I'm starting to get the hang of the Ramatuelle rhythm. When I wake up, the beach and the sea are mine alone for a very brief moment. Then come thin, French ladies with small dogs onto the beach and shortly after, a large tractor that rakes the beach for a bit. I love it.

At nine o'clock, David (pronounced: Daviduh) walks onto the beach with a stack of mats and it's time to exercise. And then I dutifully hop along behind him with my towel and bottle of Evian. “On push, on repousse. Et un, deux, trois.” After fifty minutes, I'm kaput because I actually don't exercise anymore (read here just for a moment why) and then the aggravating factors of sun and sand come into play. Afterwards, my love is waiting for me with a juice and an egg with a still intact yolk. I could get used to this.

Today I typed 20, Avenue Paul Signac into the onboard computer of our Espace. By the way, we named the Espace and the route planner Carine. As you know, a beautiful car or any mode of transport deserves a name, and I found Carine to be the beautiful French equivalent of ‘the Karin’ and moreover, it stands for class, taste, and knowing where the action is.

Carine took me via a wonderfully convenient route (without traffic, which is a rarity here) to the heart of Trop. The valet boys from the five-star hotel Byblos were eagerly ready to park my brand new car for me. “Vous savez comme ça marche?” I asked him, a bit anxiously handing over this sparkling new voiture to him. “Bien sûr, madame,” he said with a smile that revealed what he actually thought; Dude, what do you think... While I waved over my shoulder to Carine, I saw a similar model zooming in. Of course, also in the Initiale Paris version. They don't do it for less here.

At the Byblos, I was pampered for an hour by another Carine (coincidence doesn't exist) in the Sisley spa. I was quite in my active talking mode when Carine turned off the lights, held a tissue with relaxing herbs under my nose, and said something along the lines of: “And now keep your mouth shut and enjoy.” I was in paradise for an hour, and luckily got to relax a bit on their patio with water and some dried apricots before joining the valet boys again. “C’est très très chic. Comme vous.” So you see, a car is at least as important an accessory as a bag.

Since I was there, I drove into the village for a bit because in Saint-Tropez you can do the most fun things. A little cake at La Tarte Tropezienne and a quick stop at the Pharmacy. And immediately also a visit to Bonpoint where I, of course, bought nothing but looked inside with a blob of drool. My love taught me a handy trick. The trunk actually opens by itself, but I always stood there pushing the lid down with a lot of force. That was the only point of attention I could think of. Turns out there's just a button, and if you press it, the lid closes by itself. Seemed like a nice reason to do a little cautious shopping right away. After all, there's plenty of room in that trunk and I still need to gather some Saint-Tropez souvenirs because tomorrow we're going to Cannes...