DATE: Sunday, June 22, 1997                 TAG: 9706240530
SECTION: DAILY BREAK             PAGE: E1   EDITION: FINAL 

SOURCE: BY STEPHEN HARRIMAN, TRAVEL EDITOR 

                                            LENGTH:  299 lines

YES, YOU CAN AFFORD ST. BARTS IN SUMMER (AND YOU WON'T HAVE TO MORTGAGE THE FARM)

IF YOU THINK of the Ile de Saint-Barthelemy as a tiny bit of the South of France that somehow slipped its moorings and drifted off to the tropical Caribbean, then you will be less likely to be taken aback when you wander down to its beaches and see some very attractive bronzed bodies in various states of undress including, occasionally, that ultimate state, naked.

It's a French thing. A widely European thing, actually, but particularly a French thing. That's just what they do. Nudity happens. They take off their clothes, most of them at any rate, when they worship the sun. Intensely. Au naturel.

And St. Barts, as this Lilliputian island is known, is a very French thing. With a touch of Sweden.

For the record, naturism, the French euphemism for getting naked out in the open, is forbidden throughout the island. Also for the record, naturism's call often makes itself heard.

Know before you go.

I tell you this right up front, so to speak, because some people - American men, for instance - have a little trouble dealing with this. You'll be walking along and see some of these sun worshipers, and you'll find yourself saying something like, ``Golly, I don't think we're in Toto any more, Kansas.''

Guys - listen up, now, I have gone to great lengths to check this out for you - if you haven't been on a beach with topless women before, you may have some behavioral adjustments to make. I assume you know you shouldn't make wild animal sounds like ``Unh-unh-unh!'' and bang your head against a stump. And messing around with a camera and big zoom lens is a bit gauche, too. But what DO you do?

The first thing you'll probably try is to look everywhere but at the women. That doesn't really work. You can get a sore neck jerking your head around like that. Better just adapt. If European men can do it, so can you. Before long the whole scene just becomes, well, natural.

Anyway, naturism does not extend beyond the beaches, and total nudity is seen only at a very few discreetly hidden beaches. St. Barts is not hedonism, and is most certainly it is not Woodstock.

That's not why I came to St. Barts, of course. I came strictly for research purposes. I came to see if regular people like you and me would like a place like this. More particularly, to see if we could afford it.

You see, St. Barts has a reputation as a very high-end hideaway - a retreat for chic, attractive, wealthy Europeans (mostly French) and Americans with a healthy dose of what passes these days for creative types. It is the island of royals and rock stars, Rockefellers and Rothchilds.

But you know what? They don't come here to ``make the scene.'' They come for the tranquil beauty and the French ambience. They dress anonymously, live unostentatiously and share with ordinary mortals the belief that a great vacation - at least here on St. Barts - means doing nothing, or next to nothing. But doing it in style.

There is no need to make a show. Being here is a statement.

I was told that Madonna has a house on the rocky ridge, or maybe over the ridge, just across the little bay from the cottage where I am staying. I have looked in vain for something appropriate - maybe a roof with twin cones resembling a bustier and a vermillion neon sign that says ``Look at me!'' - but have spotted nothing of the sort.

In any case, great news: Yes, St. Barts is affordable. In the low season.

The low season in St. Barts is an eight-month summer, beginning in mid-April and lasting until just before Christmas. It is dictated by the warming trends of spring, summer and fall in Europe and North America, when Caribbean-bound tourist traffic declines.

The result is an even slower pace and less crowded beaches and activities that create some exceptional vacation values on St. Barts - where year-round temperatures range from about 75 to 85 and the humidity is mitigated by a constant breeze. I'll tell you about a couple of places in a minute.

St. Barts is not a rum and reggae place. Definitely. It's not elbow-to-elbow shopping like you see on St. Thomas or on the nearby Dutch-French island of St. Martin/St. Maarten, where cruise ships and jumbo jets disgorge throngs of tourists.

