Postcards from Provence: St. Tropez

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Let’s talk about St. Tropez. We worried on our way there for a single night (just after leaving Beaucastel and the Rhone) that we might not be able to effectively “do” the town in that time. However, our worries were quickly assuaged when our impromptu research on “must do” items (read: a quick email to our know-it-all pal Lesley in New York) revealed that everyone does the exact same thing in St. Tropez every day. Drinks at Hotel Byblos, then clubbing at Les Caves du Roy downstairs, brunch the following day at Club Cinquante Cinq, then more drinks at Nikki Beach down the street. It’s fantastically simple, actually, and everyday everyone just repeats the same circuit all over again.

Traffic getting into St. Trop was beyond bad, and this, I now understand, is to be expected on the first official weekend of summer, when all of Europe seems to descend on the Riviera for a few glorious weeks of excess. Note to self: next time take a yacht. Here are some pics of us shopping for said yacht down in the harbor by day, then partying it up at night. 

Brunch at Le Cinquante Cinq the following day was a welcome relief from the excess of the night before (don’t get me wrong, 30,000 Euro bottles of Cristal aren’t bad if you can afford them!), and this very cool band came around and sang for us. The place was full of beautiful people, decked out in more pairs of Chanel shades and Hermes scarves than I could be bothered to count. Anne Hathaway even made a cameo by the bar, where we sipped Pimm’s cocktails made with fresh mint—yum!

The last stop in our St. Trop circuit was famous (infamous?) beach club Nikki Beach for early evening drinks after “lunch” (which was really at 3 p.m. so that we could make a smooth transition to Nikki Beach afterward). Pam and Kid Rock had just gotten married there a few days before, a fact we were well aware of as we’d managed to pick up the French equivalent of Us Weekly, called Public, on our way into town. Funny: No matter where you are in the world celebrity gossip is just a convenience store away.

Nikki Beach was, if possible, a more outrageous display of excess than was Les Caves du Roy the night before. Girls wearing tiny bikinis and heels standing poolside were assisting a bevy of jubilant men in tearing open bottles of champagne and spraying the contents all over each other. One table I saw had at least forty or fifty empty bottles of bubbly on it, evidence of said excess. They weren’t even drinking it, they were just spraying it. To do otherwise would be so practical, after all! And as I know now, practical has no place in St. Tropez.

Photo courtesy of Courtney Cochran of Hip Taste Events


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