A Drinker's Guide to St. Tropez: Day 3

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Up until this point it had been a pretty tame trip to St. Tropez. I had been in bed by 5am or earlier every night, and nothing too ridiculous had happened. For the weekend the bar would be raised. I ignored phone calls from Eric, the Germans and everyone else from Noon to 2pm and fully intended to spend the day in recovery. I went down to the Byblos pool got a Perrier and took a lounge chair. This lasted for probably an hour. I was soon bored of lying on a chair with intermittent trips to the pool to cool off so I called the Germans and they said they were at Nikki Beach. I went to the concierge and he called for the shuttle. On the way there the driver and I had a nice chat about the need for afternoon pacing if you are going to make a go of a full week in St.Tropez. I told him this was not my first rodeo and I knew all too well the dangers of trying to be an all-star from noon-5am for 7 days straight. He told me some good stories about how he could see the decline in the face of rookies as they progress through the week, starting full of energy and passed out in transit by day 5 or 6. I was determined to stick to my plan and not get hammered in the afternoon and it very nearly worked. As I pulled up to Nikki the car in front of me was Eric's and I saw him hand his keys to the valet and head in. I found the Germans through the entrance and to the right and took the empty lounge chair next to theirs. We called Eric shortly thereafter and he came over with Roland and said they were getting lunch and we should join. I had already had a Jambon Fromage from the not so cleverly named "Delices de Lice" on Place De Lice earlier so I joined them and ordered a perrier and a coke. Eric ordered a beer which they brought to him warm, he sent it back and they brought him a lukewarm beer with a mini-ice tub (the kind you would chill champagne in) so he spent the rest of lunch using that a quasi-beer coozie and enduring jokes about Magnums of Budweiser. After Lunch Eric and Roland asked if we wanted to swing by Voile Rouge since they weren't crazy about Nikki. The Germans wanted to stay at Nikki but since as you know I am not crazy about Nikki either I took them up on their offer and we went to find the valet. After watching Roland berate the valet for parking his Jag under a tree (which led to some leaves shedding on it), we all saddled up and took off for Voile Rouge. I like driving fast, but I cannot ever recommend getting in a car with Eric or Roland. The roads around St. Tropez and Ramatuelle are small single lane affairs. There are cars parked on the sides of many streets (which are narrow) and people and objects regularly dart out onto the road. If these roads were in the U.S. i'd say they would probably be 25 MPH limits (even without all the cars, people and other obstacles). We were going probably 70-80 MPH on the way to Voile Rouge, I was sober so this was more frightening than amusing. I suppose invaluable tipsy driving practice like this is why all the F1 drivers are european. Voile Rouge was dead when we got there. It was after 5, but we had hoped for a better scene. I got a Corona and a Vittel, Roland had a vodka and coke and despite his objections we got Eric an enormous vodka on the rocks. There are new characters coming into the story though. Apparently Nico's girlfriend (who is French) spends her summer on the riviera, so she was coming to join the boozing with her sister and one of their friends. I told them to meet Eric, Roland and I at Voile Rouge but they ended up taking much longer than planned. Eric wanted to go back to Nikki to meet the Brazilian girls. I told them I had to wait at Voile Rouge (I didn't want to even attempt an on the fly location switch, too difficult) but we would meet up later. It turned out to be MUCH longer than expected and I probably made my way through 4-5 more beers and was double fisting by the time they arrived. Partly because that is just the natural progression of things and partly because the Voile Rouge bar staff kept threatening to close for the afternoon and I didn't want to be left out in the cold beverageless. Finally the three of them arrived. We managed to get one more round of Corona's out of the laissez-faire bartender before she shut down and we called for the hotel shuttle. The shuttle of course would be 20-30 minutes so when the Corona's dwindled we had to move to a beach shack next to Voile Rouge to recharge our alcoholic stores. It was probably around 7:30 by the time we all got back to the hotel and it was obvious this was not going to be the day of rest I had envisioned when my pounding head caused me to hit ignore for 2 hours this morning. Instead of to the room for a nap, it was straight to the Byblos pool bar when we got back to the hotel. The Germans called and said that Eric had set dinner for 9:30 at Nioulargo. Since it was already after 8 people started to go and get ready. I stayed at the bar until the last but was able to be ready on time. I had not been to Nioulargo before and as it turns out it was quite a hike. The shuttle service stops running after the beach clubs shut down for the day so we had to take a taxi. The restaurant turned out to be in Ramatuelle all the way out by Key Largo Beach Club. For the bargain basement price of 60 euro for a 10 minute ride we arrived. On top of this we couldn't drink in the car (lousy puritans I miss NY cabs) and they made people put out cigarettes. Walking into Nioulargo was definitely interesting considering my dining experience at Villa Romana the previous night. This was pretty much the anti-Villa Romana. We were a group