That sort of thing is not St. Barts' glass of merlot.

St. Barts is distinctly different.

You focus here on your tan and your tummy. Remember this is a French island. Cuisine is spelled with a capital ``C'' and the wine cellars are well stocked.

St. Barts even looks different from other Caribbean islands. It is unique in the West Indies for a population that is almost totally white. Because its semi-arid, rocky, mostly hilly eight square miles were unsuited for sugar cane planting, few slaves were imported by French settlers in the 17th and 18th centuries. It became, instead, a trading center.

There is no poverty to make visitors feel uncomfortable about spending money as if they were rich, virtually no unemployment. That, too, is most un-Caribbean.

Most of the natives are descendants of those French or of the Swedes who ``owned'' the island from 1785 to 1878, when the French exchanged it for trading rights in the Baltic Sea. That's how the single settlement on the island that passes for a town, Gustavia, got its name - for King Gustav III of Sweden.

French is the official language, and it's spoken with a quaint Norman accent, I'm told. I only know four words in French and I learned them quite some time ago: Maurice Chevalier and Brigitte Bardot. But most of the people speak and understand English. Or, I should say, American. Everything has its price written in U.S. dollars as well as French francs.

The 5,000 or so St. Bartians, matter of fact, are French. In their own special way. There was a French election the other day. A local tells me than of the 1,000 eligible to vote, only 200 turned out.

``When you're in St. Barts,'' she said, ``who gives a damn?''

St. Barts is about half the size of St. John, less than a third the size of St. Thomas, if you happen to be familiar with those U.S. Virgin Islands. It is not nearly as lush as either, although its hills are green. Trees cling close to the ground, their limbs assuming weird shapes like hair whipped in the wind.

The unassuming houses of wood on stone foundations are painted with the vibrant Caribbean pastel palette - pink, blue, lemon and lime - with four-sided hipped roofs mostly of red, bordered by gutters that lead rainwater to cisterns below.

It has scalloped shorelines with deeply indented bays cradling 22 beautiful, white-sand beaches. Its waters turn from azure blue to emerald green to turquoise as it approaches the shallows in hypnotic undulations before crashing in a cascade of white foam against stubborn headland rocks of rust red and sunbleached khaki.

It is a paradise that demands idleness and immobility. Which I why I am sitting on the beach in the shade of a rustling palm tree making these notes ever so languidly and trying to be careful about where my eyes wander.

The hardest work I see is a white seagull with black mask and wingtips hovering against a deep blue sky, hovering and working the wind that is skimming windsurfers across the turquoise water.

The gull is hovering, hovering, wings tipping this way and that. It soars up suddenly, then, just as quickly, swoops down and crash dives with a ``splosh'' into the crystal-clear water for his lunch.

The rest of us just beckon a waiter.

I am staying at the Hotel Guanahani, a member of the Leading Hotels of the World, which puts it in the company of Claridge's and the Dorchester in London, the Hotel de Crillon and the Ritz in Paris, the Peninsula in Hong Kong, the Oriental in Bangkok and, closer to home, the Greenbrier at White Sulphur Springs, W.Va. It is a very nice place.

Hotels on St. Barts are not single-unit, high-rise affairs. All are a collection of cottages or bungalows. The Guanahani is the island's largest, with 76 ocean-view rooms, some with private pools. It has two pools for all guests, two tennis courts, two beaches, lots of water sports and a pair of outstanding restaurants.

In the summer season it is affordable. In June and again in October it offers an ocean-view room for a couple for $1,250 ($250 a day) including breakfast and dinner and airport shuttle service.

I checked out two other less expensive accommodations as well.

The hillside Village Saint-Jean Hotel, run by the engaging Charneau family, has four hotel rooms and 20 cottages (seven standard, 13 deluxe) and a restaurant, plus swimming pool and Jacuzzi - and wonderful views. It's a three-minute walk to the beach. Summer rates for a couple range from $89 to $200 plus 10 percent service.

