EuroTour 2010, Day 7, St. Tropez

Saint Tropez.  Named to honor Saint Torpes, a martyr who was beheaded in Pisa during the persecutions of Nero in 65 AD.  During the Fifteenth Century it was a military stronghold.  For the many centuries that followed it was a small fishing village.  Then, in the late 1950's, the most powerful force on Earth discovered it; Brigitte Bardot.  No joke.  She "discovered" this little resort, bought a home here, and was soon followed by the French New Wave of artists and filmmakers who, I assume, wanted to be as close as possible to the Sexiest Woman On The Planet.  It probably took only a season or two for Saint Tropez to become a top stop for the jet set.

And this is why today a little French fishing village is a parking lot for mega yachts.

The view from our window.  If I ever moved from Los Angeles, I would want my new home to be on the Mediterranean.  We often talk of moving to the Italian Riviera, but Europeans I know recommend the French Riviera for the better legal system and economy.  This is not pure folly.  This is consideration.

Time to go for a Tropezian walk.  I did not make up that word.  The locals are called Tropezians.

Breakfast in motion.  Yes, that is a jambon et fromage panini.  I could eat one every day forever.

It's flea market day in Saint Tropez.  (I sang that in my head to the melody of Do You Know The Way To San Jose?) 

The local museum is showing, "Exposition Brigitte Bardot."  I grabbed a flyer.  I read it to you.  "The greatest works that have immortalized the Icon of an era, photographs from Sam Levin, Robert Doisneau, Ghislain Dussart, etc.; pictures from Andy Warhol, Van Dongen, dresses from Paco Rabanne, Esterel, and numerous scarce and exclusive photographs."  (The bad punctuation is the flyer's, not mine.)

We did not go.  I am already regretting this already.  (Double-already was intentional.)  In today's world we do not have Icons where you capitalize the i, we have flavors of the week soon forgotten.

We stepped into a bakery and Lon got a pastry that nearly made him faint from delight.  He had to lean against the wall for support.

Saint Tropez is known for its Botero statues.  These chess playing locals see the statues as little more than shade.  The horse poop joke can remain unsaid, understood by all who see this picture.

I figured you might want to see Botero's horse from a more flattering angle.

I saw the Rolls Royce headed my direction and isntantly pulled out my phone.  I only wish I would have been on the other side of the street so that you could see the Rolls Royce with a background of super yachts.  I must say that the Rolls Royce might be the most yachty vehicle manufactured.  Sure, there are more expensive vehicles, but none capture yachtiness like the Rolls.

Another Botero.  This one you can never get a picture of without someone standing near or pointing at her, well, let us call it fecundity.

Botero's Sphinx.  

We returned to our hotel and Sean & Lon got coffee by the pool.  I noticed an iron sculpture at the other end that I thought was wonderful.  

It is really quite good.  You can see him as hanging on for dear life or about to lift himself up.  I have a feeling that whether you see someone hanging on or lifting themselves up says quite a lot about you.

Lon found, no joke, a four leaf clover.  The picture it is fuzzy, but several independent judges counted four leaves.

We are headed to the beach now.  While we wait for the hotel's driver to take us to the beach, I will give you a brief tour of the hotel, Le Yaca.

Le front de Le Yaca.

Le courtyard de Le Yaca.

Le lobby de Le Yaca.

There is also a bar & restaurant, but I have probably already bored you.  Time to hop into the Marcedes van that is taking us to the beach, which is on the other side of the peninsula.  Did I mention that Saint Tropez is a peninsula?  I think not.  I have now.

Our first viewing of the Tropezian beach.

The view from the club where we paid to have lounge chairs and an umbrella to rest under.  It is a great beach.  Not that I would gush about it and say it is anything better than the Caribbean, Hawai'i, Mexico or California, but it is a great beach.  I assume that these yachts are here instead of the harbor because these yacht owners are too poor to be able to afford the harbor fees.

Yours truly captured by guest photographer Barbara Howard.

Is there a better way to sell hats than to wear seventeen on your head and walk down the beach?  There is not.

My feet have been to Saint Tropez.

I held them up from the sand so that the Mediterranean would be behind them, and took several pictures. As I was snapping away, from behind me a figure dashed by.

There is no doubt that she saw me and thought, "This is it.  My chance to be part of the Colossal Waste."  Bravo young lady, you bested me.

Would I have taken a Polaroid camera to the beach in 1982?  

Son of a... I just realized that I can use this iPhone App "Polarize" to not just make a picture look like a Polaroid but also to have a message fake-handwritten on it.  Get ready for that motif to arrive sometime.

Barbara Howard is topless, but The Waste censors placed a black bar across the inappropriate bits for family viewing.

This business woman stood there and put on and off around a dozen bikinis over a tiny string bikini.  I am not sure if this mobile fashion show is intended more for men or women.

Just in case you dare accuse me of sexism for the bikini shots above, I share with you four hot young college aged males.

We returned to our hotel and cleaned up for dinner.  Before dinner, we will visit the Hotel Byblos.  This is a more famous hotel, one which Barbie and I nearly stayed at last year but we instead went to Eze.

This is the hotel where the celebrities stay, unless they rent villas or stay on yachts.

Very Moroccan, no?

Not bad.

Barbie at the Byblos.  That wall of white stones has water running down it, making it one rather large fountain.

I had an iced tea which Barbie declared was such an attractive iced tea that I must take its picture.

Peacocks are, without doubt, nature's most yachty bird.  I would love to have one wandering the courtyard of our building at home.  I would name it Philipe.

After sitting with the head of marketing for the Hotel Byblos for a while, who was lovely, we walked up to Saint Tropez's highest point where one finds the medieval fort, The Citadel.  The Citadel is closed, forcing us to visit it tomorrow.

I reached over Sean's head to get a picture of him taking this picture.  This is what I see everywhere we go -- life with an iPhone in front of my face.  It is a shame that the haze prevents you from seeing blue sea and blue sky.

Saint Tropez from the Citadel.  I am sure that this picture alone would convince anyone to visit.

The Saint Tropez bell tower rings ten minutes before every hour.  Not sure why.  They need to reset it, no?

We came across this little fella on the way to dinner.  My soft spot was hit.

Dinner at The Strand.  Fillet Mignon with Foie Gras and White Truffle.  Truffles are out of season, and to be honest they tasted like white wax.  But the foie gras was, as always, delicious.

Lon ordered macaroni for the table.  Bless him.

Truffle mashed potatoes.

And this concludes our dinner.

This is actually the view from the window of the stairway that leads up to our rooms.  I know it looks like there is light outside, but do not be fooled.  This is around 10:30 PM.  And I am very sleepy.  Barbie is going to nap and then head back to the Byblos with Sean to check out their nightclub, The Cave.

I am staying in the room to type up the Waste and go to sleep.  Life is good.

We will close with the first picture this year not taken with my camera.  This is for those of you who have forgotten or are too young to have ever known Brigitte Bardot.

This is the face that changed Saint Tropez.  Perhaps it was more than her face, but I believe the point has been made.