nce upon a time, St. Barthélemy was just an island. A pretty, beach-girdled outpost flying the French flag, yes, but still pretty much an unknown quantity. The only bar in town was Le Sélect - a one-room affair jammed with memorabilia and the crews of visiting yachts. Jimmy Buffet's "Cheeseburger in Paradise" lyric got its inspiration from the hamburger stand that shares the outdoor patio with Le Sélect. There was no pretense to this joint, and not much to the island, either. That was then.

Today, St. Barthélemy epitomizes the Caribbean lifestyles of the rich, famous, and very, very beautiful. Remarkably, Le Sélect and its cheeseburger stand are still intact, a pocket of sanity on this isle of vanity. But step outside and you're in the Caribbean's version of the Hamptons-times-ten. The West Indies by way of St. Tropez.

It's called St. Barts by everyone now (though if you're really in the know, you'll spell it St. Barth, as the French do), and it is proudly, smugly, heart-stoppingly expensive - the priciest destination in the Caribbean. Some resorts are more exclusive than others, but you can't pay more for what you get than here, especially when the dollar is down. Going out to eat on St. Barts - the major evening pastime - almost requires an armored truck. What was once a sleepy hideaway for the Rockefellers, Rothschilds, and Biddles has become the glitz capital of the New York and L.A. creative elite.

St. Barts is also the most un-Caribbean of Caribbean islands. It's almost as though your fifteen-minute flight from St. Martin traveled at Warp One and landed in Cap d'Antibes in the Med. Most shocking, particularly after you've spent some time on the other islands, is the population, which is almost totally white. And there is no poverty - no one-room houses with water from a public tap. Perhaps this is why it's so popular with affluent Americans (a majority of the visitors are from the U.S.). There's no unsightliness or destitution to make them feel guilty about enjoying their wealth. The French themselves find St. Barts too pricey, although when hotel rates go down after Easter, there's an influx of Parisians to lend the requisite air of authenticity to the Euro decadence.

The hilly island is tiny - just eight square miles. Most of the terrain is fairly dry and developed. St. Barts is not a place for enthusiasts of the wild kingdom. Most activity centers on the water, the stomach, and the right side of the brain. There are twenty-two or so beaches - six are quite fine, one is nude. There are well over sixty restaurants, most specializing in "cuisine gastronomique", which is basically French food with Créole flourishes. And there are several fun bars and cafes, places to see and be seen, and a tiny disco called Le Petit Club. People say they come to St. Barts to get away from it all. Hah! One of the main attractions of the island is running into other people you know from the States. A prime example is Christmas, when St. Barts becomes the hottest ticket in the Caribbean and the island struggles to keep from sinking under the weight of excess affectation. Everyone who is anyone is on the island, preferably at someone's house. Life consists of house-hopping and dinner parties. Coyly detached celebrity name dropping is the name of the game. By day, many hang out at their pools while the more adventurous may go to a beach.

When we first came here in 1987, we were put off by all the attitude and sheer fabulousness. It was just too much. Now, on subsequent visits, we like the island a whole lot better. Maybe it's changed (it doesn't seem quite so ultrachic, attitudinal, and fabulous as it used to be), maybe we've changed (we're older), but whatever happened, it's a great island to visit - if you can afford it. It still takes a Swiss bank account to visit St. Barts properly. That has not changed.