As a bonus for do-it-yourselfers, the cottages have fully equipped kitchens. The late food guru Craig Claiborne came here so often he kept his personal pots and pans in his favorite cottage.

The Sunset Hotel in downtown Gustavia has air-conditioned, harborview rooms at about $75-90 per couple per day in the off season.

The most exciting thing you will experience on St. Barts is landing here. It's not as adrenelin-pumping as an aircraft carrier, I'm reasonably sure, and I'm told it's not quite as hairy as landing on nearby Saba. But I can assure you it's a thrill ride.

Join me at 1,100 feet over the aquamarine waters of the Caribbean and I'll take you through it.

We are cruising at about 125 miles an hour in a nine-passenger (plus pilot) Short Takeoff and Landing (STOL) aircraft of some sort that rather resembles an elongated bathtub with wings, five minutes out of St. Maarten, five minutes to touch down somewhere on that green lump in the distance that is St. Barts.

STOL aircraft are the only type suited for landing at St. Barts. The largest holds 19 passengers. Pilots have to have a special license to land here.

I have managed to get the righthand seat next to the pilot and I have twin controls in front of me like he has. I keep my hands off them. The pilot really flies this thing. He is constantly adjusting a wheel labeled Tail Trim with his right hand as he works the control yoke with his left.

``Your first time in St. Barts?'' he asks.

I nod affirmatively.

``You got the right seat,'' he says.

We are descending now toward the vaguely V-shaped island, and it appears to me we are headed directly for a rocky ridge covered with green scrub growth. Off to the right I see a small ship wrecked against a rocky islet - no doubt the work of Hurricane Luis. There is a small cruise ship anchored offshore, and there is the red-roofed toy town of Gustavia with its petite port lined with sailboats and powerboats.

Still no airport, but the ridge is drawing closer. I learn later it is called Col de la Tourmente - Torment Ridge. I see, near its crest, a large white cross. I hope it does not signify the same thing that small crosses along U.S. highways memorialize.

Descending still against a stiff headwind, we sail through a cleavage in the ridge and dive steeply downward against the updraft toward the airport that has materialized. It looks like an ironing board without legs. There is a large bay of green water at its far end. We seem to skim the tops of cars that are driving along a road up the ridge. And then, before I can exhale - how long have I been holding my breath anyway? - we are down . . . and stopped, far short of the water.

Sometimes a plane will come in too high, catch the updraft of the headwind and have to go around again for another try. I saw that happen.

This one, though, is a piece of cake.

I notice there is a neat little cemetery just across the road near the end of the runway. Coincidence, no doubt.

Exploring St. Barts is a delightful experience. It's so compact you can give it the once-over in less than a day . . . then you can go back and check out those special beaches at your leisure.

I love the place because it still has an abundance of Mini-Mokes, a vehicle I first discovered with delight back in the '60s on St. Thomas.

A Mini-Moke - you can just call it a Moke - is a tiny thing, sort of like a golf cart on steroids. Put another way, it's like, ``Colonel, I shrunk the HUM-V.'' It is fabric-topped, open-sided, built low to the ground and has a squared-off utilitarian shape that only a Moke lover could love. It has a four-speed-forward stick shift and it will go anywhere on the sometimes steep paved roads of the island.

There also something here called a Gudgel, which I suppose is French. It's slightly larger than a Moke, looking sort of like a Francofied version of the VW Thing.

If you want to go a little more upscale, there are an abundance of Suzuki Samauris and Sidekicks. Some of them have automatic transmission and air conditioning. Another alternative is the little urban motor scooters you see throughout Europe. Locals mostly ride them without helmets, which seems like a pretty dumb idea given the sometimes rough pavement and the blind twists and turns of the roadways.

