ST. BARTHELEMY, French West Indies -- I was floating in the blue-green, 80-degree water at Saline Beach when I realized that I had been in the surf for so long, the tips of my fingers had begun to shrivel. I told myself to get out for a little while, just for a sip of wine, a nibble of cheese, perhaps, to keep up my strength for more mindless floating later.
As I put my feet into the lush, white sand and made my way to my towel, I realized that I was spoiled for beaches forever. Never had I been anywhere so gorgeous, so sensuous, so warm, clean, and private. The ever-cold waters of my beloved Massachusetts coastline no longer held any charm for me.
It was August in St. Barth's, off-season for the 8-square-mile island just a 15-minute flight from St. Martin. We had never been to the Caribbean, nor to the Bahamas, Bermuda, or even Florida. We tended toward action-packed holidays in big cities, like Paris, Rome, and London. But this year, we needed something more restful and luxurious, a trip where the only heavy lifting would be getting a rum punch from the tabletop to our lips.
St. Barth's has a reputation as a playground for the rich and famous, and since we are neither, I balked at first when my husband suggested it as our destination. But he persuaded me that we wouldn't be paying exorbitant prices for food and lodging, since high sea- son on this slice of paradise is during the winter, when the harbor teems with luxury yachts and the Cartier boutique in downtown Gustavia bustles with well-heeled visitors.
St. Barthelemy is a relatively new entrant in the Caribbean playground circuit, with regular flights on its tiny airstrip (white-knuckle landings, heart-in-your-throat takeoffs) beginning only about 25 years ago, and hotels and villas following closely behind. The island was discovered by Christopher Columbus in 1493 and named for his brother, Bartolomeo. The Carib Indians battled to keep it out of the hands of Europeans, but eventually it was taken over by France, then sold to Sweden.
In 1878, the French bought it back, and today its sophisticated Francophile and Swedish influences meld perfectly with its Caribbean charm. That's quite a feat considering electricity didn't arrive on the island until the 1960s, and telephones not until the 1970s. Luxury and preservation now go hand-in-hand: Five-star hotels offer beachside massages and private chefs, and chickens and goats are neighborhood regulars. By law, no building can be higher than a palm tree, but Gustavia harbor welcomes the world's largest cruise ships and yachts. And, in the most extreme example of this union, the posh Hermes boutique makes its home right next to the AMC, the island's first self-serve supermarket. It is, perhaps, the only place on earth where the Birkin bag and a bag of Doritos share common ground.
While researching the trip, my husband came upon a small newspaper ad for a place called St. Barth's Properties, Inc., a reservation and real estate agency whose eye-catching motto is ''Live Your Dream." Incredibly, the phone number listed had the same area code and exchange as Franklin, Mass., where we live, so we found the address and popped in, much to the surprise of the staff who are used to booking by phone.
Peg Walsh, a Franklin native, started the company out of her home in 1989, after visiting St. Barth's, falling in love with it, and purchasing an apartment on the spot. She soon realized there were no agencies booking vacations exclusively to this island, so she invested $1,000 in a fax and an extra telephone line and set up shop in a spare bedroom. Today, she and her son, Tom Smyth, employ eight people in Franklin and on St. Barth's and run the only agency in the United States that services just St. Barth's, booking air fares, villa rentals, hotel rooms, restaurant reservations, etc.
"I knew that once I got people there, I was going to have a repeat customer base, and that's how I built the business," said Walsh. ''St. Barth's is like being in the middle of Europe, only with white beaches and blue water. There's no poverty, no crime, just total beauty and sophistication."
Walsh said St. Barth's is a haven for the summer-starved wealthy during the winter, especially between Christmas and New Year's, when yacht and beach parties are in full swing and the island is jammed with revelers from across the globe. So, she tries to steer the less-well-heeled like us to visit during the ''value season" (April to December), when prices are vastly reduced and the population is pared down to locals and so few tourists that some beaches feel as if they exist only for you. Unlike during off-seasons at other locales, the weather here is still magnificent: 80 degrees and sunny most days, moderate humidity, cooling trade winds.
We rented a one-bedroom villa, choosing from dozens that Walsh and company offer with various amenities and price ranges. We wanted our own swimming pool, a full kitchen, air conditioning, and views. Villa Rocamdour fit the bill. Tucked on a hillside in the village of Columbier, its two stories had sweeping views of Flamands Beach and the open ocean beyond, a fabulous swimming pool, daily maid service, and a full-service kitchen where we whipped up gourmet meals. (The supermarkets on the island are well stocked with French and Caribbean foods, fresh vegetables, and excellent meats and cheeses. There are also wonderful bakeries and take-out gourmet.)
