Dear International Living Reader,
Matisse’s pal, Signac, was so wowed when he sailed into Saint Tropez on a sunny day back in the 1880s, he depicted the port with explosive dots of color. More than a century later I cruise into this legendary bay (aboard Laetitia) and wish I invented pointillism myself.
Hedged by lavender hills and hemmed by golden beaches, the resort adored by French post-impressionists rises out of the turquoise Mediterranean like a rainbow. Entering the old harbor we sail straight into a Signac tableau.
Slipping on picturesque cobbles, we disembark. Midday in the south of France, and the terrace of celebrated brasserie Le Gorille seethes with blonde babes and muscled hunks who sup on steaming crocks of fishy bouillabaisse.
An independent republic for centuries, Saint Tropez had never been invaded. Then Brigitte Bardot shot to fame in And God Created Woman in 1956, and fans flocked here, transforming a sleepy port into the Côte d’Azur’s most fashionable resort.
Resisting Vuitton’s and Gucci’s siren songs I head past chic boutiques and make for the old town. Gambetta street, where wealthy merchants in the 17th century built their lavish mansions, leads me to the Place des Lices.
This plaza speckled with the vaulted shade of plane trees is a slice of "real France." Café terraces are reserved for old guys with black berets who sip milky pastis, serenaded by the rhythmic clunk of boules.
Saturday is market day, the square a mottled fresco of ripe tomatoes, blistered peppers, and purple egg plants. The air is a vibrant tapestry of bitter lemon, sickly jasmine, and astringent thyme.
A hundred crickets trilling, I quit searing heat for the gloom of the Annonciade art museum. Housed in an ancient chapel, rapture is the only possible response to canvases signed Matisse, Van Dongen, Derain, Dufy…and Signac.
I stagger out at sunset and buy a calin from the Senéquier tea house. Yachts bob at anchor, the quay bustles with life. I bite into the pastry. Tart almond, sweet honey, and perfumed cinnamon scatter onto my tongue. I have to grin. This pointillism of savors is the flavor of Saint Tropez.
Heidi Fuller-love
For International Living
P.S. We hired Laetitia–a motor yacht–and crew, from http://www.premium-yachts.com.
