Reluctantly leaving Port Grimaud, we made our way through the manic St. Tropez bay under engine alone in less than 1 knot of wind. We had managed to secure a berth with the very polite and efficient staff in the Vieux Port at St. Raphael which had been recommended. On our approach, the port didn’t look at all vieux as the pristine concrete breakwater and buildings must have been very recently constructed. We took our allocated berth between monster yachts and wondered if they had miss-read our length as thirty, not thirteen metres and braced ourselves for a commensurate fee.
The berthing staff could not have been more accommodating and the fee was on the cheaper end of our experience on this expensive coast. We made a trip to the Cathedral and the old City and under-sea archaeology museum then settled down to what must be the usual experience for our larger neighbours – that is being ‘gawped at’ by the throngs of passing humanity.
Despite the white balls following us we outran them across the bay to St Rafael so number Six is free and keeps saying “I am not a bumbler” but Dear reader we all know the easiest person to fool is oneself. The berthing crew were the most helpful with the slime lines (no not another baby Bob!) and we are next to two very impressive boats who seem very keen to share their musical tastes with us, so I am very tempted to share some Country music with them despite number Six`s horror. I think “It ain`t my fault” by the Brothers Osbourne would be most appropriate