It all started with a wait for one of my guests in the border town of Ventimilia, in Italy. Unlike the French towns set within a stone's throw along the coast -- such as Menton, Nice, and Monaco -- Ventimilia is unassuming, devoid of the glitz of the French Riviera.
I had always known Ventimilia through its tourist stores and restaurants close to the train station. This time however, with more time to spare, I strolled through the newly cobbled streets of the old centre, the delapidated façades of buildings exposing the uneven patchwork of bricks behind. A labyrinth of archways and narrow lanes, children playing, clothes drying on lines outside the modest homes, all seemingly timeless.
False advertising in Ventimilia:
Once back in France, settled into our hotel in the town of Villefranche sur Mer, we took the time to explore, here looking outwards from the "Rue Obscure". Villefranche is much more manageable in size than its neighbouring Nice, a population of 6000 huddled in the protected cove on the Mediterranean Sea. That same protected cove attracts cruiseships the size of the city itself, about one or two of them a day during the tourist season. But by nifghtfall the ships have left and the town remains quiet.
Our first walk took us around the ultra-chic peninsula of St. Jean Cap Ferrat. Here Judy watches as a cruiseship arrives in the bay. I knew things would be different than usual: my guests were walking faster than me, charging up and down the steps carved along the coastline. This all seemed too easy for them. And so we set off for a little "side-loop", adding a few kilometers, and from that day forward none of the walks would be as planned...
The following day I thought I'd challenge the group, and so I took them on a 400m ascent starting from sea to the perched village of Eze. But it was still too easy.
The ancient cobbled path zigzags up the slope, the same path up which Nietzsche walked during his many trips to the Riviera. For Nietzsche, the exercise helped him in his thinking. But for me, even with thousands of hours of guiding in my legs, I can't really say I'm all the smarter...
Arriving below the fortified village of Eze, perched like a nest high above the sea. On the climb up to the village we saw no one, before bracing ourselves for the busloads of tourists walking through the village itself.
In the village of Eze:
Sally's attempt to hide behind a bay tree:
Descending back towards the sea, among valerian and Spanish broom, we would see two young women dressed in flipflops and sundresses, making their way up the path. And so ensued the second of two misunderstandings between the Aussie guests and their Canadian guide: Aussie says: "Did you see the girls in their silver thongs?". Canadian guide, flustered and perplexed that he wasn't the first to observe this, had misunderstood "thongs" as something altogether different than footwear...
At our hotel in Villefranche, having a pizza night. Excellent pizza.
After two walking days we had a day to "stroll" through the streets of Nice, below at the famed market in the Cours Saleya. We ate salads overlooking the town on the perch that once held the castle, as I listened intently to a schoolteacher describe the panorama and history of Nice to his students (I did a simultaneous translation for my Aussies)...
After Nice I slept for most of the taxi transfer to Aix en Provence, before we settled into our hotel for the next two nights. Below is one of the many famed fountains in the town centre.
Aussies and Canadians share the same queen but manage to speak with different tongues. On the very first day I wondered why Sally was asking about the spice needed in our bags, when in actual fact she was referring to "space", only with her "accent". We had a good chuckle over this slight misunderstanding, and the joke remained over the course of the week.
Since the Aussies do indeed live upside-down, many of their behaviours are also backwards. Take Sally for example, wearing her "frontpack" along the trails. This behaviour enables the Aussie species to eat the contents of their packs without stopping, as seen in the photo below...
Ok, so the first two walks were too easy. The only thing left to do is to climb up to...
As we climb the views get better, and the cool breeze soothes the efforts of a three-hour ascent:
Judy and Sally grew up on a sheep farm, but prove to be veritable mountain goats up the cragged path towards the summit. The cross, seen in the picture below, stands at 946m in altitude, offering the group a breathtaking panorama of Provence.
Ok, so the first two walks were too easy. The only thing left to do is to climb up to...
... the summit of the Sainte Victoire mountain, seen above right in the photo below. Ae we nuts?
As we climb the views get better, and the cool breeze soothes the efforts of a three-hour ascent:
Judy and Sally grew up on a sheep farm, but prove to be veritable mountain goats up the cragged path towards the summit. The cross, seen in the picture below, stands at 946m in altitude, offering the group a breathtaking panorama of Provence.
Walking along the crest of the Alpilles mountains the next day, our last walk of the holiday:
Sally's frontpack angled toward the medieval perched village of Les Baux de Provence, where we would finish the day's walk:
Sally's frontpack angled toward the medieval perched village of Les Baux de Provence, where we would finish the day's walk:
A group photo taken just below the village of Eze. A big thanks to Rosemary, Bill, Sally and Judy for a fantastic week in Provence.
