My wife Victoria and I have been trying to travel more in the past few years, especially to escape the bleak Chicago winter. Last year we spent a very pleasant January week in Zihuatanejo, Mexico on the Pacific coast. The weather was wonderful, the water was warm, the bay was beautiful, and the small fishing town of Zihuatanejo was both charming and authentic: unspoiled by over-development and the out-sized, sanitized resorts that have turned much of the Yucatán peninsula into an all-inclusive Disneyland on the Caribbean.
We wanted to have a similar mid-winter experience this year. I would have happily returned to enchanting Zihuatanejo, but with so much more of the world to see, we looked to escape to another tropical location in our hemisphere. To that end, I typed “romantic islands in the Caribbean” into Google and found the island of St. Lucia. I had never heard of it before.
First, the photos were amazing. Second, it was listed among the best locations for a romantic getaway. And third — and perhaps most importantly — it was described as an island visited by very few children. Indeed, many of the resorts had no kids at all.
So, given all the natural wonders on the island, its scenic beauty, its history, and no kids yelling and splashing around, my wife and I boarded a flight on March 2nd for a week-long stay in St. Lucia.
Monday, March 2nd
We took a 6:00 am flight to Miami, changed planes, and arrived in St. Lucia at 4:00 pm on Monday evening at Hewanorra International Airport (UVF) on the southern tip of the island.
Stepping off the plane on the tarmac, we were met with a 76-degree breeze. A promising start. Next to greet us was our friendly driver. As we settled into his cool, comfy SUV, he offered us the first of what would be many bottles of Piton, the local beer we’d enjoy in the coming days.
Our hotel, the Green Fig Resort, was an hour away in the town of Soufriere, which was the capital city in French colonial days. Our driver noted that the British and French fought for control of St. Lucia 14 times, but the Brits won the last battle. So, the island is part of the Commonwealth.
The ride from the airport to Soufriere was a white-knuckle adventure in itself. The winding mountain road was barely two lanes wide, with one blind curve after another, but our driver kept his foot on the gas even as he happily answered all our questions. We managed to reach Soufriere in one piece — delighted that we’d chosen not to rent a car.
The Green Fig Resort is nestled in the hillside above Soufriere Bay. The view of the town and the bay is dominated by the two Piton Mountains, a UNESCO World Heritage site. (But more on the Pitons later.)
From the resort’s outdoor lobby, we walked down more than fifty stone steps and settled into our room. Once our things were squared away, we went back up those fifty steps for dinner, and, for me, the first of many Mai Tais.
Getting up and down those fifty steps would help to condition us for the adventures ahead.
The Mai Tais would help, too.
Tuesday, March 3rd
We booked our excursions through the Green Fig. All we had to do was be in the lobby at the appointed time and a driver from the resort would take us to our destination. (Always an adventurous drive around blind curves at astonishing speeds. But that’s how the locals roll.) On this morning, it was just a short drive to our first excursion: the Tet Paul Nature Hike.
The Tet Paul Nature Trail was a great place to start. Our guide, like all the guides and drivers we’d meet on St. Lucia, was pleasant and informative. He led our group of three couples up a mountain path, pointing out the brilliant, exotic rainforest vegetation along the way. The whole time on St. Lucia, Victoria and I were amazed by the variety, shape, and color of the flowers and vines. The hillsides above Soufriere are one giant botanical garden. You won’t find these plants at Home Depot.
At the summit of the trail, we were pleased to find a small shack from which one could obtain a cool Piton beer, among other beverages and assorted island swag. I never missed an opportunity to imbibe a glorious Piton – and to do so in sight of those great mountains was extra-special. Next to the shack was a platform that provided a breathtaking 360-degree view of the whole island. Just fabulous. It was a bit of heaven on Earth. Just what these two Trump-weary Americans needed.
(Above) Victoria on the platform at the top of the Tet Paul Trail.
(At left) You don’t often get the chance to look down on a rainbow. But from our perch at the top of the trail, I was able to capture that rare phenomenon.
Wednesday, March 4th
On our third day we went to Sugar Beach — considered the finest beach on the south end of St. Lucia. There are many more beaches, hotels, and resorts on the more developed north end of the island, around the capital city of Castries – but Sugar Beach has bragging rights around Soufriere.
