Tag Archives: other travel

Paradise Lost

February 27, 2009 Deirdre Straughan Leave a comment

Back in November, an old friend from my Woodstock School days invited us (and several other people) to join him for Thanksgiving on his gorgeous property on Gouverneur Bay, St. Barthelemy. We’d visited once before for his 2001 New Year’s bash, but didn’t get to stay at his place then, and in any case he had made quite a few changes. The estate is quite literally a paradise on earth, as the photos below will attest.

But now we are exiled from Eden: he’s sold the place. So I wanted to share these photos to commemorate it.

funny signs, Italian culture

The Italian Adam

January 11, 2009 Deirdre Straughan 3 Comments

This week I was in Grenoble, France, filming for Sun. Enrico drove over from Lecco to join me on Friday, and we spent the weekend there together. It was too cold to do much roaming around outside, so we went to Grenoble’s fine arts museum, which features a small but impressive collection of paintings, arranged by date and country.

Even as I approached it from a distance, I knew this “God Chastising Adam and Eve” had to be by an Italian painter, using Italian models.

I mean, just look at that Adam. His entire expression and posture are eloquently Italian, a cross between a shrug and Che ci vuoi fare? E’ stata lei! (“What do you want? It was her!”)

Yup, sure enough: Domenico Zampieri, aka il Domenichino.

picture source: Wikimedia Commons

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Words of Wisdom from Irish Taxi Drivers

January 8, 2009 Deirdre Straughan 1 Comment

Taxi drivers the world over are usually gregarious and interested in people (it’s more or less a job requirement). I even met one, years ago in the US, who told me he was driving a taxi to gather stories for a novel he wanted to write.

I’ve just made a flying (in all senses of the word) visit to Dublin, which required four or five taxi rides between airport, hotel, and office, so I had ample opportunity to learn that Irish taxi drivers are more garrulous than most, and wise and funny with it.

The first one, who took me from the airport to the Sun offices the day I arrived, upon learning that this was my first visit to Ireland (yes, tick another “country beginning with I” off the list), told me:

“There are two things you should never do in Ireland: never touch another person’s beer at the pub – that’s sacrilege – and never call an Irishman an Englishman.”

He then reeled off a list of “stupid questions you should never ask,” attributing most of them to Texan tourists:

“That’s a beautiful castle, but why did they build it so close to the motorway?” (A real Texan probably said “highway”, not “motorway”.)
“Why is the grass so green here?” – Answer: “We paint it for the tourists.”
“When will I see a leprechaun?” – Answer: “After your 14th pint of Guinness.”

After giving someone else on the road a piece of his mind, this driver also explained to me that the Irish swear a lot.

“But it’s not necessarily bad. If someone tells you to fuck off, that’s bad. But if a man at the pub asks a woman ‘Do you want to fuck off with me?’, that’s a compliment.”

…

Of course everyone’s talking about the global economic crisis. Another driver told me: “The economists say it’ll be the worst off we’ve ever been. But that’s only relative. This was a very poor country 10-15 years ago.”

He grew up in a family of nine children, whose sheer number entitled the family to a “medical” card. This meant that, when their father’s weekly paycheck ran out on Thursday, the driver (the oldest boy in the family) would take his mother’s shopping trolley to the “stew house” where he was given a big pot of stew and one of rice to tide the family over until payday (Saturday). “I had two older sisters, but they were ashamed to be seen going to the stew house.”

“Now I own a four-bedroom villa in Torquay, as well as the house I live in here [in Dublin]. If I have to sell the villa because of the crisis, how badly off am I, really? I hate to say it, but maybe this crisis will teach people to tighten their belts. We’ve all become too greedy.”

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Getting in and Out of St. Barth’s

November 30, 2008 Deirdre Straughan 2 Comments

This trip to St. Barth’s came up at close to the last minute, so I was scrambling to make arrangements to travel during a peak holiday season, something I usually try hard to avoid. Fortunately, my schedule is flexible (I can work anywhere I can get online) and Ross wouldn’t suffer by missing a few classes, so we were able to set our return for after the rush, with the added bonus of spending more time on “the island” (as residents and frequent visitors call it, implying that there is no other island worth bothering with).

