It’s 8pm in and the sun has just dipped below the horizon. For a moment, the sky turns electric, bathing the coastline in a shade of cyan blue. Birds soar above; trees ripple in the breeze; and cicadas sing in unison.
This is a jewel of the Cote D'Azur with the most spoiling view in St Tropez. Perched on the hilltop of Ramatuelle, above the glistening Pampelonne Plage, this hotel feels otherworldly. Especially, come sunset, when the F Scott Fitgerald heroines swill martinis on the terrace.
It’s no wonder the 1920s novelist had a penchant for the French Riviera...
Glamorous, alluring and oh-so-elegant, is the hotel du jour for the social set. Which is why I am here, checking into a luxurious suite, a chic, contemporary haven, with its very own patio overlooking the twinkling Mediterranean. But there’s no time to open the champagne; nor to soak in the bathtub (complete with jacuzzi jets), for we (my boyfriend, Giorgio and I) have a date at La Voile, the hotel’s two Michelin-starred restaurant.
La Voile is understatedly glamorous with tall, white, postmodernist lamps, and Matisse-esque nudes hanging on the walls. Minimalism rules here, with muted white and beige tones, and a few pops of blue in the sleek furnishings. (With that sea view, shown off by floor-to-ceiling windows, such minimalism makes sense).
After we are tucked into Scandi- wooden chairs (‘these are expensive,’ Giorgio explains quietly), we delve into the Tasting Menu. It’s a rich roller coaster through the senses, delivered on quaint, blue speckled plates. Our favourite is the caviar lobster, with a zesty sauce and a dramatic, foamy ginger emulsion.
Five delicious plates are followed with an amaretto nightcap, before we drift off to the suite, where the gargantuan, marshmallow-like bed awaits. ‘We must ask them where they bought the mattress,’ Giorigo says, disappearing into a cloud of pillows. We wake from our caviar-induced reverie bright and early: we have ‘an Oxygenation walk’ with Nicholas, La Reserve’s dynamic, no nonsense trainer.
We meet him at the spa, and hot-foot our way down - at what seems like 100mph - to the coast. The unrelenting, St Tropez sun beats down on our backs as we wind up and down coastal paths. We tail behind speedy Nicholas, puffing away, regretting that last amaretto.
Two hours later, we stride back up to the hotel, feeling a little lighter. We pause for a moment to fully appreciate the hotel’s architecture. In 2009, French architect Jean-Michel Wilmotte reimagined the 1970s modernist building, creating a sandy stone structure which blends with nature surrounding it.
Its futuristic, undulating curves and ochre tones are worlds away from the glitz of the Cote D’Azur. We stop for a moment behind a grand staicase lined with sword-like Cyprus trees. It feels like an moment, so I pose for photographs.
‘Am I your Instagram boyfriend now?’ Giorgio smirks. After a pool-side lunch of grilled sea bass with salsa verde (where glamazons pose for their own Instagram boyfriends), it’s time for another dose of Oxygen: this time, an Oxylight Facial. I am whisked away to the spa’s calming pastel-pink treatment rooms, which have floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking that fabulous view of the Mediterranean.
The treatment is multifaceted, using a plethora of high-tech tools and a machine which uses ‘diamond dermabrasion’ (little punctures in the skin to stimulate collagen), ultrasound, microcurrent and LED therapy. After an hour of being poked and proded, I emerge with (slightly red) but rejuvinated, glowing skin. But there isn’t much time to gaze at my shrunken pores; we have another workout with Nicholas: an intense HIIT session in the sleek gym.
‘That walk was nothing,’ laughs Nicholas, while beasting us with countless reps of ‘Dead Bugs’, ‘Push Ups’ and ‘Battle Ropes’ (where one has to ‘ripple’ two heavy ropes like a snake). ‘This is like Crossfit,’ Giorgio groans. And then, suddenly he ducks out, looking faint.
Feeling smug, I complete the reps, lunging and squatting, channelling Gigi Hadid in her lycra. The glamour keeps on coming the next day; my final appointment is a ‘better ageing face massage’ where my cheeks are massaged and pulled in multiple directions. After 60 minutes, I emerge with brighter, tighter skin - just imagine that Hollywood ‘snatched’ look.
It means that checking out of La Reserve is not too tragic. At least i’ve got the rich girl glow. Now I truly feel like a F Scott Fitzgerald heroine - all the glamour, but with none of the sadness, of course.
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