These days the once mighty French Empire is but a chapter in the dusty pages of history, save its occasional resurrection as the rallying cry in a Hollande speech. Careful what you wish for dude, with an approval rating like that it's probably not a great idea to yearn for the days of the guillotine. Nonetheless, like a day-old croissant there are still a few crispy bits left if you know where to look. Like the French overseas collectivity of Saint Martin for example, a tiny island, or rather half-island, in the tropical northeast Caribbean. Hey, if you're going to lose all your marbles you might as well try to hang on to a few of the good ones. And they don't come any better than Saint Martin.
There's plenty of time to buff the pecs when you only work 35 hour weeks.
Collectivity has a suitably socialist ring to it. Striking is always more fun on the beach. Plus, sharing half your tropical paradise with the Dutch is just the kind of warm, fuzzy, all-together-now paradigm Marx had in mind. Think of it as the world's first timeshare.
If this is the best the Fifth Republic can offer, might be time to move on to 6.0.
You know who else was ruled by the French? Vietnam. Bring out the rice bowls.
Find Your Beach (tm). Done.
They do call it Orient Beach...
Here's the before-rice-bowl shot.
This being France, half the beach is reserved for bathing sans clothing. The other half is reserved for those yearning for a bit of a perve.
A nudie beach seems like a poor location for a clothing shop. But then again, those French never were that interested in you know, like, making money.
Lolos, or beachside bbq shacks, are the antithesis of the snooty French restaurants back in Orient Beach village. Bizarrely, this one is decorated with a collection of New Jersey road signs. Apparently you're now entering Bergen County, which basically means you've been sitting in fumes in the Lincoln Tunnel for the past two hours. Way to set the mood guys, now where's that creole shrimp?
The quaint village of Orient Beach consists of a single square, surrounded by cheery restaurants and their jovial patrons spilling out into the balmy evening. If you don't know the secret three-kiss-left-right-left entry code, resign yourself to the back table hidden in the corner by the washrooms.
Apparently Wuhan was once a French outpost too, so Mei knows her way around a Rue.
Just because they're a long way from Paris doesn't mean the French drop their chic standards: they wouldn't dream of venturing out to dinner in soggy swimwear.
Duck breast in a plum reduction and sea scallops, washed down with a Bordeaux. How very Parisian. And that's before the crème brulée rolls out. Turns out the bill was quite Parisian too.
The beach bars are winding up for a big night. They just have to wait till Rock packs it in and then they can get the party started.
Viva la France!
Viva la Brady! Gronk is wide open down the left sideline, time to, ahem, air it out.
Day two calls for a little more activity than gorging on rice bowls on the beach.
Looks like a perfect day for getting seasick.
Women and children first. Step right up Rock.
Ah, so that's why we were listing starboard on the way over.
Pinel Island, just off the coast of Orient Beach, is the kind of place where pirates stash treasures, dragons roam wild, and Kiera Knightly enters wet corset contests.
Don't let the tide stop the party.
Remind me why being marooned is a bad thing again? Oh that's right, Maroon 5.
Now that's the boat you want to be on. Step right up boys, you know those French are a liberal lot, they're very quick to turn a bikini into a one-piece, if you catch my drift.
Oh look, some wildcatters from Texas. Usually an oil price cash would be bad news, but luckily they're naturally hedged with a short position in 52-weekends worth of Jet A.
Sunset Beach Bar may well be the greatest beach bar in the world. Not only does it have a long-standing policy that topless women drink free, it also happens to be right under the flight path of Princess Juliana International Airport. Where else can you use a surfboard as your arrivals board?
Don't drink and drive. Also don't drink and stand right behind 40,000 pounds of red-hot Pratt & Whitney thrust.
Jack Sparrow spots an incoming galleon on the horizon, no doubt laden with plunder-worth treasury from that fabled land where they can print infinite money. Prepare for broadside!
False alarm, turns out the only treasure on board is a couple of stale chicken wraps and a tapas box.
SkyTeam. Boo, hiss.
Take that back, SkyTeam is the only alliance to bring heavies into SXM. Actually all the U.S. airlines bring in plenty of heavies too, they just don't get the cool call sign.
Four engines, so that when the mechanics are on strike you still have two you can use.
The daily JetBlue from Puerto Rico has a tough act to follow after the mighty Air France A340 redefines the concept of a sea breeze.
Here come the Canadians. Time to find out how many can actually speak their other official language. Nope.
How many countries have an extra check box on the immigration card for mode of arrival: private jet.
U-S-A! U-S-A! The Hooters Express on short finals for SXM.
Speaking of Hooters...
As the flow of jets dries up it's time to check out the French town of Grand Case. You know you're on a tiny island when a one-street town is worthy of a Grand moniker.
You've got to hand it to the French, they sure do know how to make laziness chic.
The aptly named Talk of the Town, a lolo perched right on Grand Case beach, is now Talk of the Blogosphere. With bbq ribs like that, you've earned it.
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