While it's never over 'til it's over, forgive me if you detect a note of optimism creeping into my musings. With a 187 point lead and only 6 days to go, I do believe that my lead is just about insurmountable.
No more hotel computer for me, with staff looking over my shoulder wondering what the hell I'm doing and when the hell I'll be finished doing whatever it is. I found what passes for what I believe we in America call an "internet cafe", where for the meager sum of $9 per hour, you can pound away at a keyboard (and an English one, I might add) to your heart's content.
Interesting island, St. Bart's is, breasts and tushie cheeks aside. The airport is only slightly larger than a postage stamp, so there are no direct flights in by jet. You fly to St. Martin, then board a tiny prop plane for the hop over. You disembark some ten minutes later with 7 or 8 other people, who, while they may be from different parts of the U.S. (or the world, for that matter), all seem to have a ruddy green complexion and wobbly legs. But I will say this: "That's what I call flying".
Then another wild ride, this one from the airport to the hotel, over narrow and treacherous mountain roads, the mean features of which are sheer drops of several hundred feet, and a disconcerting absence of guard rails.
Prices here are insane. The island produces nothing whatsoever, so everything is imported. A simple club sandwich for lunch runs about $22, and wine is cheerfully marked up about 500-600% per bottle. We ate dinner last night in the hottest restaurant on the island, the buzz about which is so great that it received a write-up in a recent article in the NY TIMES travel section. What the article failed to mention, however, was the very limited menu; only 5 entree choices, one of which, unbelieveably, was flying fish. It came breaded and fried, much like a chicken cutlet, and quite frankly could have been anything at all and you would have not known the difference.
Staying at our hotel is the designer, Calvin Klein, who was pointed out to me by my GF. I mean, I wouldn't know Calvin Klein from Calvin Coolidge. He's here with a young man, who, if actually out of puberty, can't be out by much. While the nature of their relationship was quite evident to me, GF insisted that there was always the possibility that the seeming "boy toy" was merely a "new, up and coming young designer" who Calvin was mentoring. Yeah, right. There was only one thing up and coming with those two, and believe me, it had nothing to do with clothing design.
I probably should have posted this little travelogue in its own thread, but I kind of feel like our fantasy BB thread is a private little forum all our own. I really do miss you guys and our daily repartee, but I'll be back Friday to start my victory dance. :p ----------------------- 6 days to go.
