The French Connection

In the corner of the artist-lined quay that is hugged by the pretty fishing village of St Tropez in the south of France there is a big red awning. It belongs to a patisserie and café called Sénéquier, a landmark of the pretty town that grew from humble beginnings to become a symbolic destination for the global jet set thanks to its discovery by iconic figures such as Coco Chanel and Brigitte Bardot.

Sénéquier, famous for its delicious Tarte Tropézienne cake, was the journey’s end destination for one of the first superyachts I ever worked on, back in 1994. Owned by a French family, the yacht was their multi-generational escape for weekend and holiday adventures and where grandparents and grandchildren – an early teen and a pre-teen – and parents and cousins could come and go and enjoy the wonders of what the nearby coasts had to offer.

It was the family’s grandfather who had a particular penchant for Sénéquier’s patisserie treat, and the spot on the quay right opposite the café was ours, no matter the number or the size of the yachts that were moored in the harbour. St Tropez was always hellishly busy during the long summer months, yet a gap would magically open up whenever we arrived and Caramba, the family’s classic little Camper & Nicholsons-built gentleman’s yacht, would squeeze into the space like a baby sister squeezing between her older (and slightly annoyed) siblings to be part of the action. We’d pop over to the café when the lines were secured and pick up a Tarte, and the beaming smile on the old man’s face spoke to the simple pleasures he enjoyed. Like all the family, he preferred to leave the apparent glamour of the place to the tourists. This was about spending time on board with loved ones and ignoring everything else.

It was a wonderful introduction to the other side of France and to the less seen side of yachting. We would cruise up to the Iles de Lerins off Cannes and sneak into the anchorage between the islands so the kids could swim. We’d head down to the Porquerolle islands off the town of Hyères and revel in the utter peace and tranquility of the place when the tourist boats left for the day and the only people left were those who had come in their own boats – larger and smaller alike.

We cruised around Corsica, eschewing the ports and marinas for true mini off-grid adventures, mooring Caramba to the red rocks of the Girolata nature reserve on Corsica’s west coast and dropping the small tender into the water to go explore the myriad nooks and crannies and cavelets. We marveled at the wonders of Bonifacio on Corsica’s southern tip, where the clifftop town’s houses cling desperately atop the overhang in defiance of gravity; we avoided the in-crowd hotspots of the northern coast of Sardinia and instead snuck into the small marina on the tiny island of Cavallo, a sandy haven of tranquility.

Through it all, we watched the family sharing long, precious experiences together, growing closer and making the most of their summer. “We are not interested in going to Monaco or Cannes – that’s not why we spend time on the yacht,” the owner told me once when I asked where our next destination would be. “It’s not about being seen or seeing others – this is our time to be together as a family.” It was, in other words, not about being where everyone was, but rather being where they were not.

It’s a sentiment that comes up time and time again with owners and charterers I have worked with, interviewed or spent time with over the past 30 years – the glamour can be fun, but for many of them they feel as on the outside looking in as the rest of us. As another owner told me last year – also discussing his favourite haunts in the South of France – the focus is less on the destination. “We tend to stick to the same places,” he said, “because we like what we know, and besides it’s all about the people you are with, showing them a good time and enjoying your time together.” That’s what yachting is for most owners and charterers – a journey through family and friendship as much as journey to a place; a chance to create irreplaceable memories with children and grandparents away from time-hungry businesses and the demands of modern life. And a chance, of course, to get your hands on a Tarte Tropézienne.

There was an irony in the old man’s perpetual quest to reach journey’s end at the café, because it was that exact place that my own journey in superyachting had begun as a child. We were on holiday as a family staying in a campsite on the other side of the bay, and had come to St Tropez for the afternoon. I stood with my back to the awning, admiring the beautiful yachts that lined the quay, and declared there and then that one day I would be back, but this time on a superyacht myself. Just 10 years later, the 22-year-old me was standing on the aft deck looking back at that café. It’s no wonder I was wearing the biggest of smiles.