A week with Pierre and Gina

The 4 star Welcome hotel, set on the Villefranche bay, made for an elegant setting for a Walk Inn holiday last week. The building is centuries old and has "welcomed" illustrious guests, including Picasso.







Breakfast at the Welcome hotel as the morning bustle plays out on the bay, with local fisherman and café owners. I never miss a chance for bacon and eggs when I can get it (some North American traditions die hard...)







After a week with 18 guests, this week had only two: Pierre and Gina from New York.

Our first walk on the peninsula of Saint Jean Cap Ferrat included the purchase of a 3€ tomato at the small market stall below.

The 14th century Rue Obscure in the heart of Villefranche sur Mer

The sky the following morning as we left for the train station. The rain would hold off all day and the cloud cover would provide solace from the hot summer sun as we walked through the back country.

The church steeple as we look up to the village of Castellar, to the lower right of the photo. We had planned an easier walk from the village of Sainte Agnès to Gorbio, but decided upon another route leading all the way down -- save the 200m climb to Castellar -- to the Mediterranean Sea. On two more occasions we would stretch the "level 1" walking holiday into level 2, considering Pierre and Gina are still fit for even more challenging outings (do a level 3 next time!!).

Gina in the sleepy town of Castellar, after a long climb. Luckily Pierre was by my side to keep the pace reasonable, as Gina could have otherwise run circles around me.

In Castellar:

Arriving in the town of Menton after a long day's walk:

The following day, after a train ride to Cannes, we walked on the island of Sainte Marguerite. Set just 1km off the coast of Cannes, the unbuilt island, with its quiet coves and walking paths, offers a stark contrast to the Louis Vuittoned coastline in Cannes (yes, I just used Louis Vuitton as an adjective).

Gina admiring the views from the island.

We spent the night in Nice, and walked along the famed Promenade des Anglais. Hey Pierre, can you spot yourself in the picture?

Colourful statues sitting and kneeling in quiet contemplation, overlooking the Place Massena in Nice.

After a night in Nice we spent the day in Aix en Provence, not planned for in the itinerary but Pierre and Gina had never been there before, and it was on the way to the Luberon. We went to my favourite restaurant in town, Jacquou le Croquant. You will note that when using Google, or any other internet translator, the results can be interesting, such as on the menu below:

But who cares about the translation on the English menu when the Cassoulet is good:

From within the cloister of the Saint Sauveur Cathedral in Aix en Provence:

My Provençal parents joining us on our hike in the Luberon mountains, looking over a limestone wall...

Our hike in the Luberon took us up to the rounded summits, laden with thyme:

From with a "borie": a centuries-old dry stone hut where we had a break during our final walk to the village of Lacoste:

Nearing Lacoste:

We passed some ripe muscat grapes, and couldn't resist the temptation:

Under the village of Lacoste, crowned by the ruins of the castle of the Marquis de Sade:

Through the medieval streets of Lacoste, just under the castle:

Thanks to Pierre and Gina for a wonderful week of jokes and hiking through the countryside. Next time bring me some pickles.

The Swiss on the Golden Islands...

Prosenectute: a group of retired Swiss walkers, French-speaking, spending the week with me walking the Iles d'Or: the "Golden Islands". We were based in the seaside town of Le Lavandou and every day we walked through the region, whether on the coastline or on the islands.

The group members were easily recognizable by their orange hats, which each of them sported when I met them at the Marseille train station:









Taking the train from Marseille to Toulon:

Our first walk began from the hotel in Le Lavandou, and up to the town of Bormes les Mimosas, famous for its flowered gardens and streets. Leading the group in the photo below is Candide, over 80 years old and still walking strong...

Our second walk was on the island of Porquerolles, a 45 minute ferry ride from Le Lavandou.

Being the end of August the island was packed with cyclists and beach-goers, but we still found some seldom-used paths to get away from the crowds. In the photo below, up at the fort, Rosemary overlooks the bay:

"Couscous de poisson" at a restaurant on the island. I was the only one who
managed to finish the plate (there were 19 of us...)

Alice, almost 80 years old, still climbing trees...

The island of Porquerolles harbours a botanical conservation zone, including an olive grove with dozens of varieties of olive trees. In the interior of Provence you won't find any olive trees this big, as almost all of them perished in the frost of 1956.

Back at the Petite Bohème hotel, a gecko on the wall while we were eating at the restaurant...

