Ivana Be Alone
‘IVANA Trump is 56. And the temptation to end this instalment of the life of the yellow-haired ex-Mrs Trump is all too delicious.
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But we must press on, not least because Ivana has opened the doors of her hideaway in the jetset playground of St Tropez to Hello!.
So secluded is Ivanas lair that we dont see how Hello! gets there. All we get is a picture of a quite, shady alleyway, a passage and a welcoming entrance in a stone-clad façade.
OK! makes a goods stab of being some modern day Theseus, and walking through the maze of lanes scatters a trail of clues as to the homes whereabouts.
Its just around the corner from an array of designer shops, including Christian Dior.
Take a turn and the smell of freshly baked cakes and bread from the nearby pastry shop fills the air. And it is only seconds from the yacht-filled harbour.
It all sounds so deeply mysterious. And it is a wonder Hello! ever managed to find the place. But since it has, its time to take a look over the villa and hear what Ivana has to say.
For starters, she loves St Tropez. I love the fact everyones so open. And whatever their age, theyre all good looking with a sense of style.
Cant argue with that. Anyone who has ever seen the local truck drivers delivering produce to the hotels and checked out the babes scrubbing the plates in the ritzy kitchens is instantly stuck by the universal glamour of the place.
But staying beautiful, even for the locals of St Tropez, is not always so easy. Though not keen on dieting, Ivana does try to eat healthy things, like salad and fish. And: I dont like meat. I love strawberries and grapes.
Whats more, Ivana finds time in among the strawberry eating to go to the gym every day. I spend at least 20 minutes running or on the bike. I use weights and concentrate on my arms, legs and stomach.
Its pretty clear that St Tropex rocks as hard as Ivanas abs.
But what of her hideaway? How does the former vice-president of Interior Design for the Trump Organisation deck out a French bolthole?
Well, looking at the rooms on view, its hard to put a finger on what it is Ivanas trying to achieve.
There are homely bits, like the duvet cover with pictures of hats all over it and the kitchen, where Ivana looks so very much at home among the immaculate copper pots and pristine surfaces.
But then theres the glitz. The bed on which she lies is made of the kind of fabric a Musketeer would have used for a horse blanket. And the fusion: daughter Ivankas bedroom the Moroccan room was inspired by a birthday party in Marrakech; but the wooden beams are more Ascot than Agidir although the red carpet is the kind of thing youd find in a hostel for migrant north African workers.
But at least Ivana likes it. Which is good because unless she follows the aforesaid clues to get to and from her hidden home, she may never escape the place…’
Posted: 12th, August 2005 | In: Reviews Comment | TrackBack | Permalink