There’s an expensive resort on Sugar Beach, but you don’t have to stay at the resort to enjoy the beach. And while St. Lucia is a volcanic island with black sand beaches, Sugar Beach has imported white sand.
The water was around 84-degrees: a perfect temperature for swimming. Since St. Lucia is on the Caribbean side of the island, the sea is far more calm than the choppier waters on the Atlantic side. The water at Sugar Beach the day we were there was nearly flat. If you’re looking to body surf, this is not the place. But if you want to relax and enjoy a pleasant swim in blue ocean bath water, Sugar Beach is for you.
Anchored just off the beach, bobbing up and down with the gentle waves, was a floating bar serving tropical drinks, manned by a young bartender.
He approached us with this unique and impressive recitation of his beverage menu.
Of course, I ordered a Mai Tai (the best I had on the entire trip) – and carried our drinks back from the floating bar to Victoria as she lounged on the beach in a recliner.
I live to serve my queen.
Lunch at the resort’s grill was delicious. The specialty of the house are their burgers. And what could go better with a hearty, juicy burger than another cool bottle of Piton beer!
Thursday, March 5th
I have to admit that I wasn’t sure whether Victoria and I were ready to climb Gros Piton – the taller of the two Piton Mountains that we’d been looking at across the bay for four days. But, in a supreme act of hubris, I put the climb on our schedule. We’d made daunting climbs in the past in Yosemite and Glacier National Park, so we were determined to make the most of our attempt on Gros Piton.
Before we started our climb, a guide showed us a model of the mountain and pointed out the four stages of the ascent to the summit. Each stage, we were told, was more “strenuous” than the one before. The word “strenuous” would be repeated several times during our climb.
The guide who led us on our ascent was a lovely 38-year-old local woman who climbed over the rocks like a 17-year-old high school gymnast. You had to be able to climb over rocks on Gros Piton because that’s all the trail is most of the time: a series of volcanic rocks stacked at perverse inclines – with more rocks looming overhead! As we reached the first rest stop, ¼ of the way up the trail, we were rewarded with breathtaking views of the Caribbean and the southern coast of St. Lucia. That was enough for Victoria. She stayed behind to enjoy the glorious view and wished me well as I pushed on toward the summit.
My frisky, energetic guide was always several steps ahead of me as I made my way up the trail which became rockier as we climbed. I stopped several times to catch my breath, my body reminding me that the air was getting thinner as we ascended. In many stretches the climb was hand-over-hand up the rocks. I tried to focus on the thrill of reaching the summit — but given the fact that I was already sitting down to take a breather every hundred yards or so, climbing to the top of the mountain would likely take me hours. Once I reached the halfway point, I decided that discretion is the better part of valor. So, I stopped halfway up Gros Piton – and still felt as though I’d accomplished something.
Going back down was actually more difficult. (Those rocks again.) But when Victoria and I got back down to the foot of the mountain there was another shack – and another cold Piton beer as a reward for our effort.
It was no day at the beach, but I’m glad we did it.
Friday, March 6th
This was probably the coolest excursion of them all: a trip to the local volcano.
Locals refer to the Sulphur Springs Volcano as the “drive-in volcano” because you can drive right up to the still-bubbling caldera of this collapsed, dormant volcano. There, a guide takes over to tell you the story of the volcano and point out features on interest within the caldera.
Steam rises from cracks or “vents” in the earth. Boiling black muddy mineral water bubbles up. Our guide assured us that seismologists monitor the geothermal activity in the caldera, and we needn’t fear an eruption. The last eruption was around 1776.
Our guide told us that the nearby Piton Mountains were formed by the volcano – but are not volcanoes themselves. She explained how the volcano draws water from the ocean, heats it up, and sends it flowing back down to the ocean in streams of warm mineral water. It’s all very fascinating. And a bit scary. It’s a bit like a jungle Yellowstone: Mother Nature is roiling just below the surface.
It’s a short distance from the caldera to the mud baths. It was good that we’d gotten there early in the morning, as the crowds had yet to arrive. (The folks at the Green Fig Resort know when a cruise ship is arriving in Soufriere Bay, and they schedule their excursions accordingly so resort patrons can avoid the throngs of day-trippers.)
