Fun Facts of St. Barthelemy – Discoveries old and new

Ee-eat Me-ee-eee-ee...

Fact: The goats in St. Barthelemy are overrunning the island! They are cute, and they sound delicious, but the are causing erosion. Eat a goat today to save the island.

Fact: Boats can make you sick.

Another fact: If any deaths occur during a hurricane, the name of that hurricane is then forever dropped from those names that can be used for future hurricanes. So… that… makes… sense… er?

Here is another fact: People hitchhike all over St. Bart’s… you will see people of all ages, although mostly young people, thumbing for a ride at all times of day. Be careful not to run over anyone!

New fact: St. Barth’s was once a Swedish outpost. Isn’t that chef from the Muppets Swedish? Explains a lot.

A fact you might not know: There are like, 900 Portuguese living in St. Barth’s.

A fact you probably know: Mosquitos are very, very hungry here.

Another one: Lizards are everywhere.

Big fact: There are NO mosquitos on Saba, but that’s on another island so, what the heck is that doing here?

Fact: I was so happy in St. Barth's. You will be too.

Minor fact review: So there are too many goats in St. Barth’s. We already told you that. But it vanished when Laz was screwing around with our themes.

There is an ancient house (1700s) of the Ledee family on St. Bart’s. Next to it is a Leper house which is really where they kept their step mothers. Probably. (Source: two pina coladas).

Lala not happy

This page was definitely missing from my brochure of St. Barthelemy. Where's my cocktail? What's this crawling up my leg?









Fare thee well, St. Barthelemy. Nous esperons que nous vous voir la prochaine année.

Few laments have been written that could match ours upon leaving St. Barthelemy and all the fantastic folks we met there. After we woke up to the cold world of New York, which happened to be somewhat warm for the season we realized we had to put a little closure on this, our first chronicle of our various adventures. So the next few weeks will see us adding the various reviews and experiences we forgot… Until then…

Behold: Gustavia. Fare thee well, island town. Fare thee well, awesome Nungan, Papa Guyo, Martine, Cecile, Patricia, Jeannette, fire-dancers, les petites mooches, gun-toting land-barons, yacht owners, patisseries, les croissants aux amends et de la chocolate, the beaches, naked gay men, topless women… et al. By the way, French misspellings are not mine. It’s WordPress’s fault.

Goodbye, cow. Or goat. Or whatever you are. Did you eat those two goats that were here earlier? Cause that’s…not cool, dude. Not cool.

There is shopping in Gustavia. Great gouts of gushing gravy ($) get geysered from Gator-wallets in Gustavia. As Steve Martin said in his blog, he is just supporting the native artisans and indigenous culture when he shops at… Louis Vuitton. Laszlo and Lala do NOT shop at Vuitton. We typically get thrown out of such places for imposing our “performance art” (read: Laszlo dances with the mannequins).

Have you seen my hat? Laszlo? My pink hat? I can’t see anything in this sun.

Note to the wise shopper in St Barthelemy: shop with Martine in Azibi. We may have misspelled it. All respect to Martine: she has fantastic stuff, from Paris, St. Tropez, the Amalfi Coast, Capri, Switzerland, etc. Here’s the deal — the um… arrangement of her goods isn’t as chi-chi-consious as some of the neighboring stores. Don’t let that fool you. This woman has more fashion sense, artistic awareness, and female MAGIC than anyone on the island. Go see her. She will put you in wonderful things, and they will be gratifyingly inexpensive. (And less then some other stores I could mention, that peddle dyed cheesecloth). So. Remember: St. Bart’s shopping = Martine = Azibi. There. We LOVE you, Martine. We want to hang out with you next year. Or visit Laszlo in NYC. I have no room in my place.

Maybe next time she’ll give me a discount. Joke! Joke!


Goat Mountain. Several goats were observed doing goat stuff.

St. Barthelemy Yachts… are large.

A yacht. So there. It's not even big. I have bigger ones floating in my bathtub. And THEY squeak. Hey, yacht capitan, please put down the blond and the White Russian -- no, I mean... just drop both! Can your floating vessel squeak?

Behold a St. Barthelemy Cock. Coq. Gallic Rooster. Whatever.

The unofficial symbol of France is “le coq gaulois.” We met one. He was a dumb little sucker trying to think about how to approach the concept of possibly considering the idea of crossing a road. Cocorico!!!

Two events today. One poulet-related. One literary-related…

Hopeful young writer in Japanese surf-duds, awaiting literary reinforcement.

At left… hope.

At right…disgust with self, universe, and overlarge appearance of thighs in Laszlo’s pictures.


