Villa Danse des Etoiles
From the edge of my oversized infinity pool, I’m suddenly inspired to hold my hands aloft and pretend to be addressing my own, private nation. This is St. Barts. Specifically, this is a villa called DOL (not nearly as fancy as its full name: Villa La Danse Des Etoiles). The lights of St.-Jean flicker in the distance. Below my perch, I can hear waves lapping at the manicured beach of a five-star hotel – the type of hotel that would normally make me envious from outside its entrance. Truth is, it isn’t in the same league as DOL.
Tragedy strikes: my glass of rum runneth dry, and though I don’t have a butler to do my bidding (shame), there’s a fully stocked bar just inside the panoramic sliding doors that have transformed my mini-mansion into an open-air playground. I make my way past the oversized patio furniture (my furniture) and skirt around an outdoor shower (my shower) and lush tropical foliage (all mine). Nearby, a looming statue of Buddha is frozen in pose with a hand gesture that seems to say: “You’re the Man.”
This is unusual indulgence, so I put on a pair of slippers (rare for me), walk across the hardwood floors and allow myself to be swallowed into a couch. A TV screen larger than my current state of ego doesn’t just occupy the huge wall in front of me … it is the wall. From the second-story loft, the villa’s iPod oozes French music (I didn’t realize until now that I like French music).
I could take a lap around the stainless steel kitchen, but it would take a while. Besides, the rum I went in search of is conveniently parked just this side of those sliding doors. Later tonight, I’ll be asleep in a bed so soft that I will feel like I’m actually falling into sleep — and I will snore loudly and richly. I’m in St Barts, and for a while I’m going to live like a king.