I first wrote about St Tropez in November 2004 but have since returned on numerous occasions, enjoying this lovely seaside town "out of season" when it's at its best. Hopefully my article will inspire you to visit it but you'll need to count a full day to enjoy it properly - and if you can stay longer, so much the better!

Trying to write about St. Tropez when so much has already been written about this pretty coastal town presented me with quite a challenge. What could I possibly tell you about St Tropez that you couldn’t find written elsewhere? Tough call. It’s expensive. It’s the playground of the jet set. It heaves with the invasion of tourists for most of the year. Driving there in summer is an abomination.

But it’s also magical - and it’s this magic I'm going to try and share with you.

Living as we do in the south of France, we have the enormous privilege, and ability, of visiting towns and villages well out of the heady ebb and flow of the tourist season. Thus it is with St Tropez. Our visits have normally been made in early spring; staying closer to home once autumn approaches and the dark evenings rapidly draw in making long journeys less practical.

Invariably we’d park the car at the Nouveau Port, mingle with the growing crowds of people and try, as best we could, to walk around the narrow streets catching glimpses of fashionable designer boutiques, art galleries, antique shops, attractive cafés and enticing restaurants. And, just as invariably, we’d never dare stop to buy anything as prices seemed somewhat exorbitant.

But we were never smitten by St Tropez and found other seaside resorts much more to our liking. That is until this year when, one glorious balmy day in November, the essence of St Tropez touched us deeply.

As per normal we parked our car at the Nouveau Port and headed into town. A gentle breeze had picked up and we could hear the slap of the tie-ropes against the masts of the numerous yachts and small boats moored in the port; a few seagulls squawked overhead.

Unable to resist, we strolled along the quay admiring these beautiful machines; some quite spectacular but all in immaculate condition. There’s something rather inspiring about white yachts, sparkling chrome and colourful flags set against a deep blue sky.

Our walk took us past the 17th century chapel of Our Lady of Annonciade (now a museum of modern art) along the Vieux Port and Quai Jean Jaures; a noticeable stillness was in the air. With the tourists gone, and many shop closed for their annual holiday, the town seemed to have regained a dignity totally hidden from us before.

We decided to head for Place des Lices where we knew the market would be in full swing. Set among the hundred year old plane trees we found an assortment of colourful stalls displaying an abundance of locally grown produce, wines, Provençal pottery, gorgeous lambswool jumpers, a selection of paintings depicting St Tropez, and huge bunches of freshly cut flowers for sale.

This was our type of “bain de foule” where we could rub shoulders with the locals and catch fragments of their conversations. Having toured the market, we decided to meander through the labyrinth of cobble-stoned streets; the sun warm on our backs and with a sense of time slowing down.

Now, free from the throngs of jostling tourists, incessant traffic and mindless scooters, we could stop and take a step back to admire its architecture and linger in its leafy squares.

Different views opened up to us, views never noticed before: appealing town houses and villas painted in soft faded colours, indicating the Genoese origins of the town and gardens overflowing with exotic plants, succulents and trees. Further charm was added as we discovered citrus trees still in fruit and Bougainvillea, smothered in tiny purple flowers, scrambling up walls and window ledges.

As we approached the grassy hillock to the 16th century Citadel, beautiful cyprus trees, umbrella pines, enormous oak and majestic palm trees adorned the surrounding countryside. Nestled amongst them were a few flowering rosemary bushes, agaves and wild daisies.

Suddenly, as we followed the sandy and slightly stony path leading round the old citadel with its adjoining dry moat, we felt an enormous sense of well being.

There before us lay the most stunning panorama; the beautiful Golfe de St Tropez, sparkling in the sunshine as it stretched across to Grimaud and St Maxime. The Esterel and Maures Massif hugged the skyline giving shelter to surrounding towns and smaller villages, while the Alps stood proud in the far distance. Against the bluest of skies, the scene was one of total beauty.

Incapable of moving, we remained rooted to the spot for several minutes mermerized by this amazing sight. The scent of rosemary, pine and sea air drifted gently around us. Incredibly, apart from a few screeching seagulls and the rustling of umbrella pines, nothing disturbed our peace.

Afterwards we continued along the top of the hillock and spied a small naval cemetary down by the edge of the water; its rows of white headstones outlined against the blue of the sea. Amongst the graves could be seen splashes of colours - bouquets of flowers left by loved ones.

Further along we glimpsed the plage des Graniers with its pretty rocky inlet. It was tempting to walk down and take a moment to paddle in the Mediterranean Sea - but the view from where we stood held us fully captivated.

Several pleasure boats caught our eye as they sailed across the bay. We felt incredibly lucky to have been here on such a magnificent day and discover this hidden part of St Tropez.

It's doubtful we would have ventured out as far as the Citadel as the surge of tourists and day-trippers would have stopped us from adventuring further afield during the early days of spring. Equally, heat haze produced by hot summer days would have prevented us seeing such an astonishing and far-reaching sight.

We ambled slowly down the hillock, lingering a moment or two to turn back and catch another glimpse of this unforgettable view. Entering the narrow streets once more we walked past the tourist office, onto the old port and back to the car, admiring again the gleeming yachts and majestic views across the marina.

But the spell had been broken - and like a child without its favourite toy, we felt a deep sense of loss.