It looks like a trailer screen shot from a J-horror picture. But it's simply the documented reaction to a rejection letter from "a leading muthafukin literary mag that rhymes with RAIN, SPAIN, and BAHRAIN, bitches!"










The other event today was chicken related…

Poulet-poul coucher avec moi ce soir? OKAY. I ADMIT IT. I AM A COQ. So? How about it?

Mais, pourquoi? Pourquoi est-ce que le coq crosser la rue? Je ne sais pas, mon dieu. Laszlo:




Snorkle is another word for nausea

Don't think about sharks. Don't think about sharks. Don't think about sharks.

Yes, faithful readers — once again the weekend got in the way of posts. What is it about Sundays? Douglas Adams had it right when he called these times of uselessness “the long, dark teatime of the soul.” And yes, we are back again. So now that our teatime is through, yours can begin with us, Lala and Laszlo, your ushers.

Anyone who mentions sharks and ruins this for me gets thrown off the boat. To the sharks.

A totally useless Trumpet Fish. No defense against sharks at all.

Our story continues thus… a couple days ago Laszlo and Lala went snorkeling on the Blue Cat. Hosted by one lovely fellow originally from Strasbourg and another originally from St. Barth‘s, we mounted the blue seas, suppressing visions of shark attacks and wishing for Dramamine.

Sea Turtles do not like to be ridden, no matter what you hear.

Upon arrival at our snorkeling destination on the heaving Barthelemy seas, Lala and Laszlo were zipped into wet suits. Lala, who tends to present as skinnier than she is, from, er… the front view, was stuck halfway in and halfway out of a size small wetsuit. It was only when her rear was stuck at the zipper and refused to get into the suit that the charming Skipper said, “Ah, perhaps it is too small, no?” Damn it, said Lala, who was starting to feel the waves in the form of a hot flash and sweaty temples. Nevertheless, she sucked it all in and zipped it up. whew.

A shark. Since you brought it up.

Then the St. Barth’s man explained that sharks exist but they don’t kill that many people, and hey, we are in their territory anyway. Also he showed us pictures of trumpet fish, which have never once in history been recorded as fighting off sharks from innocent snorkelers, so were of no interest to Lala.

In any event, we had fun and I learned that if you have to throw up in the ocean, it’s best have eaten nothing but Haribo Gummy Bananas.

Our snorkeling experience was just like this... but with more vomiting.

Helpfully chumming the waters for our fellow divers.

L’Isola in Gustavia is so delish…


An important part of the vegetable group. Take one orally twice daily for pink elephant viewing and the opportunity to believe you are better looking than you are.

So martinis with little fruits and veggies floating atop them are good after a long long day in the sun, working on stuff for Laz’s next art project.
L’Isola is hot this Sunday with Nungan jamming in the corner. Lots of people.


Buckle the fuckle up or I will make you wear my headscarf. Also, I will explain why my face is so white. You WILL wish you hadn't asked. Actually, it's pretty simple: I don't want to get old so I put SPF 50+ on my face and I just let the rest age. I imagine the result will be quite alarming when I am 67. "Who is that young woman walking around on Jessica Tandy's body?"

Nungan. The band. They play an awesome rendition of "Bang, Bang." Not pictured: the photographer extraordinaire Laszlo. "Yes, sure, the headscarf looks GREAT, Lala, I am laughing at a funny thought I had... about ANOTHER girl in a headscarf..."

Hotel Christopher – The Day

Someone had good taste when they made this place. Now if only the people matched. Maybe that's why beautiful architecture is necessary -- to distract us from all the people around us. -- Said by Lala after she saw herself in the bad lighting in the bathroom, having just passed an indifferent super model on the way from the pool. "I didn't know the pelvis could get so small," she complained.

Laszlo: "Nice jugs!" (They have great jugs at the Christopher Hotel)

So Laz finally got around to uploading more photos from our little day at The Hotel Christopher on Saint Barthelemy.

A day pass cost $120 Euro each and included a lovely gourmet lunch, a drink, a bottle of water, a massage by a pert young French lass, and a totally amazing bed setup by the infinity-edge pool, that overlooks the ocean.

For what it’s worth, they give good Oriental Bikini Wax (ancient Chinese secret — I DID NOT SAY IT – My wax girl did) which is quite intimate.

Lazslo wanted to show off Lala so chose the center beds, even though Lala had spent all morning being irritable because she felt fat. Laszlo had to pry the chocolate croissant out of her hands at breakfast, as she was threatening to throw it over the wall. “It doesn’t deserve to live after what it and its kind have done to me!” she shrieked.