I’d gotten a bit of a sunburn on my back and the top of my head while swimming at Sugar Beach. It was beginning to bother me. But after wading into the warm mineral water, getting slathered in volcanic mud, then rinsing it off in the mineral water – my sunburn simply disappeared. No redness remained. No pain. Miraculous. Why can’t I get a volcanic mud and mineral bath in Evanston, Illinois?
After toweling off and getting dressed, we took another short drive to the Diamond Botanical Gardens. These amazing acres of stunning flora are still owned by a plantation-era family, who maintain them beautifully. These are just a fraction of the wonderful plants we saw.
At the far end of the Botanical Garden trail is the Diamond Waterfall.
It’s gorgeous, but for safety’s sake, you can’t get too close to it.
We got a LOT closer to another waterfall nearby…
Saturday, March 7th
During the plantation period on St. Lucia, rum and cacao, the key ingredient in chocolate, were among the island’s chief exports. On this day, Victoria and I spent the morning visiting the grounds of another former plantation still in the hands of an old plantation family. You could sense the property’s history looking at the main house, a classic colonial mansion.
Vic and I were there to learn something about how the fruit of the cacao plant becomes cocoa beans – and top it off with a chocolate and rum tasting.
As always on St. Lucia, our guide on the Rum & Chocolate tour was genial and informative in an unforced, welcoming way.
Sunday, March 8th
The whole time we were on St. Lucia, Victoria wished to view the island from the water. So, for the last full day of our trip, we arranged through the resort for a boat to take us along the coast. Our captain, an enterprising local, manned the helm – with his teenage nephew serving as his mate.
For three hours, we sailed up and down the coastline, marveling at the many wonderful beaches that we had no idea existed. The Caribbean waters were calm. Seeing the island from the water was everything Vic had imagined it would be.
Monday, March 9th
On this day, we headed home. Luckily, we flew back to the U.S. a couple of weeks before the government shutdown/ICE mayhem descended on our airports. On St. Lucia, we’d been enjoying an escape from the politics of the day. But even during our blissful island getaway, we were reminded of our ugly American reality.
Take a good look at a map and see where St. Lucia is located. It’s far closer to South America than Cuba. We heard stories from the locals in Soufriere (who have no love for Trump) about three different fishing boats from the island that were blown out of the water by our reckless Department of War.
The locals who told us these stories knew the men who were lost. We were assured that the people on these boats were simply fishermen. Sorry to end on a downbeat note — but it’s important to know the truth about what’s happening in these otherwise peaceful tropical waters. Here’s to the people of St. Lucia!
It was bad enough that the impeached, popular vote-losing, historically unpopular President originally intended to gather his MAGA minions on July 19th— the holiday known as 
Worse than Trump’s Juneteenth affront was the city that he chose for his 2020 campaign kick-start. Nearly a century earlier, a white mob in Tulsa destroyed a prosperous African American neighborhood known as 
Trump and his various campaign hacks and flacks trumpeted the news that Tulsa’s 19,000 seat 
This fast-moving youth movement followed the lead of 
Only 6,200 MAGAs showed up to bask in the first stop on President Man-Child’s Ego-Gratification Tour: just one-third of the BOK Center’s capacity.
The Oklahoma National Guard is ready for action. Nervous kids doing their duty.
One you get past the concrete barricades and three rows of National Guard, there’s a fence — and then a temperature-testing site. Notice all the violent protesters blocking these MAGAs from entering? Of course not. Because they weren’t there! Sorry, Trump campaign. No excuses. Also — nobody is wearing a mask and there’s no social distancing.
At this point, the MAGAs have it made past the barriers, past the National Guard and past the fence. Now, they pause to get a mask (which hardly anybody wore) and have their temperature taken. Still no protesters blocking anything. No protesters at all.
Now, it’s just a few hours until the rally starts — and all the MAGAs are in the building. There’s nobody left in line. If this was a Rick Springfield concert, a monster truck rally, or even a minor league hockey game there would still be folks in line. But all the members of Trump’s angry army coming to Trumpapalooza are already inside the BOK Center. No reinforcements are coming.
The scene from one section of the upper deck. Trump fans! Tired of all the winning yet?
