The freedom of the seas in my favourite part of the world – this is Utopia
de Porquerolles, one of three tiny and very beautiful islands which form the Iles d’Hyeres off the coast of Toulon.
The boys fished off the side of the boat as I read Boris Johnson’s entertaining biography of Winston Churchill.
After two hours, I examined their ‘catch’ bucket, which contained three minnows and a jellyfish.
‘What’s this? The bait?’ I asked.
‘No, it’s what we’ve caught,’ they replied in unison, a few seconds elapsing before realising I already knew this. I jumped in for a swim. ‘Time for the harpoon,’ Spencer instructed Captain Drew. ‘There’s a whale in the water.’
Both nights we dined heartily well in the small main village square around which all Pourquerolles nightlife action happens.
I barely heard an English accent. This place is a well-kept French secret and definitely worth a visit.
THURSDAY
To St Tropez, a place I love so much I even selected my wife Celia purely because she bears a resemblance to its most famous resident, Brigitte Bardot. We parked outside La Plage des Graniers bay, from where Celia and our daughter Elise – staying at a friend’s villa in the town – joined us via the Oasis tender.
There must be more joyful spectacles than a wide-eyed, squealing four-year-old marauding around a luxury yacht for the first time, but I haven’t seen one.
We dined at Les Graniers beach restaurant, a favourite of Joan Collins, on a delicious tapas-style menu of sardines, freshly caught dorade, and tandoori chicken skewers.
Then we walked down to the Old Port to sit in Le Senequier, an eye-wateringly expensive café directly opposite all the biggest, flashiest super-yachts. It’s worth the €25 mohitos to soak in the full hilarious glory of the planet’s most ludicrous people-watching experience. The boys went clubbing at a place called VIP Room until 6am. Their verdict? ‘Sick.’ Ironically, that is exactly how they looked on their return.
FRIDAY
Rachel excelled even by her own high standards with a lunch of gigantic prawns, steak and particularly delicious corn-on-the-cob (‘The secret is to cook it in boiling water with a cup of milk,’ she confided).
We cruised to St Raphael and wished we hadn’t. It’s a seaside resort just a few miles down from St Tropez but, in terms of style, it’s more Benidorm than Bardot; all neon lights, fast food and hordes of tank-topped tourists. Not my cup of tea.
We wasted an infuriating hour trudging around looking for somewhere even vaguely nice to eat before my patience and mood deteriorated and I stomped back to the boat. My sons arrived 20 minutes later with a Happy Meal from McDonald’s. ‘Here you go, father,’ said Stanley. ‘There’s a free toy inside to replace the ones you threw out of your pram earlier.’
Talking of toys, the boat’s owner is a tech junkie like me (he even installed a full underwater LED system with 70 colour patterns) so there is excellent wi-fi and high-speed 4G internet, and a full Sky TV package which ensured we didn’t miss out on our shared loves of Arsenal football, England cricket and Will Ferrell movies. Oasis also houses wake-boards, mono-skis, waterskis, paddle-boards and a towable Airstream inflatable which turned Captain Drew into a demonic monster, earning him a new nickname from Stanley: ‘Captain Savage.’
SATURDAY
Escaped back to St Tropez and
recovered with a long lunch on Pampelonne Beach at Le Club 55, a fabulously decadent outdoor eaterie beloved of Ferrari-driving playboys and A-list celebrities.
Bill Gates, Bono and Elton John were all there this week. Unfortunately, today’s stardust came in the form of Lord Sugar, growling at the very next table.
Even he, though, couldn’t mar a magical experience.
We gorged on crab, lobster and mussels, washed down with lashings of Minuty Rosé as a live jazz band performed. It’s the place where I’d have my last meal if I had four hours left to live.
Tonight, we sipped beer at Café des Arts in the Place des Lices and watched old Frenchmen play ferocious boules.
Around 9pm, four heavily armed soldiers suddenly marched through the square. I fear life in this wonderful country will never be quite the same again.
SUNDAY
To Cannes, where we strolled in glorious sunshine along the famous Croisette, dived into a few shopsforthecompulsoryProvence purchase of pastel-coloured linen shirts, and dined with our crew at a unpretentious local restaurant called La Brouette de Grand Mere – Grandmother’s wheelbarrow – which serves simple rustic food, superbly cooked. Highly recommended.
MONDAY
Back to Antibes for our final day. It’s a great place to shop, lunch or hit the beach.
I loved the freedom of a yacht holiday; you can basically go where the hell you like, fuel permitting, at the pace you like.
You also need very little clothing – we lived the whole time in swimming trunks, shorts, T-shirts and sandals. To do all this up and down the French Riviera, my favourite part of the world, felt like Utopia.
It’s not cheap, of course, but a 10-day charter like ours is about in line with the cost of a fortnight at a five-star all-inclusive resort in the Caribbean.
The boys loved every second too and are already keen to do it again next year.
‘The bad news is that the owner is selling this boat,’ said Captain Drew forlornly, as we reluctantly bid farewell. Then he smirked: ‘The good news is he’s bought a new one also called Oasis – it’s 20ft bigger, with stabilisers and a jet-ski!’
Magnifique!