A stay in St Tropez
Joan Collins tours her favourite town When people think of St Tropez they imagine a life of total hedonism, but that's not always the case. Sure the beaches are thronged with gorgeous tanned topless girls (and boys), certainly the nightclubs revel until the wee hours and the glittering yachts emit sounds of pleasure day and night, but there are so many other facets to this fascinating former fishing village.
The twice-weekly market at the Place des Lices is an absolute treasure-trove of goodies. You can buy everything from succulent cheeses, olives and nuts to del icate cashmere and silk sweaters, intricate silver jewellery, exquisite baby clothes, ceramics galore and antique bric-a-brac as good if not better than Portobello Road. In the afternoon the stands are cleared and the locals spend hours with games of boules, camaraderie and conversation (and no doubt some pastis).
Around the centre of St Tropez are dozens of cobblestone streets with chic boutiques, charming restaurants and art galleries. I never tire of exploring them and almost always find something new and exciting.
Then there is the cemetery. If any graveyard could be called truly beautiful this one is. Perched high on a hill, it overlooks the glittering splendour of St Tropez bay. All the graves are terribly well tended, extremely clean and many are covered in attractive blooms.
At the Café Senequier, right opposite the port where some of the world's most expensive boats are moored, one can while away an entire morning sipping café au lait and watching the crowds stroll by. There are all manner of people to study, a positive league of nations out to see and be seen. Glamorous leggy Russian blondes in the shortest of shorts jostle fat tourists from Arkansas or Albania. Dogs are everywhere — the French adore dogs and they are welcome in most restaurants and bars, although I've lost count of the number of times I've almost tripped on a long leash attached to a pug while browsing the market Paparazzi lie in wait for the odd supermodel or starlet lounging on the quay, and further along a fantastic array of pictures and paintings are presented by artists, some of which are actually very good.
Each of the beaches of Pampelonne has its own uniqueness. Tahiti Plage, a symphony in orange umbrellas and matching tans, was where I first stayed in St Tropez, with Natalie Wood in the late 1960s.
La Voile Rouge is noisy, slightly louche, but great fun. The disco beat is so loud that conversation is impossible, everyone usually gets drunk and the waiters chop off the neck of vintage bubbly to spray on the tables and bodies of the Middle Eastern revellers.
But not too far from this maddening crowd is the charming old-fashioned village of Ramatuelle. There one can buy fresh baked brioche and croissants at the bakery and sip an aperitif while perusing the Herald Tribune in the charming café in the village centre. It's extremely laid back compared to St Tropez, but fascinating in its own way.
My favourite restaurant is Club 55. Its patron, Patrice de Colmont, knows exactly who to sit where and has an amazing ability to please practically everyone. 55 was born the same year that Roger Vadim and Brigitte Bardot were filming And God Created Woman on the beaches of Pampelonne. They discovered a little shack where simple food was being prepared for the Colmont family. Bardot and co. came for lunch every day and a legend was born. I first lunched there in the 1970s, when it wasn't unusual to see a lady consume her salad nicoise totally topless. Happily this fad has stopped — never again do I want to see an exposed breast landing accidentally on a bowl of steaming moules.
New York businessman Steven Schwartzman loves 55 so much that for his 55th birthday he had his Park Avenue apartment totally transformed into a facsimile of it, even with sand on the floor. Everyone dressed a la St Tropez but since this was icy February there were some sandal-shod diehards with frostbite — but what fun it was.
To me, St Tropez is the most magical and exciting place and I miss it. But I also love being up in the hills of Provence where one hears only the sound of cicadas, and the disco beat from the beaches of Pampelonne is far, far, away.
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