August Beaches

We hurtle down the last few hundred feet of steep lavender lined cobbled slope shaded by majestic umbrella pines - around a last hairpin turn and there they are: The blue-white Pampelonne beaches, of St Tropez. Their indecent beauty almost defeats words. With the scents of lavender, pine and salt sea air, you can get dizzy on the aromatics. It's a Mediterranean performance or perhaps a preview of heaven. Our daredevil, fifteen year old driver, (Sylvain) gets an unappreciative look from my mom. My brother (Brice) and sister (Annick) whoop as if practiced, as they leap from the open-sided Mercedes shuttle. I calmly gather my things. This tranquil and elegant beach cove is private for hotel guests - no chic crowds here - just a few quiet guests and valets dressed in beige. The Pampelonne beaches are topless (nude if you like), Annick peels topless just before she hits the waves. Brice, ever the considerate brother says, “Come ON, RELAX, you’ll just look like one of the BOYS.” Which earns him the old, American, one-finger salute. I missed vacations this year and the beaches - where hours stretch, with blissful laziness, to the rhythm of nature. Will we ever get back to some pre-pandemic "normal"?