Word: trop
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...Lavandou were body-covered; the bodies were oil-covered; the oil, sand-covered. At bohemian St.-Tropez, with fewer than 1,000 guest rooms, some 20,000 tourists nevertheless found shelter. Françoise Sagan left for the relative calm of Normandy; Brigitte Bardot was pregnant. Saint-Trop has nearly as many candlelit cellar clubs as the Left Bank, and the vogue has spread along the coast as far as Nice, where the Gorilla Club boasts of stereophonic sound. At Whisky à Gogo in Cannes the doors were locked after midnight, because there was room for no more customers...
...Cover) In the uneasy years before the start of World War II, a Navy destroyer nosed through the warm waters off Guantanamo, Cuba. An experimental sonar gadget pinged steadily. It had worked perfectly on other occasions. But here in the Trop ics, it saw targets that were not there...
They are a sight to see. A sort of minute-made elite ("Nescafé Society," one French journalist calls it), the summer crowd at St. Trop, though liberally sprinkled with titles, seems to have invented itself. The visitors are almost always young, and though they may change companions from year to year, they rarely come alone. In the bay that once knew only fishing boats, as many as 80 yachts may lie at anchor. The narrow streets hum with Ferraris, Lancias, Mercedes and Aston Martins. To be seen at the wheel of a mere Jaguar or Austin-Healey is considered...
Never Twice. The goddesses of St. Trop are Brigitte Bardot and Franchise Sagan, both of whom were holding court there last week. The men wear shorts and rope sandals; the women, with or without Bardot's dimensions, wear floppy white hats, brightly colored loose shirts, and pastel trousers so tight that they look as though they had been stuck on. Their feet are bare and bronzed. The czarina of fashion is a waterfront couturiere named Madame Vachon who employs a whole army of peasant girls to sew and cut and iron the simple summer uniforms of the chic. Like...
...filmed there. For the energetic-those who struggle out of bed before 5 p.m.-there are the long, white beaches, but they are about five miles away. Nobody bothers much to swim or waterski; the beaches are for lolling, in or half out of bikinis. During the day, St. Trop is for the most part a ghost town, much as it was before it was "discovered." At night it blazes into life...