We’re not sure if it’s become cool to hate on New Year’s Eve - or whether us humans just need to work on our earnestness - but we’re getting pretty bored of people closing out the year by saying, “New Year’s Eve is so overrated”. New Year’s Eve is not overrated. At least, not when you do it The BucketLust way.
That’s because our New Year’s Eve’s are different. Oh-so-different. F**king different. There’s no hating yourself for paying Uber surge prices, trekking it to the other side of your cold and crowded city, and then drinking knock-off champagne in a confined space with hundreds of strangers knowing you’ll probably have to go pee at 11:37pm or else you’ll welcome in the next epoch of your life parting the sea of midnight kissers with awkwardly wet pants.
This is why the world’s most life-loving unicorns have begun avoiding New York, London, Paris, Sydney, Hong Kong, and every other world-famous New Year’s party to come kick it with us, and our flotilla of yachts, on a voyage of hedonistic exploration that would make Christopher Columbus quake in his sandals - and this New Year’s Eve it’s our St Martin Route that’s getting the FULL F**KING SEND.
It’s gonna be huuuge. No. It’s gonna be hot. So hot you’ll need to wear a welder’s mask to look at it and teflon gloves to touch it. But it will be so worth it because this route is gonna make your mind fizz, your soul shake, your fists punch the air, and the good-time memories sear themselves into your smile, replete with all those gorgeously bad habits you think you’re going to give up as part of your ”I can be a saint” resolutions. Yeah. It’s as big as New Year’s gets. It’s three islands in seven days. It’s a cocktail of French grandeur, Dutch flair, Caribbean-cool beach vibes, and our TBL special sauce.
New Year’s Eve is dead. Long live New Year’s Eve.
Long live The BucketLust.
Rule No.1: No One Forgets Fort Louis