So, without further ado…

"Lala, can you please get out of the way of my view? You're legs are ruining my view."

Hiking in Toiny St. Barth’s – Have you seen the Leper House?

English: This is the local flag of Saint-Barth...

St. Barthelemy Coat of Arms. Because Laszlo says this blog has to have some information in it that is relevant to the world and stuff.

Not-so-fun fact of the day St. Barth’s: There is a leper house in St. Barthelemy, built in the late 18th century to accompany a family’s home. It’s tiny and spooky, really just walls (very thick) now. As we had gone running along the beach, we had no camera. Laszlo was sad. So here are some pictures of a Boulangerie where they serve yummy food and where there are no lepers.

These are slow lobsters.

Then we went to the beach for some photos that revealed what chocolate croissants do to the body when taken orally for weeks on end.

Here I am being so awesome and wearing my new swimsuit from Bamboo, plus a couple chocolate croissants around the equator... whatya mean this is a restricted area?!?

Narcissists at work.

You know, as an artist-writer duo, we kind of resent the way that all this glorious beauty impinges on our creative impulses. “I mean, how am I going to plunge the depths of my soul for moral cockroaches when I’ve got this to look at?” said Lala. “Look how fast that Windsurfer is going!” said Laszlo.

This beach sucks. The waters are so... electric. The sand is so... confectioner's sugary. The men are so... brown and yummy.

Hanging with the band Nungan and Papaguyo himself. Yeah. We know. We’re cool.

Some peeps: three of us our in our 30s. Can you guess which two were born the same year as Michael Jackson and Prince? Okay, gotta run, Laszlo is coming after me with what looks like a rusty machete.

May we PRESENT PINKY THE BRAVE! He was pink! He was fearless! He may or may not have emerged from the toilet! What we do know is that Laszlo had a camera with him in the bathroom for some reason! Due to the number of rusty machetes showing up in this blog, Lala is not asking why today! Go PINKY!

Reports have it that this lone critter survived Laszlo's visit to the loo after we had those Mahimahi enchiladas. Steady on, old fellow.

Storms and beaches on St. Barth’s this January

Last night the missing chair turned up — mystery solved: we have a ghost!  Laszlo hopes it’s a pirate’s soul, one that was dashed on the rocks hundreds of years ago while trying to hide his gold. I’m more hoping it’s a bronzed, oiled-up, spear-carrying Arawak. Whoever it is, he’s got good taste in chairs. Here is a random gratuitous unrelated beach scene, by the way. (That’s why we’re here, right?)

Saline Beach with humans. To prevent encroaching visitors we set up a radius of garlic. but it didn't work.

Experience of the day: sometimes? those little mosquito-repellant coils? the ones you burn? and they smell like incense? they are sometimes really toxic? And make you tired? … read on, noble reader…

L'Orient and Point Milou from Villa deck. I know, it's hideous. Just glad you can't see the naked people from this distance. Also, we were high on mosquito coil so it was hard to focus the camera.

Lala, in a fit of housekeeping fervor, lit one of those little coils, left it on while she went to zumba. The house was unlivable after that, and we had to go sleep in the separate bungalow. 

This would have been fine and good, except for then the world’s largest storm (opinions on this vary widely, as Laszlo insists “it was nothing,”  hit St Barthelemy.  All night long we were pummeled and shaken and terrified by the wrath of God or Kahn or someone I pissed off at Starbucks who then died and held a grudge.  Even the lizards, who like to take refuge in the house to Laszlo’s undying horror, wouldn’t go near the main house: the nefarious mosquito coil was keeping all beings away. All beings — except for mosquitos.  They came in the usual droves.

Columbier at sundown, when the mosquitos rise to fight the humans, and many lives are lost on both sides.

Today, when we finally woke up from the tempest, we went to write and paint at Le Tamarin. Visitors to St. Barthelemy: if you need a cute lunch spot (dinner as well) GO TO LE TAMARIN. It’s delicious and the little “garden” is filled with interesting furniture-type stuff, buddhas, pillows, parrots, etc.  It has a French Polynesian flair and has been in existence for 25 years. The owner Sabine is awesome and supports Lala in her ban of all things two-wheeled when it comes to island transportation.  Hear that, Laszlo? NO SCOOTER FOR YOU.

Here are some more gratuitous pictures of St. Barth’s beaches and stuff.

A view of St. Barthelemy from high above Flamands, looking Eastward toward the East. And destiny.

Hotel Christoper Pool. "Wow that's so nice," said Laszlo. The couple behind us asked us to get out of the way of the view.