Convenience Store and Trendy Local Restaurant? The Convenience Store The Trendy Local Restaurant? We ate breakfast today, at a "convenience store and trendy local restaurant" a short walk from the resort. We were intrigued by the name. Q: What's served for breakfast at a trendy local restaurant? A: Typical American diner breakfast -- bacon, sausage, eggs, home fries, pancakes, toast, juice. It was good food, but not worth noting here. As we left the trendy local restaurant, we were stopped by a couple, maybe in their thirties, with the question that we get more often than I would have expected: "Excuse me, but do you speak English?" Sí, señorita. It was the woman who was asking. She was shorter than me, slender, with a long face and straight shoulder-length blonde hair. Her expression and her tone were serious. She wanted to know the way to Orient Beach. I gave her detailed directions. Then she asked what beach they were at now, and we told her Dawn Beach, and told her something about Dawn Beach and Mr. Busby's. Then I offered to trace the route to Orient Beach on her map. "No," she said, looking past our shoulders at Dawn Beach, "we'll do Dawn Beach today, and Orient Beach tomorrow. Thank you." We pointed out that Dawn and Orient were very different experiences, but her mind was set. What struck both Judi and I was (a) how sharply and abruptly her plans changed, and (b) that she changed them without even acknowledging his -- have you forgotten that there was a him? -- his presence, much less asking him "What do you think, dear?" to give him at least a token chance to save his dignity with a, "I think that's a great idea, dear." Her attitude wasn't exactly that he didn't exist. It was more like he was an appendage -- an extra foot, maybe. You know I've described her (shorter than me, slender, with a long face and straight shoulder-length blonde hair). What did he look like? I didn't realize it until they were gone, but, honestly, I don't have a clue. I asked Judi, and she doesn't either. Crossing Guard in the French Quarter -- No geezers in baggy shorts here! Entertainment at Orient Beach Next on the agenda (for us) was (coincidentally) a trip to Orient Beach. On the way through the French Quarter we encountered a crossing guard. In the U.S., a crossing guard is most likely a retired geezer or geezette in baggy shorts and a reflective vest, carrying a handheld stop sign with a bunch of holes punched in it. You can see from the picture what crossing guards are like in SXM, at least on the French side. Very snappy! The white gloves are a nice touch. We arrived at the beach, rented a couple of chairs, and cooked ourselves for a few hours. Excitement was provided by a local restaurant, which caught fire and burned down for us. You don't see that at the beach every day. The restaurant, Tropic Cafe, was apparently closed at the time. Vendors walk along the beach trying to sell you stuff. Most of the time we said, "not today," but then Judi decided she wanted an anklet, and the next vendor who happened along happened to be selling anklets. He had a movie-star face, a couple days' growth of beard, and a fine French accent. "Eet ees time for you to make your first weesh," he said as he tied the first knot on the anklet -- he had explained something about the knots and wishes coming true. "Now eet ees time to make your second weesh." And so on. When he was gone, and Judi's ankle featured a new adornment, she said, "Well, if I was going to buy something from someone on the beach, at least it was a cute Frenchman." Later, while driving back to the resort, Judi suddenly piped up with, "Gosh he was cute!" And later still, in the evening, while I was tapping these very words in fact, Judi (who was working a crossword puzzle) suddenly said, "Let's name my Frenchman. Let's call him... Fabio." "Judi!" I said. "What's wrong with Fabio?" "It's already taken." "Well so was 'Greg,'" she said, with more practicality than I would have given her credit for. "What are some other French names?" I began rattling some off: "Jean, Francois, Claude, Pierre..." "I like Francois," Judi said. "Great," I said with exasperation. "What's wrong with Francois?" "It's the one name," (as I tapped), "that I don't know how to spell." So Judi's cute Frenchman who sells anklets on Orient Beach is Francois. Say hi from Judi if you see him there. (Judi says to add that she got to stare into his face the entire time he was tying the anklet, and that he had shoulder-length dirty-blonde hair, and his French accent was very sexy. Hope that helps.) No one tried to sell us pot today. Lunch Just before leaving Orient Beach, we split a cheeseburger from Kakao, which is the terrific restaurant we ate at the last time Wednesday | Trip Home | Friday All text and images on this page and pages linked to from this page are © Copyright Gregory S. Smith 2003. All rights reserved.