The Great Escape

I’m not a huge traveler. And I’ve never been someone who’s desperate to get out of town. As a New Yorker who loves his city, once lost his city, then ultimately got it back, I see New York through particularly grateful lenses these days. That said, when the guy who hires me to do some work for him offers to send me and the rest of his team to St. Barth’s for a few days, the answer is an unequivocal yes. 

I’d never been to St. Barth’s, but I’d heard only the most wonderful things and seen the most gorgeous photos and videos over the years. Everything for this trip was essentially taken care of. All we had to do was show up at JFK with our luggage and our passports. Nice gig.

After an early four hour flight from New York to St. Maarten and a fifteen minute puddle jumper to St. Barthélemy, which has the most unsettling approach and landing I’ve ever experienced, we arrived on the island by lunchtime. 

The island itself is absolutely gorgeous. St. Barth’s (or “St. Bart’s”) is an overseas collectivity of France in the Caribbean. The official language is French, and the people are beautiful. Everywhere we went, the friendly hospitality staff all look like they were hired from a modeling agency. The only drawback as far as I can tell, other than that insane landing strip, is that the water out of the pipes is not potable. Bottled water is the only drinkable water. So we stocked the fridge with Panna and San Pellegrino. A small price to pay for such a breathtaking slice of paradise.

Traveling without kids, I’m not down for ‘activities’ when I go somewhere, unless I’m specifically signing up for a safari or something. And outside of perhaps London or Paris, this New Yorker is not really thirsty for any shopping, since I already have access to some of the best retail the world has to offer. When I’m on a vacation, however brief, I want to read, eat, and sleep, with some walking, swimming, and sunning in between. That’s it. And if opportunity to have sex presents itself, fantastic. 

On my four days and three nights in St. Barth’s, I did exactly those things (except for the sex part). Headquarted at a stunning private villa right on the water, which featured a heated pool and a jacuzzi overlooking the sea, I started a new book, walked on the beach, swam in the ocean and the pool, soaked up some sun, decompressed in the jacuzzi, ate incredible food in great restaurants, and slept like a baby without an alarm because I had no obligation to be anywhere. It was everything I needed it to be. To want anything more would have been ridiculous and excessive. 

As I said at the top, I’m not a big traveler. And I’m not a New Yorker who’s just dying to get out of the city all the time. I love where I live. (I also don’t like being away from my dogs.) But when I do get away, I really like to escape. Escape from people, from work, from the calendar, from obligations, from assholes… all of it. That, to me, is real luxury: finding actual peace and quiet, tranquility, and rest and reveling in it. For me to enjoy a real vacation, I need the world to fuck off. And for a few days last week, it did. And it was fabulous.

I’m a lucky man, and I’m very grateful.

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