So there’s this beach. Guvernor’s beach. So when you get there you have this unbeatable stretch of white sand backed by jungle, palm trees, a few naked men… Picture this: you set yourself up in front of a little nook that sits under some palm trees and is blanketed by sand where the undergrowth has been worn back (presumably by naked men). You see a sign that says Please Don’t Enter, the Plants Are Trying To Grow (or some such verbiage) so you take a deep breath and don’t go in there. Yes, there might be unicorns, naked people or just a fragment of joy in there. But you see the sign. You care about the environment. You put your towel down on the beach, approved, and lie down.
30 seconds later four people walk over your head, talking on cell phones, loudly I might add, even if French is a beautiful language, and they all snuggle down in there – signs be damned, and about three feet behind our heads! MEANWHILE THE ENTIRE BEACH IS OPEN.
Attention visitors to St. Barth‘s: DO NOT DO THE ABOVE TO POOR INNOCENT BEACH GOERS. It was terrible. We felt downtrodden — and we weren’t even the undergrowth trying to eke out a living under that glorious palm!
I wish that had been the last episode. But it WASN’T. There is an Ugly American Old People edition. There Laszlo and Lala lie, letting the warm sun infiltrate their genetic material and possibly start cancer. Minding our business. Reading our assorted digital reading devices (devici)? when a gaggle of loud New Yorkers (not us!) came up and set up their THREE umbrellas about four feet away from us. This time the interlopers impinged on the whole beach though, because these umbrellas have wind-steadiers or whatever – you know like those ropes that you stake into the ground to keep your tent up at night and to keep out Jason (and his machete) and various types of bears? So they took up the whole walkable beach. And they stayed. For hours.
Sense of entitlement? No. No, you old Americans — you’ve had enough.
- Some restaurants… (lalalabreia.wordpress.com)