I’ve been writing the last week about my time here in Saint Tropez, but actually I’m in a village a little further along called Ramatuelle. Saint Tropez has no actual beach so we chose to chill here. And around us are copious numbers of Dutchies, wealthy Russians and other people who like to see and be seen lolling in the upper echelons of society.

I find it all decadently delicious and can’t help but wonder what goes on in these anchored 30 million dollar yachts that lie here in the bay. I’m thinking something along the lines of lots of sex, drugs, overflowing magnums of bubbly and staff that probably has more fun than the guests.

From an anthropological point of view I find this all very entertaining. These very seaworthy yachts sail from the port of Saint Tropez to the bay of Ramatuelle, no further. A little lunch, a little cheekiness, a little more of who knows what and then in the evening the same trip back. Take that thing on a trip around the world, I think to myself. Seek adventure.

But no, it is a crème on the terrace of Senequier in the morning, a gaspache de concombre at Nikki Beach in the afternoon and a party on your own boat the evening.

But of course Saint Tropez is divine. My friend described it perfectly yesterday as Disneyland. Why? Because it is exactly how you would imagine the ideal bohemian small coastal town to be sketched out. I have extensively covered the circumference of San Troupès, as they call it here, but had never been in the town itself. I have been in the harbor (but on a more modest boat) and a hundred times in Cannes and Nice.

In my dreams though I’ve had lunch 17 times with Coco, strolled with my feet in the surf alongside Brigitte and laid on a yacht with Grace Coddington. But in reality? Non of that has ever happened.

But yesterday it did. We hopped in our exclusive Espace (of which I encountered two of the same in the luxury Initiale Paris version, people have good taste here) and headed towards the promised land. First stop was at the wine shop Millésima where the Blanc des Blancs from Ruinart were sitting in rows of three. Just ready for picking. We kept it modest by just selecting a few bottles of rosé de la région, but of course I took a moment to ogle all those Taitinger magnum bottles from 2000. I didn’t dare to ask how many of them they sold per day.

Then I made a beautifully smooth park in the gorgeous center, right next to the Blanc Bleu store. If you like the marinière style, this is your place. We always went there in Paris up until it was taken over by Escales. For me it had then lost its magic. But as it turns out the ‘mother store’ still exists. Everything is handmade and each piece is unique. We didn’t hesitate to embrace the for him and her look. They did come with a Saint Tropez-suited price tag, but we were immediately invited to a party at their homes and these spontaneous moments are to be rewarded.

As we walked along the boats, my daughter said, “Look, Mom, it’s your boat.” I looked over to see a large boat bobbing there with the Chanel logo on it…

What was funny about that was that just before the walkway of the boat there was a bunch of scuffed flip flops and slip on shoes. It looked like they could all use a quick stop off at the Chanel store in town. I should have let them know I’m available for some styling advice. In exchange for a ride from Saint Tropez back to my little cabin in Ramatuelle please.