St Barth - Shell Beach (en Francais dans le texte !)

After our enlightening chat in the Marchand de Journaux, we make our way back to the taxi station, just next to where the tenders dock. People are still coming off the ship, so there is still quite a bit of activity at the little cabana here (where they distribute the ship-specific baby blue towels) and a ton of people trying to orient themselves and find a ride to beaches. The taxis are trying to fill their vans with people going to St Jean. But, I don't want to go to St Jean. I want to see the pristine, undeveloped, top-10-in-the-world beaches... Well, the taxi drivers are being very Parisian. They just refuse. The sea is too rough at those beaches today. That's OK, I just want to see. But there's nothing to do on those beaches. Well, that's precisely why I want to go... But you have to walk from the road to the beach for a little bit, in the woods. Do I look like I'm a cripple? Anyway, they just leave with other customers for St Jean and ignore us... We are not going half way around the island to sit on a beach where the biggest attraction is watching planes land, with restaurants and night clubs all around. So if we can't see paradise, we decide to go to the little beach in Gustavia itself, at least for a nice dip in the Mer des Caraïbes. Shell Beach, it's called - in good French. We cross the village again, through a few pleasant, sleepy streets and reach the beach. It's rather small, but the water is bleu-des-mers-du-Sud and warm.The other side has no sand but pretty rocks and surf.

The air is balmy, not scorching, and after a dip in the water, I sit comfortably on the sand, my toes grazing the mounds of sea shells that give the beach its name.

Alain hesitates for a while, pretending the water is too cold. But once he's in there, he doesn't seem to be able to get out of it... (This one for my gay friends who can't get over how good my dad looks in bathing suit - I predict increased traffic on the blog today).

The odd-looking 17-year-old trombone and his father are here.

And amid a big family group is.... Keb'Mo!

Now we know who the woman is, the one relieved him from his love for all "women".

We almost know, actually. There are two tall light haired women with a little girl, a Maribel look-alike. We've seen that toddler and the two sisterly-looking tall women all over the ship before.

The kid is Keb'Mo's daughter!!!

And one of the tall women must be the woman, the other her sister.

But it's not entirely clear which is which.

Maybe I'm being too conventional here...

The chubby white boy with male-pattern baldness is part of the entourage. Oh, and yes, Keb'Mo stayed fully clothed and on his cell phone the whole time...

When dad finally makes it out of the water, I'm well on my way to sunburn and we eat a panini bought at the little shack on the beach. A fresh passion fruit-watermelon-strawberry juice. It's just a simple tuna salad/mozzarella panini, but man, the French Caribbean tuna salad doesn't taste like it does in LA. I have to find the recipe and reawaken your dull senses, friends. This IS how it should taste. It tastes like Provence.

Life is good after all.

As we walk back, we come across... Marcus Miller, with a pal, on a tiny street. He is looking for the beach too. He has an easy and cheerful smile. On the way, we mail a post card for Arthur - at the local post office, which is as cheerful as any French (or other) post office - and board the tender, then the ship. The view of the bay is decidedly ugly, but we'll keep the memory of lively and lovely Shell Beach.