What to say about Saint-Tropez? I've read that the jet set has moved on to other places, tarnishing the town's "it" status. But when I look around, there is no shortage of money, money, money: gargantuan yachts with uniformed staff catering to people sitting high on decks as if on a stage putting on a show; expensive cars, detailed like they are in a museum; exclusive boutiques with door men like at a nightclub; and flamboyant people flaunting their fabulosity, seemingly trying to out-do one another in the brightness of their expensive clothes. The consumption is conspicuous, indeed. And the people watching is highly entertaining, so long as you keep your sense of humor about it.
If you don't have a mega-yacht or a helicopter (or both), or even a simple rental car, Saint-Tropez isn't that easy to get to. I took a train from Marseilles to St. Raphael. From there I boarded a bus to Saint-Tropez. The coach bus was comfortable enough as it careened along the Golfe de Saint-Tropez. But when it arrived at the terminal in Saint-Tropez and spit me and my luggage out onto a confusing maze of streets, I definitely felt like the help and not a jet setter.
I trundled around town looking for my hotel (roller board suitcases should have a shock-absorber option for cobblestones). My hotel is centrally located in the Vieux Port along the Promenade so I thought it would be easy to find. But even though Saint-Tropez is a small town, the streets are windy and confusing. Just when you think you've got it figured out, you get lost once again. Even so, because it is so small, eventually you end up where you want to be.
As I emerged onto the main square of the Promenade, not looking my freshest, a military band was playing. I don't know why but let's say it was to welcome me.
My response was an inopportune trip in front of the crowd watching the band. Blessedly, I recovered before it was a full-on drop-and-roll situation but it was a most inelegant introduction. Why do I always do that? In Portugal, I emerged from a car in front of a bustling cafe and poured onto the street because the strap from my bag was wrapped around my leg. In Paris, I was peacocking along the Champs d-Elysee one bright summer afternoon and tripped over a missing cobblestone. And there is always the "yelp" that accompanies the stumble, just in case anyone isn't paying attention. But I'll save all of that for another post.
My hotel is a quaint boutique property that is like the town of Saint-Tropez - a maze of winding hallways and rooms. I've got a tiny but quiet room at the back. I look out onto red-tiled rooftops, palm trees, and cafes. Perfect.
After decompressing, I toodled around town. Saint-Tropez is beautiful. It can fade into the background behind the flash and gaudiness of the people occupying it. But when you focus on the set and not the cast, you see an exquisite town set on a hillside sloping down to the old port and the azur water of the Mediterranean Sea. The buildings are painted in sun-washed pastel colors and roofed in red tiles. And Saint-Tropez, like so many Riviera towns, is a great place to relax - there are not the must-see museums and sights of large cities. Saint-Tropez is all about the charming town and the beautiful beaches that surround it, to be enjoyed at a relaxed pace.
Against this setting, the behemoth yachts in the port, the flashy cars, and the gaudy people look like interlopers.
After exploring the town and noshing on a great dinner, I am now in my hotel room enjoying a glass of Provencal rose. Earlier, a light late-day rain was falling and when the sun poked out for a minute, a full-arc rainbow appeared. Then it morphed into two rainbows (no, really...and it was only one glass of wine). Now, it is late evening and I am perched on the window ledge of my room (not to worry - there are layers of awnings and palm trees below me to cushion a fall). I can smell the foods of the Med from the bistros below - garlic and onions and grilled seafood and meats. The stars are out and the breeze is brisk. I feel like I am in Van Gogh's "Starry Nights". It is all good.
It is good to know the way to Saint-Tropez (even if your only yacht floats in your bath tub back home).
That was very funny!!
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