My final full day in South Korea was a busy one that would take me from our hotel in Phoenix Snow Park to the Olympic International Broadcast Center, back to Phoenix Park – and on to the
It’s Valentine’s Day here in PyeongChang, South Korea (though not in the U.S. quite yet) – and I began the day hoping it would turn out to be a love fest for Shaun White, the greatest Olympic snowboarder who ever dropped into a 22-foot halfpipe.
The view from just outside our edit bay showed that folks were starting to head toward the halfpipe to see if Shaun White could win his third gold medal in four ties. Or whether his Japanese rival, Ayumu Hirano, would carry the day.
I tramped through the snow toward the halfpipe, negotiating the crowds that had come to share in the excitement – and to be present when Winter Olympic history might be made.
I managed to skip the longest section of the line and take an express route to the pipe – passing a Korean band that must have just played to warm up the crowd. There’s always a musical performance before these events. I wished I had gotten to the venue in time to see these guys do what they do.
After the first run, I spotted my camera crew posted on an overlook above the crowd.
In these finals, the 12 riders get 3 runs. The best score in any of those runs is the one that counts.
You may not have been able to see it in that video – but the sound of the crowd surely clued you in to the fact that Shaun wiped out mid-run. He would need a clean, stellar third run to best Ayumu Hirano for the gold.
That was it. Last ride of the day. Best score of the day. Step up, Mr. White, and accept your third Olympic Gold Medal.
A Valentine’s Day party!
Dateline: Phoenix Park, PyeongChang, South Korea – Sunday February 11, 2018.
We begin in the morning. I went through security at Phoenix Park shortly before 10:00 AM – the scheduled start of the men’s slopestyle finals.
An Olympic finals event was about to take place.
Up until today, there were no crowds at our venue. The only people I saw were NBC employees, OBS folks (Olympic Broadcast employees) and Olympic athletes and coaches. Now, I joined masses of enthusiastic fans as we made our way up the mountain to the grandstand erected at the bottom of the slopestyle course.
I also appreciated the woven burlap mats that were laid out for us as we made our way up the mountain. Back in Mammoth, California a month ago, I must admit that I did a lot of slipping and sliding on my way up to the halfpipe finals. These burlap mats made our ascent so much easier – and safer.
Unlike many Winter Olympic events, it’s impossible for the live audience at the slopestyle venue to watch the athletes as they make their way through the course.
Of course, I was primarily interested in the prospects of the one American in the final: 17-year old Redmond “Red” Gerard.
17-year old Red Gerard – too young to vote in the United States – earned our nation’s first Gold Medal in the 2018 Winter Olympic Games.
I’ve been in South Korea for almost a week now.
Between my gym clothes and the various layers I wear each day to insulate myself from the chilly winter weather in the snow-covered mountains of PyeongChang, it’s time to do my laundry. Two bags full.
I’ve been in South Korea for less than four days – and I find that I must already issue a personal apology to the good merchants of PyeongChang and the entire South Korean nation.
But first I must satisfy my wife’s desire for photos taken from inside the “convenience store” that has vexed me since my arrival in country.
The CU store looks like it should have a lot of stuff that you want. It’s crazy colorful, with rows of tantalizing packaging – but nothing is quite as good as it looks.
And then there is this strange machine, which I suspect is either a lottery machine or something to do with cigarettes.
I must admit that I am simply a befuddled American peering into the smallest window of South Korean culture – and unable to see what would be apparent to a wise traveller who actually prepared to go to South Korea beyond bringing warm clothes, thermal socks and two bags of toe warmers.
But, looking at the beverage cases in the back of the CU, we come to the reason for my apology.
One, in fact, subtly but clearly states that it has “Zero Sugar”. And, if one bothers to actually read the front label, it’s also clear that it has zero calories. It is, in fact, Coke Zero. Not Diet Coke exactly — but entirely deserving of an apology.
On the other hand, my only Chardonnay options continue to be a terrible Chilean wine – and a semi-potable concoction foisted upon the Koreans by an unscrupulous California vintner.
On the 2nd of February I took a 14-hour flight to South Korea – and my first Olympic experience.
I don’t normally talk about my television work on this blog.
The venue where we’re doing our work is called Phoenix Park. It’s where the extreme sports are happening: snowboarding, moguls, freestyle skiing – the stuff that’s really nuts!