Any way you do it, get around the island. The vistas along the cliffside roads are stunning. The quiet little villages are a special treat. No one is going to hassle you here to braid your hair. ILLUSTRATION: Color photo

STEPHEN HARRIMAN

The Caribbean island of St. Barts has 22 beautiful white-sand

beaches, like the Grand Cul de Sac beach shown here in a view from

the Hotel Guanahani.

Map

VP

Photo

STEPHEN HARRIMAN

The most exciting thing you will experience on St. Barts is landing,

which involves a close encounter with a rocky ridge.

Graphic

TRAVELER'S ADVISTORY: ST. BARTS

SAINT-BARTHELEMY (better known as St. Barts and occasionally by

the locals as St. Barth) is a tiny island in the French West Indies,

an ``overseas department'' of France in the Caribbean Sea.

The FWI are made up of the single island of Martinique and an

archipelago of six islands that compose the Region of Guadeloupe:

that butterfly-shaped island plus Saint-Barthelemy, Les Saintes, La

Desirade, Marie-Galante and the French half of the also half-Dutch

island of St. Martin/St. Maarten.

Getting there: St. Barts visitors fly from the continental United

States on American or Continental airlines to St. Maarten, usually

via San Juan, Puerto Rico, then transfer to one of several ``puddle

jumper'' regional airlines (Air St.-Barthelemy, Air Guadeloupe or

Winair) than make the final 15-mile, 10-minute hop to St. Barts' La

Tourmente airport. Getting through St. Maarten is a bit of a

nuisance. Transient passengers must go through an overly officious

customs procedure, pick up a boarding pass for the flight to St.

Barts, then go back through customs and make sure they don't try to

charge you the $12 departure tax that transients are supposed to be

exempt from paying. It's bureaucratic and annoying, but it keeps a

number of people employed.

There is boat service from St. Maarten to St. Barts, and it's the

only way to get there after dark. The trip takes about an hour; the

boats are small and the sea can be rough. Try to avoid this option.

Getting in: Customs is as casual as St. Maarten is officious. You

may be asked for a photo ID of some sort (a passport is always the

best) and you should have a return or ongoing ticket. I was asked

for neither, since my hotel driver was waiting at the gate and

cleared by entry with the friendly gendarme.

Getting acclimated: Daytime temperatures range from 72 to 84 and

the air is humid, but there is a constant, cooling breeze. Daytime

dress is very casual - T-shirts, shorts, bikinis or monokinis on the

beaches - and nighttime dress is slightly more spruced up, but men

need neither jacket nor tie. Sunscreen is a must.

Getting along: French is the official language, but English is

widely spoken. Prices are listed in French francs and U.S. dollars,

and American money is widely accepted. Credit cards are often but

not always honored.

Getting around: There is no public transportation, but there are

taxis for destination trips and tours. Many hotels offer airport

shuttle service. There are a number of car rental agencies at the

airport and elsewhere on the island; most offer small vehicles (i.e.

Mini-Moke or Suzuki) with both stick shift and automatic

transmission, some with air conditioning.

Getting a bed: There are about 40 cottage- or bungalow-style

hotels (no high rises), suiting a wide range of budgets and tastes

(in summer rates are 25 to 40 percent less than high season). To

call St. Barts for reservations, dial international access 011, then

area code 590 plus the number. For the Guanahani call 27-66-60. For

Sunset Hotel call 27-77-21. Village St. Jean's toll-free U.S. number

is (800) 651-8366. WIMCO, the West Indies Management Co., handle

bookings for a number of rental villas and hotels on St. Barts. Its

U.S. toll-free numbers are (800) 932-3222 or (800) 468-3561.

Getting fed: Remember, this is an extension of France . . . with

a Caribbean flavor. There are about 60 restaurants on the island,

and like the hotels they cater to a wide range of budgets and

tastes.

Getting info: Contact the French West Indies Tourist Board, 444

Madison Ave., 16th Floor, New York, N.Y. 10022; (900) 990-0040 (50

cents a minute).

- Stephen Harriman

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