Posted By: KenW
Day 3 -- The Battle of the Beach - 05/19/2017 12:51 PM
The Day 3 report was going to be short, but events took over.
Our anniversary dinner at Le Cottage was a delight. I know you have been on the edge of your seats to find out 1. Did they get a seat sur le porche and 2. What color were the tablecloths. Well, the lovely hostess at Le Cottage did not at first want to give us the open 4-top on the porch -- the only open table available along the rail. I turned down two 2-tops that were not worthy. After a pause, she relented and gave us the perch on the porch. She later told us a party of four had cancelled. She also gave us insight on timing one's reservation. Eight o'clock, the time we tend to choose, is an awkward time to for reservations from the restaurant's point of view. Diners come in two waves -- 7:00 and 9:00. Arriving at 8:00 is mid-meal, with few tables opening up. Well, since we almost closed the place, their clientele for this night must have come in on only the first wave.
As for the dinner, it was excellent. All was superb, especially the taupe tablecloth. Yes, taupe. Abby's salad of the day and my lobster bisque were tasty starters. Then came the red snapper and shrimp combo for me and the pistachio-encrusted mahi-mahi special for that foolish woman who married me fifteen years ago to the day. We finished with ice cream and sorbet. I have already lost count of the boules of yummy frozen desserts I have had. Hey, I am on vacation.
Our third day on the beach came with a further worsening of the dreaded seaweed. But, I want to assure all that so far the cursed crud has had zero impact on our enjoyment of the beach or the water. A minor inconvenience. In fact, the best part of the day has been wave hopping like kids just beyond the surf line.
Just when we thought that this day at the beach would be ... well.... a day at the beach and this report would be short, the Battle of the Beach broke out. This conflict was between the Cruisers and the Playa guests. As usual, the French, Spanish, Germans, and we Americans had secured our beachhead in front of La Playa. We were dug in with our easily-distinguished yellow and white towels marking our turf. Expressos were being sipped; adults were reading; and children were politely and quietly playing in the sand. All was quiet on the eastern front. Then the invasion began. Instead of a frontal assault by way of landing craft, the mode of debarkment was vans. They sneaked in behind our backs, while we unknowingly and innocently scanned the bay. Dispatched from the vans, the hoards came, carrying their own towels and taking over the beach one chaise at a time. I say one chaise at a time because four of these marauders actually asked to rent and share just one chair. After all, $10 is a lot to pay for a chair. Next came the bombardment of beers. In our first two days, nary a beer had been consumed on La Playa beach. But this day, my friends, the fusillade of ferment and foam was so heavy that the beach ran gold with hops, and the empty-bottle count mounted. Next came the shooters. We are not talking snipers here, but rather those deadly little shot glasses of rum. The calm esprit de corps of the guests was being threatened. But, all of this paled in comparison with the breach of protocol that was to come. Two Spaniards briefly took leave of their chairs, leaving behind their yellow and white colors to mark their territory. Two Cruiser jaune fils took advantage of this dropping of the guard to capture these two chairs. They literally dug in, expanding their sand excavation to include the chairs. When the Spaniards returned, they found their chairs and towels covered with sand. "Dios mio," what had happened? Much ado was made of cleaning the sand off. What an affront! It was time to beat back these barbarians. In the end, a Maginot line line was drawn in the sand, and a detente was reached. Eventually, the interlopers' time and treasures ran out. A forced retreat was called for by the van captains, and it was back to the other side of the island where their armada was docked. Soon, peace was restored, and all was back to normal on Orient Beach. "Monsieur, un expresso, si'l vous plait."
Time to dream about dinner this evening at Sol e Luna.
Our anniversary dinner at Le Cottage was a delight. I know you have been on the edge of your seats to find out 1. Did they get a seat sur le porche and 2. What color were the tablecloths. Well, the lovely hostess at Le Cottage did not at first want to give us the open 4-top on the porch -- the only open table available along the rail. I turned down two 2-tops that were not worthy. After a pause, she relented and gave us the perch on the porch. She later told us a party of four had cancelled. She also gave us insight on timing one's reservation. Eight o'clock, the time we tend to choose, is an awkward time to for reservations from the restaurant's point of view. Diners come in two waves -- 7:00 and 9:00. Arriving at 8:00 is mid-meal, with few tables opening up. Well, since we almost closed the place, their clientele for this night must have come in on only the first wave.
As for the dinner, it was excellent. All was superb, especially the taupe tablecloth. Yes, taupe. Abby's salad of the day and my lobster bisque were tasty starters. Then came the red snapper and shrimp combo for me and the pistachio-encrusted mahi-mahi special for that foolish woman who married me fifteen years ago to the day. We finished with ice cream and sorbet. I have already lost count of the boules of yummy frozen desserts I have had. Hey, I am on vacation.
Our third day on the beach came with a further worsening of the dreaded seaweed. But, I want to assure all that so far the cursed crud has had zero impact on our enjoyment of the beach or the water. A minor inconvenience. In fact, the best part of the day has been wave hopping like kids just beyond the surf line.
Just when we thought that this day at the beach would be ... well.... a day at the beach and this report would be short, the Battle of the Beach broke out. This conflict was between the Cruisers and the Playa guests. As usual, the French, Spanish, Germans, and we Americans had secured our beachhead in front of La Playa. We were dug in with our easily-distinguished yellow and white towels marking our turf. Expressos were being sipped; adults were reading; and children were politely and quietly playing in the sand. All was quiet on the eastern front. Then the invasion began. Instead of a frontal assault by way of landing craft, the mode of debarkment was vans. They sneaked in behind our backs, while we unknowingly and innocently scanned the bay. Dispatched from the vans, the hoards came, carrying their own towels and taking over the beach one chaise at a time. I say one chaise at a time because four of these marauders actually asked to rent and share just one chair. After all, $10 is a lot to pay for a chair. Next came the bombardment of beers. In our first two days, nary a beer had been consumed on La Playa beach. But this day, my friends, the fusillade of ferment and foam was so heavy that the beach ran gold with hops, and the empty-bottle count mounted. Next came the shooters. We are not talking snipers here, but rather those deadly little shot glasses of rum. The calm esprit de corps of the guests was being threatened. But, all of this paled in comparison with the breach of protocol that was to come. Two Spaniards briefly took leave of their chairs, leaving behind their yellow and white colors to mark their territory. Two Cruiser jaune fils took advantage of this dropping of the guard to capture these two chairs. They literally dug in, expanding their sand excavation to include the chairs. When the Spaniards returned, they found their chairs and towels covered with sand. "Dios mio," what had happened? Much ado was made of cleaning the sand off. What an affront! It was time to beat back these barbarians. In the end, a Maginot line line was drawn in the sand, and a detente was reached. Eventually, the interlopers' time and treasures ran out. A forced retreat was called for by the van captains, and it was back to the other side of the island where their armada was docked. Soon, peace was restored, and all was back to normal on Orient Beach. "Monsieur, un expresso, si'l vous plait."
Time to dream about dinner this evening at Sol e Luna.