Point of information: When my father was in Korea in the early 1950’s — he really was in a military installation. If that’s what you’d call the front lines of the Korean War. Lucky for me, North and South aren’t trading artillery volleys like they were in my dad’s day. In fact, I watched the North and South Korean unified Olympic women’s hockey team play on TV this morning. It was a great thing to see.
Unlike my G.I. dad, who spent his time dodging mortar rounds and freezing his butt off in a tent pitched in what is now the DMZ — I retire each day to the White Hotel, a comfortable, if entirely antiseptic lodging just a short walk from Phoenix Park. Each night the hotel hosts a beer garden in the lobby. Koreans are big on beer. Chardonnay not so much. In fact, I’m still in search of a good Chardonnay. (Okay, so my father’s wartime hardships were worse — but then again, he was never a white wine guy.)
In a couple days, the snowboard events get underway.
Paul's Voyage of Discovery & Etc. 
My PyeongChang Diary (Part 7)
Living in Los Angeles, I’m acquainted with the tradition of Korean barbeque – but I figured that, being in the motherland, I could treat myself to the very best. My first two attempts at local Korean BBQ dining were good – but neither was a meat-eater’s home run.
Our cameraman Corey found the place. It was a 20-minute cab ride from our Phoenix Park hotel – but we were hungry for adventure (and barbequed beef) so we were down for the excursion.
What follows is a pictorial progression through a beef lover’s Korean BBQ pilgrimage. Vegan’s need not apply…
This is the downstairs dining area. You’ll note that there are only Koreans here at this point in the evening. That is absolutely a good sign. We’ve come to the right place.
We didn’t realize it when we set out, but the restaurant would get very, very busy — and we would have to wait a while to be seated, unlike these folks who shared a special Asian room, with no chairs.
(No shoes, please.)
After dinner, we’d be unable to get a cab ride home because of the busy holiday, but that’s another matter.
The whole evening took 5 hours. But, all in all, it was well worth it!
The first step in traditional Korean Barbecue is to visit the butcher and buy your cuts of meat.
This woman knows her meat. She explained that the steer we’d be eating was raised organically, with no hormones, grass fed — and A #1. She was not bullshitting.
We bought our beef BEFORE we cooked it. That’s the way it goes. You buy your meat first, then you get seated — and your drinks and everything else are billed later. Meat is Job #1.
The upstairs dining room. It’s getting busy. The meat is about to get cooking…
Unlike our cold, steel and glass hotel in Phoenix Park, this Korean BBQ place features warm wood and delightful crystal chandeliers — which we would later learn are from the United States!
Seated across the table from me are my AP, Agatha, and my EP, David. We’re all hungry.
First come the condiments: onions, garlic, chili paste, peppers, sea salt & other culinary joys.
Next, they fire up the tabletop grill. The main meat-lovers event is about to go down…
As the meat grills, you combine ingredients into your bowl — in my case, chili paste, peppers, onions and garlic — so you can plunge your beef bits deep into this spicy heaven.
Next, Corey pulls down the exhaust fan. Otherwise, we’ll all be asphyxiated….
Our waiter provides some assistance. Everyone is helpful. They all want us to have a great time.
As our first beef course sears on the grill, our crew poses for a pre-meal photo. We’ve all been working hard — and we’re eager for a great meal. Luckily, David & Corey are Korean BBQ experts.
Corey took over as grillmaster. For those of you who know me from Greek Easter — you can appreciate how much I respect Corey’s Korean BBQ chops!
Each cut of beef was better than the next — and the last course was the best of all…
Corey was far too modest. His grilling of that last fabulous cut of beef was superb. But our meal was not yet complete. Corey had another great idea…
At Corey’s suggestion we ordered this. Somehow, all of this tasty goodness boiled down into an incredible, sweet beef and veggie soup.
And finally, here’s our host. Jean went to college and spent a lot of time in Los Angeles (as have a lot of educated South Koreans we’re met). She returned to South Korea a year ago and started running this restaurant — recognized on Trip Advisor as the best in PyeongChang.
I’m awarding her an Winter Olympic Gold Medal for the Best Korean BBQ.
All hail, Jean!
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Tagged as 2018 Winter Olympics, Korean BBQ, Paul Barrosse, PyeongChang 2018, South Korea