St. Barth’s is tiny (total land area 21 km2 / 8.1 square miles), with a proportionally tiny airport and very little room for a runway. The only planes that can land here are small and local, so longer-range travelers fly in to nearby St. Maarten and then have to get across somehow. There are frequent commuter flights from three different airlines, but, when I tried to book a connection for our arrival, they appeared to be completely sold out. I’ve since learned that I should have checked with the airlines upon arrival in St. Maarten; anyone with a ticket can and frequently does get onto a later or earlier flight, so exact availability is unknown up to the last minute – we might have gotten seats.

However, worried about being stuck overnight and having to pay for a hotel in St Maarten, I asked Jeet to book us on the ferry. One of the ferry services isn’t running at all (the boat broke down), but we got reservations on the other without difficulty (60 euros apiece).

Our JetBlue flight from JFK arrived early in St. Maarten, a little before 4 pm. It then took half an hour (by my watch) to get through immigration – the airport employees moved on “island time” as they processed a horde of tourists who had not yet had the opportunity to reach that happy state of being and were impatiently looking forward to their first ti punch.

By the time we got through, the last in our line, our suitcase had nearly made it onto the carousel. We only had to wait a couple of minutes before we could collect it and go into the bathroom to wash up and change into lighter clothing. We apparently had plenty of time before our 6:45 ferry, but I wasn’t sure how long it would take to reach it. Twice a week this ferry leaves from Oyster Pond, the other side of St. Maarten, which meant a taxi ride which cost $30 and took half an hour – on a Sunday. Another friend hit rush hour on a weekday and spent two hours in a taxi trying to get to the much closer ferry dock.

Our driver was a woman, who told me (when I asked) that there are many women taxi drivers in St. Maarten. She was playing Christmas music on the radio, which seemed incongruous with the tropical weather.

We got to Oyster Pond shortly before 5:30 pm when the Voyager ferry office was supposed to open. It opened a bit late. When the woman finally got her counter window propped up, she confirmed our reservations and told us the ferry would be arriving and boarding around 6:30. We went to the nearby bar for drinks and a snack of fried calamari.

The ferry was late due to mechanical problems; for a while we wondered whether we’d get to St. Barth’s at all that night. We finally departed around 7:30, and I quickly realized why I didn’t want to take the ferry ever again: I spent most of the trip vomiting (“Raphael! Un sac!” shouted a nearby passenger). I’m not usually so sensitive, but become so when I’m tired, and the big ferry was bounding over heavy seas. I may never eat calamari again – that rubbery texture is extremely unpleasant on the way back up.

We reached Gustavia port in St. Barth’s around 8:30 where Jeet & co. picked us up and took us home.

I didn’t have reservations back out of St. Barth’s, either, but now knew that I’d rather avoid the ferry. A round of web searches showed that apparently only WinAir had seats available at a reasonable price and time, but, for such a small local airline, it seemed safer to book directly at the airport than via Travelocity. Jack was going to get a rental car anyway, and all the rental agencies are there. (Note: Avoid the Suzuki Samurai jeeps, which have a dangerously high center of gravity. Jack’s not the first person of our acquaintance to have tipped a Samurai onto its side.)

JetBlue had advised its passengers to allow three hours to get through St. Maarten airport on the way back, and I was told that flights out of St. Barth’s are frequently late, so I’ve booked our return flight at 1:20 on Tuesday, which should put us into St. Maarten at 1:40, with comfortable leeway for our 5:10 pm flight and room for some delays. I was startled to be told that we need to arrive at St. Barth’s miniscule airport two hours before the flight, but, as the counter guy said, they have the same post 9/11 security requirements as any other airport. It’s going to be a long trip back.