Page 90 - Travel Leisure - USA (February 2020)

DEN ROCK, in St. Bart’s, has Eden Rock, Rémy de Haenen, a swashbuckling French
reopened. And that means St. Bart’s which sits on a merchant marine. De Haenen landed the first
bluff above Baie
is officially back. plane on the island in 1946 and, in 1953,
de St. Jean.
Two years after Hurricane Irma established its first hotel on a promontory made
barreled through the Caribbean of quartzite that juts into Baie de St. Jean: Eden
with 178-mile-an-hour winds, tossing cars and Rock. Among his early guests, fortuitously,
catamarans and Janus et Cie lounge chairs like was David Rockefeller, who, smitten, promptly
so many crumpled cans of Perrier, the hotel is bought several tracts on St. Bart’s for himself.
once again welcoming guests. Greta Garbo, Howard Hughes, and Edmond de
Before I go any further, I’ll make a confession: Rothschild followed, and the rest is history.
until I flew in last November, I had never set foot
on St. Bart’s. In my preconceived opinion, it was TODAY, THE ISLAND is an autonomous “overseas
where the extremely wealthy went to compare collectivity” of France—most of the 10,000
their latest Art Basel acquisitions, where Beyoncé residents pay no income tax but enjoy many of
swan-dove off yachts, and where moguls ran up the benefits of French citizenship, including a
$50,000 champagne tabs at Nikki Beach. In short, post-storm infusion of cash that helped swiftly
a place that held little interest for me. But enough fix the $1.4 billion in damages from Irma.
people who I love and respect had such affection Matthews painted a utopian picture: the St.
for this tiny, rocky islet—located 20 miles south Bart’s government is stable and debt-free, and
of St. Martin and spanning just over nine square employment is near full. And its famously
From left:
miles—that I knew there had to be more to it. Crudités with short runway, which limits arrivals to small
I booked my flights, packed my most stylish hummus, harissa, propeller planes, keeps mass tourism at bay.
bathing suit, and attempted to open my mind. and chutney at Matthews and his wife, Jane, discovered
the Sand Bar; the
“Welcome home,” the affable receptionist said St. Bart’s and Eden Rock while sailing offshore
Sand Bar’s palm-
as I ascended Eden Rock’s front steps. The flight fringed dining in 1995. Shortly after, they acquired de Haenen’s
from San Juan, Puerto Rico, lasted an hour, and room. then-ramshackle guesthouse, eyeing it as a family
my ride from the airport took about two minutes.
Sun dappled the blue water off the crescent-
shaped beach of Baie de St. Jean on this hot
morning. But David Matthews, the British owner
of Eden Rock, seemed cool as a bottle of
Domaines Ott as he joined me for breakfast
in the Sand Bar, the hotel’s seaside restaurant.
Over yogurt with pistachio granola and
poached eggs on toast, I asked the septuagenarian
businessman and former race-car driver why he
believes the island is so beloved. He credited
St. Bart’s particular appeal to a confluence of
historical fact and socioeconomic structure. The
island was colonized in the 17th century by
French Huguenots, who, unable to cultivate the
arid, rocky soil, survived on salt fish, goat’s milk,
and the spoils of both free trade and contraband.
In 1784, France sold the island to Sweden, but
bought it back within less than a century.
Generations later in the 1950s, the colonists’ dirt-
poor descendants turned to tourism for
economic salvation—a project spearheaded by

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