Stand-Up Set in St. Barts (Transcript)

Transcript from 5 minute stand-up show while on vacation in St. Barts:

Comedy Spiel – St. Barts – final Apr 26

Good evening! My name is Val and I have just come back from St. Barts, an island full of such young, fit, glamorous people...I was almost not allowed in – my last name is not Kardashian. All these young, fit, glamorous people are there to relax. I went there for a near death experience.

There’s no public transportation in St. Barts, so I rented a little car, think a Twizzy, but riskier as they drive on the other side of the road. I’m off to this French patisserie that the internet raved about but I’m worried because the internet lies. It described the island as “hilly”. Hilly is Knapton Hill or Tee St, right? This was the Matterhorn. I am almost vertical going up this mountain like I’m some version of Noddy in Free Solo. I’m terrified. I keep saying my new mantra “Stay on the right, stay on the right, give way to the left”. I hit the peak and suddenly I’m headed down, straight down. I’ve got my seatbelt on and feel like I’m skydiving while strapped to a four-hundred-pound metal parachute.

Behind me a long stream of fancy French people are muttering “Mon Dieu! Merde!” I’m this little granny gripping the steering wheel for dear life and screaming “OMG! Scary Hairy Mary!”

After my near-death experience, I get to the bakery. Nowhere to park. It was like Lindo’s at quarter past five. I drove around the town seven times. By lap four – I was living the Tour de France. I finally bribe my way into a spot and get this little croissant. I get back into the car, and this lovely guy stops the traffic to let me back onto “Ze Highway”. He might have been high like my blood pressure. I was almost killed by a Kardashian, but it could have been Kanye. I drive back up the mountain to my little Airbnb and I’m this dangerous mix of terrified and hungry. I risked my life for this little croissant. And…in hindsight...worth it. The internet didn’t lie about this – their pastries really are to die for.

The Airbnb is nice, but you know when you are in a new place, there are all these new sounds, especially at night. The fridge in this place must have been installed by one of the Sith Lords. All I could hear was (Darth Vador impression) “Val, I am... your father”

I go to sleep to the sound of Darth Vador and wake up to the sound of wild peacocks. Yes, peacocks. You think roosters are loud? The internet describes the sound of a distressed peacock as a cross between a wild cat mating and a trumpet honk – I’ll settle for evil. Lots of wildlife on St. Barts – wild peacocks, wild goats, wild tortoises – made me miss Bermuda rats.

I’m excited because today is spa day followed by the beach. Ah, relaxation at last. In Bermuda you get into trouble for wearing a swimsuit into a restaurant. In St. Barts, that’s considered overdressed. When I show up at the spa I am immediately told to go OUTSIDE and get undressed. So, I get undressed by the Gucci dumpster like some upscale homeless lady, and the woman starts rubbing me down with oil and brown sugar! I flunked my French O level twice, so I have no idea what I’ve signed up for. Am I going to end up deep friend and for sale at the patisserie? Maybe this is what young, fit glamorous people do to relax. Is this what the Kardashian’s do? Is this Epstein Island?

I survive the spa treatment and head to the beach where again, nobody wears any clothes. There’s nowhere to change and no signs to get to the beach. I head out past the wild chickens, past the wild goats, say Hello to the Iguana! I changed in a cave and fought my way in a very strong breeze around this rocky coastline for an hour. I was thinking there must be some sort of shortcut because this was like three miles of Spittal Pond in a hurricane and finally, I’m there - at a beautiful bay, beautiful beach and there are seven Superyachts that got there before me. So there was a shortcut – money.

That’s my time – thanks for listening to St. Barts on a Budget! Gnite!