Our next destination was St Tropez, a beach resort synonymous with Bardot, the sixties, the rich and the famous, but what would it be like off season? Would all the beautiful people have gone back to Paris, New York and Rome or would the Autumn sunshine keep them hanging on…?

One advantage of the off season was the lack of traffic and we decided to stick to the coast road. Good decision. We wound through pretty villages, the steep hills to our left lush with tamarisk, olives and eucalyptus, whilst to our right we caught glimpses of hidden beaches and beyond them the sparkling sea. From time to time we would encounter clusters of lycra clad cyclists, and even the odd group of hunters replete in dayglo jackets with dogs and shotguns. In the village of Rayol we stopped to look at the view and accidentally found ourselves in the Domaine du Rayol,  a beautiful garden which runs right down to the sea. I gather it was first established by a Parisian banker returning to his home town in 1910 and has been extended from there.

As we came closer to St Tropez, we started checking for campsites and realised that we weren’t going to be able to get very close. So instead we decided to head to Camping Les Cigalons, just beyond St-Maxime, which looks across the bay towards St Tropez. The nice thing about Les Cigalons was that it was just across the road from a public beach. In this part of France, a lot of the beaches are privately run and you have to pay to use them so a public beach was a good find.

The pitches were rather cosy and we found ourselves sandwiched between a Dutch caravan and an English Motorhome. The English had really spread out, with what looked like a full three piece suite out front.  They also had a dog, two electric bicycles and were towing a small car, so we felt a bit squeezed out.  And also, they didn’t smile. The Dutch, by contrast,  came and shook hands and told me they were heading to Spain for the Winter. They also said they liked our van!

The campsite owner was very laid back. He asked us to find our own pitch and didn’t bother asking how long we planned to stay. He had a round table and chairs set up outside his office where he received a steady stream of visitors. His social life started at 11 am with a glass of beer and graduated at 12 to wine and a long lazy lunch. The afternoon was taken up with Petanque, and perhaps a glass or two of Pernod.  I wondered if he was making up for lost time, having spent all July and August working his socks off. Or perhaps it was just how he rolled.

The first thing we did after setting up was go down to the beach. It was only a narrow strip, but the sea was really sheltered and warm.  I was soon swimming out to sea, in my element. I noticed there were a lot of yachts. I found out later that it was almost time for  ‘Les Voiles de St Tropez’, a big event in the yachting calendar which sees ordinary yachts racing side by side with so-called ‘Maxi’ yachts. These Maxi yachts are monstrous with big black sails and when one appeared round a headland, it gave me quite a shock.

Because I had a script to write, we ended up spending five days at Les Cigalons. I would work all day at the table in the van until about 4 pm and then hit the beach for a swim.  David was still keen to go to St Tropez. There was a bus stop just outside the site but the buses were impossible to predict – the timetable on the bus stop was hidden behind scratched plastic and we couldn’t read what it said. He walked into St-Maxine to try and hire a motorbike, but despite combing the town, he couldn’t find a hire place.

The following evening, we walked into St-Maxine, three or four kilometres walking by the side of the coast road. The road was fast and noisy but the sunset was beautiful as it set over the sea and was succeeded by an almost full moon. Perhaps I’ve been spoilt by all the beautiful places we’ve seen, but St-Maxine didn’t grab me. There  was a strip of overpriced ‘white tablecloth’ restaurants on the promenade, one with a live trad. Jazz band. We gave them a miss and opted for a pizza and a glass of wine in a ‘red and white tablecloth’ bistro set on a pretty square.

On our last evening, we walked the other way up the beach, away from St-Maxime, and came across a jetty with boats going every hour to St Tropez. The ticket office was shut, but we came back the next morning, excited to catch the boat.  However, on arrival, the ticket office lady informed us that the previous day had been our last chance as the boat service was now closed for the season.

So, despite our best efforts,  we never got to St Tropez.