of 8 and there were not 8 other people in the restaurant combined. I did not hold out hope that someone would bring me a football helmet to wear during the meal. Eric ordered some white wine and when it arrived, surprise surprise, it was warm. I don't know why this was the theme of the day, but we all ordered mojitos while we waited for the wine to chill. Despite their lackluster drink service, the food came out very quickly. While ordering they kept badgering people to take starters but no one wanted them (later when dessert time came again no one wanted anything and they started shaking menu's at people seemingly to show their anger over a lower bill and lesser tip $). It seemed like we had no sooner placed our orders than they were coming out of the kitchen and being placed in front of us. Camille's (Nico's Girlfriend) sister Solene had been saying all afternoon that all she wanted was Ravioli, so when she learned Nioulargo was an asian fusion restaurant she was temporarily crestfallen. When we got to the restaurant she was surprised and pleased to see "ravioli" on the menu. When the food arrived she was once again crestfallen to find that "ravioli" at this place is apparently synonymous with "dumpling" in normal asian cuisine parlance. I had a dish of shrimp and calamari that was very small, but spicy and rather good. We had more mojitos, the wine got cold and we had wine, I may have had a beer and there may have been a round of shots it was all starting to add up and keep in mind it was still very early. The reservation had been at 9:30 but of course the group didn't fully assemble until closer to 10. We smoked cigarettes inside (illegal) and put them out on the astroturf behind our table because until the end of the meal we were not coherent enough to realize there were ash trays on the table. Roland told the newcomers his eastern european "do you have a boat?" story which was well received and just as funny to me the second time and it was a good meal. After we settled up the bill, we were pleased to find we did not have to wait for a taxi as we had enough space between Eric and Roland's cars to get everyone back to Byblos. I made a point of getting in Roland's car, 4 doors just seem safer. Back at the Byblos we got a table at the pool bar and things really started to go downhill. For some reason France has outlawed redbull so in St. Tropez their red bull stand in is "Motley Bird," we found this incredbily amusing and I'm certain the poor barstaff appreciated hearing "Motley Bird et Vodka" every two seconds and listening to our conversation about how weird it was. Motley Bird is a very amusing name when you've been drinking for several hours. The Germans, Eric and Roland went down to Les Caves around 1 to meet the Brazilians who again had a table in the VIP area. We had a few more drinks upstairs before meeting them. Les Caves was incredibly packed and you would think the VIP area offers some relief...it does not. It was so crowded in the VIP area that I opted to leave the table and free Brazilian booze to drink at the bar closest to the entrance because it offered less jostling. I do not enjoy being jostled by nerds. The DJ's in St. Tropez have an odd habit of yelling out "St. Tropeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeez" over the music every 2 or 3 songs. We were thankful they were there to remind us where we were, should we forget. I was very very drunk by the time we left Les Caves. I don't know whose idea it was, but Camille, Solene, Constance and I decided Les Caves was too crowded and we were going to VIP Room (as if it wouldn't be crowded there). I somehow snuck my beer out of Les Caves (for 24 euro a pop I will do as I please with them) and we walked down the stairs to the street to find a cab. Somewhere in here I put my beer down on top of some very expensive Porsche. It fell over spilling beer all over the car then tumbling down the side of the car (no doubt making dents) before breaking on the ground (afterwards one headlight would stay on for no reason). I don't remember this, but apparently I instantly blamed Solene and said it was her fault. After this everyone on the street was pointing at Solene and asking what her problem was...well played. We must have gotten a taxi because we ended up at VIP. We walked right in and I got a Motley Bird and Vodka (of course). I am not a huge fan of VIP and after not so long I decided to leave. Camille was also ready to call it a night but Solene and Constance were nowhere to be found. We would later find out that Solene went home with some people from St. Raphael. St. Raphael is a 30 minute (or more) drive from St. Tropez and a ferry runs from there to St. Tropez. In the Riviera world, people from St. Raphael are bridge and tunnel. It's like leaving NY and going home with some guys to Jersey City or Hoboken, declasse. This would become a running joke and Solene to her credit put up with it amicably. Constance resurfaced sometime later in the evening and there was a french fry fight for some reason (fries would continue to be found on the floor days later) and I remember drinking peach iced tea with vodka (surprisingly good) since it was the only thing left in the mini bar as I had the beers before going out and drank the small bottle of rose champagne earlier in the evening/morning around 5am. At some point I passed out, I even managed to take my shoes off beforehand.

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Photos

VIP Room
They have dancers at VIP Room

St. Tropeeeeeeez
Where are we? St. Tropeeeeeeeeez, Les Caves to be more specific

Scene of the crime
The beer in my hand is the one that would end up all over some poor guys Porsche