DESTINATION Villa Romana Hotel, Nikki Beach, and a couple of big yachts in St. Tropez
INSPIRATION Lady Victoria Hervey invites me to a party in St. Tropez with co-host Ne-Yo.
It was never in the plans to bask in the luxurious St. Tropez in the south of France. The destination felt like it belonged on “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous,” not my inspirational adventure. But Lady Victoria, a well-known model and socialite who I’d heard of but never met, had invited me down for a big party and was making it very hard to say no. It was a nice change to have someone working to get me to a party instead of the other way around.
Tuesday: “Sunday is gonna be big, first the Nikki Beach party then the VIP club that night with DJ mars and Ne-Yo performing…”
Fifty percent, I told Lady V.
Wednesday: “We have a room for you at the hotel. We’ll drink rosé and go to fun dinners.”
Okay, 75 percent. I was starting to feel overwhelmed by Paris and all the moments I needed to complete.
Thursday: “What percentage, Angie?” Eighty percent. It was like travel roulette.
Friday: “We have a driver fulltime that can pick u up called François let me know what time your flight arrives!”
OK, I think I’m coming.
I finally committed to giving the luxe life a go.
Did I say the luxe life? When I landed in Toulon, no one exactly rolled out the red carpet. Lady Victoria didn’t answer her phone, and so I tried and tried and waited and waited. Was this the right move? I’m not going to lie, the French scare me. I think part of it is how they spit their words–blunt, unabashed rhetoric with intimidation unrelated to what they’re even saying. I mustered up the courage to finally call the hotel.
They eventually sent a driver, but not before forcing me to decipher a lot of incomprehensible hacking French.
My driver arrived and grabbed one suitcase with a snap of attitude. His eyes squinted at my airport attire (always exercise clothes, remember?) as I followed him to the car while he hissed at me in dragon-like French. On the drive home, the dragon unleashed himself, zig-zagging over the road. I pretended to be a princess as I slid back and forth in the minivan, grabbing the seat, handlebars, armrests—anything to hold me down and back from flying through the windshield. All I could do was pull out my video camcorder, half-whispering into it with nervous excitement, filming the beautiful rolling hills and luscious green landscape out the window as we whizzed past.
When we finally arrived, and my disheveled self stepped up to the reception desk, the miniature tanned 40ish lady at the front desk looked at me with eyes that said: “And really, what do you think you are doing here?”
“Can I help you?” she said primly.
I stuttered just to get out in English, “Um. I guess. Well. Victoria, who I’m meeting, is probably sleeping…can I just go lie by the pool?”
“Do whatever. You speak no French, do you not? Ugh.”
Did she actually say “ugh”?? Her eyes rolled as she spoke French to the two men at the counter, and looked back at me, laughing.
Mortified, I turned and headed to the pool.
There amidst the sparkling blue water, surrounded by chic white cushions, lounges, tables, and curtains, I took a deep breath under the beating sun. The ocean was close enough to see and smell it. One of the very attractive gentlemen attendants who’d witnessed my entry approached as I settled into a white lounge chair—ungracefully—with my dirty travel bag by my side. He smiled and asked if I would care for fruit. Hello glistening bronzed chest, are these grapes for moi?
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30 Before 30
Non-Fiction30 Before 30. Thirty days in Europe. Thirty inspired moments of adventure to live it up before my 30th birthday. Just the idea of it gave me purpose. Here was a reminder that I could choose a new path, even if it was only for 30 days. A little backg...
