Guest Blogger: Erin the Stalkerazzi

'Celebrity stalking' gets such a bad rap. I prefer to think of it as 'pretending you know someone famous and then following them around'. Walking out of the airport in Antigua, I smiled at two men, and quickly realized that I had just passed Eric Clapton dressed in shorts and flip-flops. Arriving at the Motes-Orr Resort, I'm struck by the amazing views and beachfront property. (I lost track of how many times I stated "I can't believe you live here.") Madeline is an absolute joy, walking, talking and repeating everything she hears. Most days started with a morning swim at the secluded beach and most evenings ended with cocktails and cards on the deck following a fabulous Preston-prepared dinner.

On Sunday, Amanda, People magazine's Caribbean Correspondent, received a call that Uma Thurman was spotted in St. Bart's kissing her former boyfriend, Andre Balazs. By Monday afternoon, Amanda, Madeline and I were on a plane to St. Bart's. To say landing in St. Bart's is treacherous is an understatement, as we were told to "close your eyes and don't look during the descent." Comforted by these words, we held on tight to the fold down seats in the WWII sea plane and landed safely.

At the St. Bart's airport, we bumped into David Letterman (and by airport I mean no security, simply walk onto the plane with or without a ticket). Dave was very friendly and he and his son, Harry, graciously posed for photos. Amanda commented that I seemed to be 'canoodling' with Dave. I explained that celebrities like it when strangers walk up to them and their children and stand very close. It makes them feel appreciated.

After checking into the only affordable hotel on the island, we stopped by the Nikki Beach Club in St. Jean. We noticed a group of tan, slightly drunk Australians drinking large amounts of rose wine (more on them later). We met a couple from Boston who told us they had spotted both Uma and Dave over the weekend checking out the yachts in the St. Bart's Bucket Regatta. Apparently, Jeff Bridges was wandering around as well, but pretending to be French whenever he was recognized. Leaving Madeline in the care of Sandra, the very sweet Colombian babysitter, we headed to Gustavia, the main harbor, to continue investigating. We had dinner at The Strand, where Uma was spotted on Thursday, but the staff were coy about her visit.

After dinner we followed the loud music to a waterfront bar where we stumbled onto the Australians, six hours drunker than when we saw them last them last. The group crews a yacht for a wealthy Australian businessman and spent the previous two weeks bringing the boat over from Spain. The crew's cook, Emily, was very affectionate with Amanda, perhaps because she was traveling with a flask of "secret sauce" in her bag. After some dancing, we headed back to The Strand night club where the bouncer, Jean-Luc (or Luc-Jean or Paul-Jean), blabbed about Uma (left the club alone), Mariah (was over-served at her birthday celebration) and Queen Latifah (burped in his ear when he hugged her goodbye). He's clearly Amanda's new St. Bart's contact.

The next day we headed to the all-white furnished Le Sereno hotel where Uma had lunch the previous week. Laying out our bright orange hotel towels, we hoped to avoid being noticed by Nico, the waiter/towel boy. Rather, he offered to "make up a bed" for us on the beach. We declined and instead, watched naked Madeline jump up and down on the beach bed to her true delight.

Back in Antigua, we bombarded Preston with our stories and celebrity sightings. Over the next several days, we snorkeled at the beach, walked around St John's, had lunch at Carlisle Bay and checked out the ships in English Harbour. The weather was fantastic and it was hard to pack up and leave. On the last day there, the construction crew let us sneak onto Giorgio Armani's deck to check out the view and fabulous pool. Only right that the week started and ended with a celebrity stalking.

Guest Blogger, Da (Andrea) Orr: EVERYTHING BUT THE HOT STONE MASSAGE

Lazy mornings by the infinity pool, afternoons riding the waves at one of Antigua's 365 magnificent beaches (one for every day of the year), then a couple more hours logged at the pool and at the private beach of a famous fashion designer neighbor, before finishing the evening off with a five star meal, prepared in turns by Chef Preston and Chez Pascal, and retiring to a mountaintop cottage underneath the stars, where the surf crashed below me and exotic Caribbean wildlife hummed all around. That pretty much sums up my five glorious days in the seaside village of Galley Bay. Sort of like a spa, minus the spa treatments. Who knew this sleepy little getaway was home to one of the top ten eateries in the world (as ranked by Fodor's)! It's a well kept secret, but fine French food and a gregarious chef await anyone who can navigate their way to the top of the steep gravely road that leads to Chez Pascal, a path that's treacherous by car and murder by foot, especially in the middle of the hot Antigua day. I was lucky (?) enough to make the trek both ways, the second time in the company of a young chef and a sweaty young reporter in training (AKA Olivia and Noah) who successfully scooped The Antigua Daily Observer when they scored an interview with Pascal and pumped him relentlessly until he revealed his secret recipe for mayonnaise. Other entertainment came by way Karaoke Queen Caroline and daily excursions with Amanda and the ever-social Madeline into town. Here on Antigua, grocery shopping counts as an outing. Yes, life on the island can be a bit slow, but delightfully so.