Thursday July 21st
Chapter 6
Each morning at L’Hoste we had the option of a continental breakfast in the outdoor dining area. Tables and chairs sit around a center buffet where guest self-serve croissants, ham and cheese, an assortment of cereals, yogurt, bread and jellies. A small warming oven for toasting was available while coffee and hot water for tea sit on a bar at the end of the dining room. Two very nice women, locals to the island, make sure the tables are cleared when you are done; one stayed behind the bar, I think serving eggs and bacon by request though we never took her up on it. We dined there often for breakfast and each day I made sure I picked up a copy of the local Herald to catch up on the day’s news and to peek at the satellite weather map of the Caribbean in case a depression was heading our way. You can’t be too careful during hurricane season.
One of the things my wife creatively resolved was placing our beach towels on the floor at the side of the bed so we could be sure any sand still on our feet would not be dragged onto our sheets. The floor is ceramic and regardless of how careful we were we could see sand had been tracked into the room. There is nothing worse than turning in bed and feeling the friction of beach sand on your bum. The solution worked well as long as we were sure to shake off the sand already on the towels from our day at the beach. Our balcony proved useful for this purpose. On our way to breakfast we would drop off our spent towels and then pick up new ones on the way back to our room. On some mornings it was early and no one was tending the front desk, so we simply tossed our dirty towels on the floor behind. The desk was often attended by a very pleasant, tall black man (can’t remember his name) who had a great sense of humor and reminded me of Shaq of the Lakers. “How do I know you dropped off yesterday’s towels?” he asked. “Because you can trust me?” “Did anyone see you drop them off?” he quipped. “Only my wife and God!” I responded. “In that case, here are your towels!” was his smiling comeback. Towels at L’Hoste were dark blue and there was always a tall pile sitting behind the desk. On another morning I said, “We’d like dark blue towels for a change today”. He thought a bit and then said, “Let me see what I can do, oh…there just happens to be two back here!” again with a smile.
Most all of our beach days on the French side were spent in front of Club Orient. Each morning we’d walk down with our noodles, and a handbag filled with sun tan lotion, room keys, some cash, our ipods, books and water goggles. On a couple days we also stored a bottle of Ma Doudou Coco Leche, which is coconut punch and rum. You can easily find it in the grocery store at Orient Village as it really stands out. The bottles are hand painted with colorful tropical scenes that we found will peal off if you get them wet. We packed the Coco Leche in a bag of ice which of course did not have a long shelf life on the warm beach so on these days we would wind up having a strong brunch, something we never ever do unless on the beach at Club Orient. Of course, on the beach at Club Orient you can wind up doing a lot of things you never ever usually do.
As we walked down to Club Orient, we enjoyed the sensation of seawater, flowing up from the most recent wave that broke on the shore, washing our feet. The sun was always shining at the beginning of the day, usually through the broken clouds remaining from the night. It felt warm on our faces and the sea breeze was cool and refreshing as we walked past Bikini Beach, Kakao, Kontiki, Baywatch, across the rocks in front of Pedro’s, past Perch until we found two lounge chairs void an umbrella. We usually settled, down a bit and to the right of the wooden deck floating off shore, anchored to the seabed below. The first half hour to 45 minutes we spent laying in the sun, working on our tans. “Would you like an umbrella?” was our greeting each morning with a French accent. “Yes, please.” The wooden spike was worked into the sand near our lounge chairs soon to be followed by the placement of the familiar yellow umbrella. By that time we usually found it best to move out of the sun and under the umbrella catching reflective rays that can still toast you through the day. We did not want to cook too quickly as we had many more days on the beach to work on achieving a bronze body.
The same beach attendant, a handsome young guy with long blonde hair, would come by a bit later to collect the $18 fee from those not staying at Club Orient. His tell tale sign were beach towels of a different color than yellow. I would hand him a twenty and tell him to keep the change. He would then ask for my initials, which he wrote down on a clipboard to keep track of the paying guest. After several days of this, he would say a very enthusiastic “thank you!” and not even bother asking for my initials, we “knew” each other by then. We never had a single problems finding chairs and securing umbrellas and found the beach attendants were always friendly and welcoming.
