Weaving along the winding coastal road in our Fiat500 through St Maxime and Les Issambres – a more long-winded route but as childhood holiday destinations I was keen to have a peek – we arrived in St Tropez bright and early on Saturday morning for its weekend market to comb through the hundreds of stalls in hope of unearthing one-off gems and holiday souvenirs.
After a successful rummage, laden with soaps, sarongs, sundresses and swimming trunks, we wandered down to the port, passing Dior's cafe and all the big name brands. But it wasn't until we ventured away from the water uphill into the narrow flower-lined alleys that I really fell in love with the place. (Embarrassingly my only previous visit solely consisted of a trip to Nikki Beach for a friend's birthday, which doesn't count.)
Lunch was spent at Le Club 55 which was even better than its preceding reputation. Crammed with happy chattering lunchers and a live band doing the rounds, its infectious buzz rubbed off on us immediately – what seemed like chaos was in reality a super slick operation. Tummies full we dragged ourselves over to Plage de Pampelonne, stretching out in front of the restaurant to surrender to the inevitable siesta time and drift into a swift slumber.
And maybe we rounded off the day with a quick trip to Nikki Beach. When in Rome...