So here’s the deal with Saint Tropez:
Prepare to feel poor, accept you are not staying on a yacht, all while owning your pesantry with a bottle of overpriced Rosé.
Jordan wanted to go and push 100 foot yachts and thangs, so we departed from Antibes to spend two nights in Saint Tropez.
I didn’t know what to expect: Opulence, yacht people, bougie; But I can’t tell you how pleasantly surprised I was when we arrived at our hotel.
In fact I cried.
Many of the hotels in Saint Tropez are converted villas, so you get a feel of a luxe bed and breakfast.
Our hotel was perfection. If you are not living the yacht life, this is where you can reside.
The big finale of our trip was to go to the ULTRA luxe Club 55.
We both were ecstatic as we whipped the Fiat into the parking lot at 10am on our last day prepared for rosé, day beds, and the chic lunch rez at 3pm.
Once again expectation vs. reality.
The reality was Club 55 could not have cared less about giving us a daybed, and had no desire to serve us rosé. We didn’t get our mojitos until 1 hour into our day bed experience.
We glanced into the restaurant, and while it looked very entertaining, it was not our speed after what we experienced in the AM.
If I had been on a yacht, tanning, drinking, and decided I wanted to have “lively” experience with my fellow yacht friends, I would have loved Club 55.
As a reg peasant, not my jam.
Also not my jam, was my key purchase of a white one piece bathing suit.
I ended up looking like anyone would after 10 days of eating croissants, cheese, and baguettes- Puffy and swollen AF.
You know when you crumble tissues into a ball, that was how I felt in the one piece.
Rolling in sand. With NO rosé. I can’t.
Determined for our day not to be a disappointment, I changed into a spare BS, and we packed our things to head down the beach, but not before I turned to the the perfect couple next to us from Monaco and ask their thoughts on Club 55.
The woman was literally the definition of the French je ne sais quoi.
With her high pitched and thick French accent she responded with an almost exasperated response of “We love Club 55!” as if she was remembering some of the best memories of her life.
Jordan asked her what she thought of Bagatelle, to which she responded, “Bahga-tellllle? Oh it is ze best. You will have a great time. My friend is ze owner. I’ll call and make a reservation for you?”
That happened, and we ended up giving them our reservation at Club 55.
You win some, you lose them.
We waltzed into Bagatelle, and immediately Jordan was at home. We had the best service, the best time, and the best rosé.
Too much in fact.
Jordan said I needed to pace myself with the rosé, as I was drinking it like water. It was also 97 degrees out.
Seriously it was nuts.
My eyes nearly rolled to the back of my head when I heard “Wild Thoughts” by Rihanna.
The next day we woke up, and I cannot tell you the pain I felt.
Pain. Pure pain.
And then our flight was cancelled.
To be continued…