After a bit we would venture into the ocean to cool off from the warming you receive on the beach. Our noodles were always with us, mine blue and hers pink, and we floated together or at least close by one another most of the time. There is a slight tide that carries you north toward Pedros and I said, “Wouldn’t it be fun to walk down to Papagayo’s and then into the water with the noodles and float our way back down the beach?” So we did! Once in the water, almost immediately in front of Papagayo’s, we alternately faced one another wrapping legs together or holding hands just enough for linkage or we’d drift down on our foam noodles with me behind and she resting her head on my shoulder. We felt weightless and free and in love. This vacation was so appreciated and we were soaking up every minute of it. As we glided together, heads just above the blue-green water, the bright sun lit up the sea like flickering mirrors changing shape faster than you could catch with your eye. Clouds, puffy and white, floated above our heads seemingly riding the beach with us. The mountains of St. Martin loomed in the distance, green and lush from frequent showers. We glanced at the people lying on the beach and wondered how long they were going to be here; would they be leaving tomorrow or were they just starting their vacation. We were thankful again to have our 17 days in paradise.
It was nearly noon, so we set our sites on Baywatch for lunch with Andy and Cheryl. Baywatch is our choice for dining while on Orient Beach and we are always pleased with our meal and experience while there. Andy and Cheryl, husband and wife and owners, are so much a part of the Baywatch aura that it would not be the same if they decided one day to sell insurance in Jersey and leave the restaurant to others. Cheryl has a welcoming, inviting pleasantness about her and after your first meal makes you feel like part of the family. Andy is friendly and will banter back and forth and tell the occasional story about growing up and friends from his past. He was particularly happy about a new satellite radio system an acquaintance had set up for him and we could hear Jimmy Buffet singing in the background on the radio’s Margarita Station.
Sitting in the colorful Baywatch bench tables, looking out at the sea, sand, clouds and sky and watching men and women, boys and girls strolling up and down or running back and forth into the water, we waited for our first meal of beer battered scallops with fries washed down with two Caribs….to die for! I noticed a couple sitting nearby, listening attentively to Andy who sat at their table. She was a very attractive blonde and he reminded me of a young Ernest Hemingway, whom I enjoy reading while on vacation. She had a beautiful smile and he puffed on a cigarette as he talked with Andy. Their vacation evidently began way before ours for they were dark and tan and relaxed. One early morning a few days later, as I walked the beach from L’Hoste down to Papagayo’s, they were sitting together in front of their cabin which sat right on the beach. I thought, “That would be nice to try sometime. You wake up and you are here; no walking down the beach, no renting of beach umbrellas, up from bed and into the water.”; Perhaps some day!
After lunch and sometimes before lunch, we would take advantage of happy hour at the Perch. While Papagayo’s is located at the end of the Club Orient, the Perch sits on the beach just as you enter the beach from the north. Two for the price of one attracts a steady stream of thirsty customers who would approach from the beach, order their drinks, and then stay by the bar or go back to their lounges. I overheard someone remark that at high season a line actually forms during happy hour. We usually got two drinks each, beers, but one afternoon varied our thirst quenching with two rum punches. We watched as the bartender poured from an array of bottles leaving room at the top for just a bit of juice, and then topping that off with more rum. It was indeed the strongest rum punch I had ever had and since we really don’t drink that heavily both of us were feeling the effects. The two beers we had beforehand probably contributed to our state and the rest of that afternoon we barely made it off our lounges into the sea, at least I think that was how things went?!? “Pour me, pour me, pour me, pour me…..” (By the way, the song is by Trick Pony and really rocks).
The beach at Club Orient, Perch Bar, Baywatch and noodles in the shimmering water occupied most of our days on the French side of the island. The details varied little, except to talk to different folks we met on the beach or to run for shelter under the Perch when the occasional rain shower would roll in from the east; sometimes with lighting but mostly just rain and wind and the darkening of the radiant Caribbean blue sky. We did spend part of our days on occasion at La Playa as our lounges and umbrella there were part of our room package. But we prefer the freedom of the beach where the yellow umbrellas are lined up almost perfectly by the beach attendants who systematically go about their task day in and day out in this beautiful tropical environment.
