St. Tropez

As I sailed my "yacht" into St. Tropez harbor, I thought about all the stories I would tell later on in my life that would begin with the phrase "as I sailed my yacht into St. Tropez harbor." I would undoubtedly drop the quotes around yacht, and pretend I was in with the in crowd. This place is the poshest of the posh. It's like the most upscale mall in Britain was being transported by a giant plane, collided with another plane carrying socialites and cocaine, and then crashed onto a tiny, pretty port city.

The views on the approach to St. Tropez were pretty impressive. As an aside, the Pirates of the Barbary Coast had a longstanding peace treaty with the French, and in fact, fought side by side against the Italian and Spanish forces closely allied with the Pope, so this is one of the few towns that was not bombarded, invaded or otherwise attacked by my favorite people. And you can tell: the town enjoyed long peaceful periods, and buildings spilled outside the city walls.

Sunset on the way into St. Tropez

St. Tropez town, clock tower, and Le Citadel to the left

I was surrounded by enormous powerboats as I approached the landing area in the harbor.

Old Harbor with powerboats. When one of them accidentally turns their radar on while at port,
kids get sparks in their braces and men are temporarily sterilized.

By enormous, I mean boats that could easily have fit 50 minitransats inside. They smell like state ferries. They certainly have gyms inside.

Why? Because they can

The landing area was occupied by professional sailors in blue-and-white striped sailor outfits, for which I'm sure they get paid extra. The predominant language was Russian. Interestingly, as we docked, a British professional sailor pointed at Guizmo and said "now, there's a real boat."

There was only a single marinero at the entire marina, and he turned out to be Bulgarian. It was clear that he was not hired for his interesting French pronunciation with rolled Slavic R's, or the way he said "ce n'est pas mon prrrrrobleme" -- it was his command of Russian that got the job, as the job seemed to demand more Russian than French. Every $1 increase in the price of oil must create a 100 nouveau-riche Russian glitterati, who, like salmon when their biological clocks start to tick, must have a burning desire to abandon Mother Russia for the French coast. If Al Gore, illustrating the scale of global warming on a graph with a cherry picker in his famous movie, failed to convince you of the need to conserve oil, this fact should.

Come to think of it, they actually indoctrinated us in middle school that "Russians have always had a desire to establish a port in the warm seas," referring to various Russian military endeavors to acquire ports in the Black Sea and implying that we should be vigilant against further military aggression from the north. But I never thought they'd skip the whole port-by-port endeavor and just establish a beach-head on the French coast. What a brilliant move.

The Bulgarian fellow assigned a berth to Guizmo and told me that the price per night would be 364 euro. I told him there must be a mistake, like, instead of entering 6.5 meters, he entered 65 meters for Guizmo's length, as that price is about tenfold higher than what I had normally been paying. He then produced a price list that clearly said 364 next to 6.5 meters. Presumably, the budget traveler is expected to anchor outside and take the tender in, which I would, except I don't have a tender, and if I did, it'd be the size of a child's swimming ring. I was getting ready to quibble with the Bulgarian fellow over Guizmo's length actually being 6.49m, which it is, but I noticed that his price list was for the Old Port. The New Port, where my assigned berth was, is only 100 meters to the side, but out of the main promenade where the glitterati have to be seen in their boats. The price of a berth for the New Port was listed at 164 euro. I had to accept, even though it seemed like a huge ripoff. The Bulgarian fellow and I then got talking and built a rapport, using bad French on both sides, and he did not ask for money or documentation in the end, which I thought was slightly odd.

Once at the berth, it was time to explore the town. The famous night club in town is called "Famous Club." If that's not reason enough to say away, perhaps Kanye's potential presence might be a further deterrent.

Not sure if I can name a single person from this list that I would like to hang out with.

All around, there were boats that looked like they would belong to a man named Monsieur Le Chiffre, who runs the S.P.E.C.T.R.E. criminal organization.

No doubt Le Chiffre's henchmen would ride these boats and chase Guizmo.
Unlike a regular Bond movie, the chase would last only 5 seconds and I would lose.

If you liked Zodiacs but thought they were always a bit small, perhaps you'd be interested in these

There are lots and lots of paintings for sale on the main promenade, as well as at countless art stores around the port.

Everything here has a nautical theme

I'm so out of it, I can only recognize Prince. Who is the woman?

An intense evening discussion about painters and art

Artist on the main promenade

The place was full of very tall, skinny women and even taller men, with strikingly sharp and weird features that make you immediately think "interesting, they could be models if they wanted to." Then you realize that they did actually want to become models, and indeed did become models -- they're in St. Tropez, naturellement, for a photo shoot. The next morning at 10am, came across the following photo shoot.

Now you know what'll be in Vogue a month before it's published

Here's a hint of how lecherous this town can be: two women wearing bunny ears were walking on the main promenade at night. Inured to St. Tropez at that point, I thought nothing of the bunny ears and thong outfits -- it's out there, but it doesn't really stand out. Then a guy called out "Hey Bunnies!" from one of the giant powerboats in the old harbor. I thought "in the history of mankind, how many successful pickups have started with the line 'hey bunnies'?" Well, the answer turns out to be at least one, as the women immediately responded to this call to join six guys on a powerboat. The pic was taken as they rushed to the boat when the pasarella (the little gangway for walking from the dock to the boat) was being lowered for them.

Privileges of a $1000+/night berth in the old harbor

But the place has a lot of cool little interesting parts to see.

Original occupants of the Old Harbor have been pushed aside by powerboats

Balcony overlooking the Med

French shutters are very different from that of the Spanish

Pour La France at 18, leaving behind a cushy life in St. Tropez.
The town cemetery stands in stark contrast with the youth-worshipping culture of the town.

Signature clocktower

Street scene

Came across a wine and cheese reception, free and open to all, at 9:30 am while looking for a creperie. Once you're within a certain circle, things like putting food on the table that are difficult for most people, suddenly become non-issues.

Shortly after the wine and cheese reception, ran into the fish market. The last pic has one of my father's favorite fish, accompanied by lobsters in wool sacks that are very much alive and moving.

 It was time to leave. I went back to the Capitanerie, took a deep breath anticipating the 164 euro charge and told them I needed to pay. They printed out a bill for 34 euro. What a lovely surprise.

Statue of Virgin Mary on the pier, likely the only virgin in town, bids farewell

St. Tropez from the sea