glamourous image of perfect rays of sunshine glimmering across the
gentle waves of the Medeteranean hightlighting the decks of spotless
white yatchs topped by beatifil sunkissed bodies in tiny swimsuits
drinking martinis or flutes of expensive champagne.
Not so much. In fact, on this overcast mid-October day this city is
more a sleepy city filled with old men playing a French game called
boules which is similar to bocce, kids playing tag across a park, and
sleepy curving streets.
My first experience in St. Tropez was in direct opposition to my
glamourous image. Upon arrival, I stopped in a grocery store to buy a
baguette, cheese, and a pear to combine with the tuna salad I had made
at the hostel for a easy lunch. When I was checking out a homeless
man came into buy a cheap 1Euro beer. The manager approached the man
and said he had already had enough and would have to leave. The man
started agrue that he had enough money to buy a beer and told the
manager that he simply was having a picnic in the park and wanted a
beer to quench his growing thirst. The manager, I suspect in order to
avoid a scene or maybe because of his detailed story,, told the man he
could buy this beer but he would not be allowed to return to the store.
I know I have an overactive, yet stereotypical, imagination. Maybe
St. Tropez is filled with bikini-clad Megan Fox look alikes during the
summer but on a chilly Tuesday in late October St. Tropez is nothing
more than a French village on the seaside filled with average French
people wrapped in coats and scarves experencing the same social issues
of homelessness we have at home in Dallas.