This evening would be our first return visit to La Main a la Pate, a restaurant we became attached to on our 2004 visit. La Main is located at Marina Royale in Marigot and for us the attraction is the cuisine AND the staff. Their service is excellent and at times different members of the wait staff can be very entertaining. Maude is a young, petite, pretty, girl born on the island with a sweet French accent. She drew us into the place with her invitation to “sit at a table I have prepared for you”. Maude stands on the walkway in front of the open-air restaurant waiting for those strolling along to come nearby. She then “does her thing” and is so hard to resist that we are surprised when some do continue on without accepting her invitation. “I will miss you”, she says, as they walk away, perhaps to a prearranged dinner engagement. A good number of those who initially resist Maude’s alluring welcome in fact do return to “the table prepared for them”.
After a whole year had passed we were back and walked up to Maude. She smiled as we indicated that we’d like to dine right by the walkway so we would have the best view of our surroundings. As we look out, the marina is a “U” shape, lined with restaurants and shops, but mostly restaurants. Les Dunes, Chanteclair, Belle Epoque and Le Village to our left. Le Galion, Le France, Tropicana, Don Camillo, La Saint Germain and La Peteite Auberge des Iles stretch to the right. The majority of these occupy the first floor of the buildings surrounding the marina. Off to our right, salmon colored second and third floors house residents; the balconies of their apartments decorated with plants. The marina waters reflect an impressionist's image of the dinghies and smaller boats to our right. Excursion catamarans and larger boats are docked in front of the shops and restaurants to our left.
Maude returns to her post out on the dock as a waiter offers menus and a greeting. Asking what we’d like to drink I indicated that, “We’d like sparkling water and a dry French rose.” We usually prefer the red Bordeauxs, Cabs or Merlots but when at La Main last year we tried the dry Rose and really enjoyed it. Soon we walked through the menu with our waiter, a handsome, thin fellow with longer dark hair and an engaging smile. We ordered Escargot, salads, fish and steak dishes. As I finished the escargot, I soaked the garlic butter left over in French bread and wondered if I’d have room to finish the entire meal. We gazed out at the marina while we ate and watched Maude inviting the passersby in for dinner. The waiters, when not busy serving the tables, would stand out with Maude and laugh together sometimes flirting with the pretty girls strolling by. “Take me with you if you do not come here”, one said as the young lady smiled back over her shoulder and then laughed as she increased her pace to a reservation at another restaurant. As our entrees came out Maude walked over with a “Bon appetite”, walked back to the lamp pole she leans on as she waits to encourage guests in for dinner, looked back at us and said “I know you from last year”. We had dined at La Main three times during our 10-day vacation in 2004 and we were pleasingly surprised that she recognized us.
We noticed a scattering of droplets in the marina waters and soon felt the rain pellets on our shoulders. The canopy above our heads was pulled back to allow the breezes to flow free in the dining room but the waiters scurried to roll it back like they had been through this several times before. We were asked if we would like to move our chairs and table back a bit so we would not get wet. Lightning started to crack in the sky above our heads to the left and then we saw some spectacular strikes straight out in the distance. I was enjoying this but soon the rain began to fall more intensely and we moved to a table a bit farther back into the restaurant.
It was about time for dessert and the chocolate cake was what we remembered as the sweet of choice. We were not disappointed as it was placed in front of us to share. The coffee cup size cake is warm and filled with even warmer melted chocolate; dusted with powdered sugar then laced with chocolate sauce, whip cream and a dollop of vanilla ice cream. It slid down very easy and would have been even better if we had two decaf espressos, but the decaf shortage on the island was affecting La Main too. The last bit of Bandoit sparkling water in the red plastic bottle was a refreshing end to our delectable dessert. Dinner was not over yet; there was still the obligatory home spun coffee flavored rum poured into shot glasses, which are refilled almost immediately when found empty. After two each we passed on a refill, paid our check and bid the staff at La Main a good night with assurance that we would return. The rain had stopped and as we drove our car down the street for our return ride to Orient Village we noticed a brightly lit sign to our right set high upon a not so impressive building that read, “Louis’ car repair and excellent guest house”. What a kick.
To be continued…..
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