AUGUST JOURNAL
Saint-Tropez, Gstaad & the spiciest margarita of my life
August was basically a rotating cycle of Byblos, spicy margaritas, and last-minute decisions with questionable logistics. Somehow, it ended with cows, polo, and a 28-franc matcha in the Swiss Alps.
I don’t think I’ve ever been as loyal to a place as I was to Byblos this August. At this point, I might as well have paid rent. I was there every single day. No exaggeration. Morning tea? Byblos. Pre-dinner drinks? Byblos. Dinner itself? You guessed it, Byblos again. Honestly, I probably spent more time there than in my own house. And I have no regrets.
The pool bar is it for me, casual, just the right amount of scene-y, and hands down the best people-watching spot in town.
Dinner is always a good idea there too, especially if you can snag a table on the terrace by the pool. Just enough buzz to make it feel like something’s happening, even if you’re half asleep from too much sun. And don’t even get me started on the drinks, the margaritas are dangerously good. It’s one of the very few places in Saint-Tropez that manages to be lively without being too much.
One of the things I love seeing in the South of France is the rise of thoughtful local brands, small, independent labels started by young creatives who really understand fabric, form, and style. One of my favourites at the moment is Erevan.
The quality of their pieces is genuinely amazing, and the fabrics are some of the most beautiful I’ve seen, airy, natural, and full of texture. Their style is South of France with a twist: elegant but relaxed, bold without being loud. Every time a friend comes to visit, I drag them to see the collection. Last time, one of my friends left with a blue-and-white pair of trousers and a printed shirt that looked like something straight out of a film.
After what felt like two straight months of rosé, friends, and fried zucchini flowers, my brain was melting. I love the South, I really do, but at some point, even lounging by the pool starts to feel… aggressive. So when my friends threw out the idea of a spontaneous trip to Gstaad for the Polo Cup, I said yes before they’d even finished the sentence. Nature? Mountains? Fewer people? Sold.
Now, we decided to drive there. From Monaco. That’s seven and a half hours of highway, tunnels, and questionable playlist choices. But a very special thanks to Rachel, who not only offered to drive but did so like a Swiss-German race car driver who also happens to be soothing and unbothered by chaos.
We ended up staying in the cutest chalet in Saanen. Five girls, one giant wooden house. The energy shift was instant. Gstaad was calm, sunny, perfectly crisp. We walked around, took photos of cows like we’d never seen one before, and suddenly remembered how to breathe again.
Of course, we made the rounds, the Polo Cup was way more fun than expected, and we did the obligatory visits to the Palace and The Alpina. I still prefer Alpina, it’s a little quieter, a little more refined, and the view is insane. The only thing I didn’t love? The 28 CHF matcha latte. Yes, that is a real number. No , I haven’t emotionally recovered. Switzerland, you’re gorgeous, but deeply offensive to my wallet.
Back in Mougins, I visited Le Mas Candille, a new opening I had been eyeing all season. Designed by Hugo Toro, one of my absolute favourite interior designers, the hotel has been completely renovated and honestly? It’s a dream.
Located just outside the old village of Mougins, it’s one of those places that makes you want to slow down. Lush gardens, peaceful terraces, beautiful detailing in every corner. They’ve also opened a Tigrr restaurant there (yes, the same one from Saint-Tropez and Megève), and it just works perfectly in that setting, relaxed but elevated. Only 15 minutes from Cannes, and yet it feels like a proper escape.
Now let’s talk about the spicy margarita at the Carlton bar in Cannes, a.k.a. the drink that nearly took me out. I love spicy things, I really do, but this one? This one was so well-spiced I was sneezing. Repeatedly. Which, in my world, is the highest possible compliment a cocktail can receive.
The bar itself is quiet, cosy, and low-key for Cannes. Inside, it’s all moody lighting and plush sofas. Outside, there’s a little terrace that feels just far enough from the Croisette to forget where you are. I’ve gone there a few times for tea as well (who am I), but the spicy marg is really where the magic happens. It burns in the best way, clears your sinuses, and makes you feel ever so slightly reckless.
Would I go back just for that drink? Yes.
