top off and the suitcases in the backseat. As we were gearing up to head off, a middle-aged woman from Boston who we had met on the shuttle from the airport to the rental car place leaned over and warned us not to leave anything in the jeep. With that, we set off for our hotel in Grand Case.

Getting ready to drive off in the “convertible”

The area directly surrounding the airport was actually quite a congested mix of cars, scooters, and locals shouting out unintelligibly. After a few miles, we turned onto Union Road, headed to the Dutch/French border, and the natural beauty of the island asserted itself.

Saint Martin is an incredibly lush, hilly island that is replete with a diversity of beautiful sceneries. Driving north along the western coast through Marigot up to Grand Case provided a great overview of what we could expect over the next few days.

Trying not to get lost in Saint Martin
Surprisingly (given my track record with getting lost) I managed to successfully navigate all the way to Grand Case and was filled with a sense of excitement as we turned off the road into the driveway for Hotel L’Esplanade.

My sister’s birthday was a couple weeks back and I decided to be a good big brother by taking her to one of the top salons in Washington, DC - Salon Bleu in Tysons Galleria. A close friend who I trust immensely recommended Anne, their senior creative stylist. It was a bit expensive but my sister proclaimed it was the best cut she had ever received in her life. Over the next few days she continued to mention how great her hair looked and how many compliments she had received so I figured it was worthwhile sharing.

Washington Post has an editorial review of Salon Bleu along with some pretty compelling reader feedback. The Salon also has a Web site you can visit for more information.

I was recently visiting a friend who lives in the West Village when I had the displeasure of encountering Socialista. As I was riding over, my friend wrote me the following text:

“Socialista is at 505 West St. between Horatio and Jane. Text me when you get here. Maybe your looks will get you in.”

I found the last line of the text a bit peculiar to be sure, but didn’t think anything of it until I arrived at the front door and saw a group of people standing outside negotiating with the doorman. I immediately knew that there was going to be some infuriating front door politics involved as I sauntered up.

“Hey, is there a guest list or something?” I asked one of the doormen, who was standing guard over the exit.

“Yeah,” he grunted. “There is a guest list.”

I began texting my friend that I had arrived when I saw several other people try to gain admittance to the club and be denied.

Turning to the doorman standing in front of the entrance, I asked, “Hey, what’s the deal with this place?”

“Well, you really have to know someone here to get in,” he responded categorically.

“I know my friend who is in there,” I responded.

“Who is your friend?”

“My friend is __________,” I responded knowing full well that this moron didn’t know who my friend was.

“I don’t know your friend,” he responded.

I resisted the temptation to blurt out, “That’s because you don’t know f#%k all,” and instead decided to call my friend and ask him to come out. It was freezing so while I was calling my friend I walked over to the place next door (not realizing it was connected to the lounge).

I walked in the entrance and immediately a man in the suit came up and asked, “Do you have a reservation? Because we are closing pretty soon.”

I looked at him and simply responded, “No, I’m meeting some friends here,” thinking ignorantly that this would be enough to get him to walk away.

“Who are your friends?” he responded. “Maybe I can help you find them.”

I took a quick scan about the place, which couldn’t have been more that 15′ by 15′ and repeated my friend’s name.

“Sorry,” he responded. “I don’t know him. Perhaps they are at the lounge next door? This is the Socialista restaurant.”

Realizing that this was my queue to stand outside I headed out and called my friend to come meet me. After a few minutes, he emerged from the lounge and we went to hail down a cab.

After coming home to DC, I decided to read up on the place. I found out from the Observer write-up that the owner, Armin Amiri grew up in Iran and it suddenly made a great deal of sense to me that the place was so pretentious (disclaimer - I am half-Iranian).

I sort of threw up a little in my mouth when I read his quote in the article:

“What I’d like to be done is a socialism as far as the door. . .What socialism really means is, I give you this and you give me that. And as the door goes, I’m gonna bring you into this nice atmosphere; hopefully, you’re going to bring your great energy in here. And that’s it—that’s the only even exchange I want with people.”

Dude, do you even know what socialism is? Have you ever been to f#%ing Cuba? Were you on drugs when you did the interview?

Reading on, I struck upon a real gem from Amiri: “Back in the old days—you know, the 1940’s—when you went out, it was all about respect. You respected the establishment; it was very chill. And when a single man went out, if he wanted to pick up on a woman, it was very classily done. These days, unfortunately, there’s not much, you know, class left.”

I’m not even going to dwell on the fact that Amiri was negative thirty years old in the 1940s. Instead I’m going to dwell on the fact that this idiot is talking about socialism and 1940s style when his place is so obviously about pretension, elitism, and a tacky effort to actually be stylish while failing miserably.

Style isn’t imposed by an owner. Style evolves over time because a place cultivates relationships with patrons and creates a unique experience for them.

I couldn’t understand how someone could be so ignorant until I saw the picture of Amiri in the article. You can tell Amiri is desperately trying to look stylish but ends up looking like a hairy version of a young Dustin Hoffman, except not as good looking:

Amiri, are you trying to seduce me?

It turns out there are quite a few reviews of Socialista in the blogosphere - none of them too flattering, further affirming the fact that bloggers are smart. Joonbug did a nice little recap. of Socialista if you want to read more.

My opinion is next time you are in the West Village do yourself a favor and keep walking by this place.