Air fares to the Caribbean are also generally lower during summer, but flights remain plentiful. The route we took began at American Airlines from Boston's Logan Airport, went on to San Juan, Puerto Rico (a four-hour flight), then off to St. Martin (45 minutes). In St. Martin, we boarded a 19-seater WinAir Airways prop for the 15-minute flight to St. Barth's, the most memorable 15 minutes in my 38 years, since my whole life flashed before my eyes on approach.
This is what no one likes to talk about when it comes to St. Barth's: The landing is scary. The plane descends between two mountains, then drops quickly, nose first it seems, to the 800-foot ''runway" below, where quick stopping is a high priority, since the airstrip ends at St. Jean Beach, an island hot spot despite its hair-raising location.
The driving is also scary. The island terrain is very hilly, with steep climbs and deep drops at almost every hairpin turn, and locals like to go fast. Most rental agencies will have automatic transmission cars available (call ahead to reserve), but four-on-the-floor is the best way to climb to your destination.
Our villa was at the top of one of the steepest hills we had ever seen. The driveway was on a 45-degree angle. Luckily, my husband's steely hand (and strong foot-on-the-clutch), our Suzuki Samurai's gripping power, and my Hail Marys got us down and up, unharmed, every time.
The beaches of St. Barth's are more than worth the death-defying journey to get here. There are more than 20 to choose from, but our three favorites were Saline, a clothing-optional beach protected by a cove, with pristine sand and a lolling surf, and Flamands, which had larger waves and was nearly empty each day we visited. We also adored St. Jean, where music from the discos that line the shore wafts your way no matter where you set your towel.
French is the language of the island, but everyone speaks English as well, and the friendly locals are eager to tell you about their home and make recommendations on just about everything. We got some great restaurant and nightclub tips from the women who cleaned our villa, and the proprietor of La Cave du Port France, a wine shop in Gustavia, was so appalled to learn that drinking is not allowed on most American beaches, he gave us a free corkscrew to be sure we would imbibe on the sands of St. Barth's.
There is much to do on the island once you pry yourself from the ocean. Shopping is world-class, if high fashion and big diamonds are your thing, but there are also a lot of shops owned by locals with one-of-a-kind clothing designs and handmade baskets. French wines are a bargain, at duty-free prices, and delicious vanilla rum, a regional specialty, is a must. There is a shell museum housing the second-largest seashell collection in the world to explore, and you can go horseback riding on the hillside near Flamands Beach.
Water sports abound, with the most adventurous visitors renting windsurfers and jet skis to explore the island's inlets, but kayaks are also available for a more leisurely ride. You can also snorkel or scuba dive with several outfitters, or rent a boat.
There is one hiking trail on the island as well, and the half-hour jaunt along an ocean cliff and through a cave has quite the payoff: It is the only way to access Columbier Beach from land. This is yet another deserted, romantic slice of sandy heaven, where we watched blowfish swim between our ankles and admired the sailboats moored in the snug cove.
Dining on St. Barth's is a food lover's dream. All of the island's restaurants were operating when we were there, but Walsh warns that during September, many of them close for up to six weeks, the typical vacation time for the French. The food ranges from local seafood and Creole creations to pizzas and burgers. We had wonderful grouper and swordfish with ginger sauce at Eddy's in Gustavia, a moderately priced restaurant filled with mahogany furniture, palm trees, and paintings by local artists.
We saved our most indulgent dinner for an anniversary celebration and went all out at Le Gaiac, the Relais & Chateaux-rated restaurant at Hotel Le Toiny, where we indulged in a six-course French feast, and while the duck and the filet were wonderful, it was the view of the ocean below and the glowing moon above that captivated us.
Our only disappointment was that the restaurant and hotel, Eden Rock (aptly named as its real estate is located on a large rock formation that juts out into St. Jean Bay), was closed for renovations. We did get a great picture of it from the plane on our exhilarating takeoff on the way home.
Like Peg Walsh predicted, we're hooked on St. Barth's and plan to return next August to mindlessly float our way through another anniversary.
Doreen Vigue is a freelance writer who lives in Franklin.