But the gecko was hungry too, and managed to swipe a cricket as we watched the scene. The ladies in my group let out some bursts of laughter, and the gecko, now frightened, dropped the cricket and hid behind the menu board (to the right of the photo). Displeased with the outcome, Alice (from the olive tree) got up from her seat, picked up the cricket, and standing up on a chair put it back on the wall...

Our third walk together was along the coastline of the mainland and probably, at least as far as my experience goes, the most spectacular walking in the region. From the Pellegrin beach to Cabasson beach the coast is unbuilt, with a path carved into the jagged rocks and along hidden beaches. In the photo below Marie-Claire is heading towards the Brégançon fort, seen to the very left of the photo. The fort is now used as the President's vacation residence (though Carla Bruni has better real estate 10km to the east)

Children playing on a kayak in the water:

My last evening at the Petite Bohème hotel/restaurant, complete with a jazz band in the magnificent courtyard.

Bruno, the hotel manager (formerly a chef), serving our table. You'll notice the headscarves on the ladies in my group: knowing that the band would play some gypsy-style music, my Swiss group decided to play the part...

Our last walk on the Island of Port Cros, the national park:

Leaving the port and heading towards the lush forests of cork oak and tree heather:

Candide sitting on a trunk of tree heather:

Hedwige looking over the sheer cliffs to the south of the island:

Along one of the many paths of the island. This is what a Mediterranean forest should look like if untouched and protected, not the brush vegetation so often associated with Provence:

On the ferry back to Le Lavandou after a week's walking vacation:

The whole group with the village of Bormes les Mimosas as a backdrop. Many thanks to a wonderful bunch of ladies (and Roger and Candide, the two men), showing that even in your 70s and 80s there's still lots of adventure left in your legs...

Behind the Riviera

All of you have heard of the French Riviera -- la Côte d'Azur. But behind the coastline, in the hills that back right up to the water, lie dozens of seldom-visited villages, and linked by marvelous walking trails, often the ancien paths from one village to the next. Here you'll find authentic people and an authentic welcome, and just a fraction of the tourists who vie for space along the crowded beaches below.

My job here last week was to create a self-guided walking holiday, starting at the town of La Brigue and slowly making my way down to Menton, on the Mediterranean Sea. I stayed in a local gîte for two nights in La Brigue, run by farmer Jean-Louis Molinaro, seen in the picture below.

The cozy medieval village of La Brigue is set just below the Italian border, and in fact was Italian until 1947. The town is a fusion of Franco-Italian culture: the street names, the architecture, the foods, and the language: you'll hear as much French as Italian spoken on the streets, if not the local Brigasque dialect.

The gem of the town is set 2km away: the Notre Dame des Fontaines chapel, and its eerily intact 15th century Italian frescoes, depicting a 25-step version of the Passion of Christ.

The colourful façades in La Brigue.

The walking paths around town lead up in every direction: the villages are nestled at the base of the valley and the the slopes are green and steep. The Italian border is the natural ridgeline that can be seen in the background in the photo below, and is also the watershed that divides water that falls either into the Mediterranean or the Ardiatic Seas. Via these paths, and on a very pleasant and panoramic hike, I reached Tende, the last town before the Italian border.

Where Italy meets France on the railway line...

The last French towns before the Italian border are serviced solely by an Italian train, a remnant of the region's not-so-distant Italian past. In the town of Breil-sur-Roya passengers switch to the modern and comfortable French counterpart, always a pleasure to ride (when they're on time...)

Without a doubt the most spectacular village in the valley is Saorge, perched vertiginously above a gorge, its homes narrow and many stories high (many stories by medieval standards...), taking advantage of the small space available on its rocky crag, and all facing the southern sun like a cramped field of sunflowers.

In Saorge, a seemingly chaotic, gravity-defying and lego-like architecture of homes built atop one another and separated by narrow, cobbled streets.

In Saorge...

In Saorge...

My next stop was Breil-sur-Roya, a town shaped like a crescent -- or should I say croissant -- along the Roya River. Here too you'll find a mix of all things Italian and French, with a great little off-the-beaten-path restaurant La Bonne Auberge.

From Breil sur Roya the real fun begins on the walking trails: the paths follow alongside centuries-old terrace walls and through the olive groves, halfway between valley and crest. On my last day of walking I would witness the crumbling of a section of a stone terrace wall just 50m ahead of me on the path -- a wall, several times older than myself, meeting its end before my eyes, giving me a sense of both eternal and finite at once...

In the middle of nowhere the tiny village of Piène Haute appears, just a stone's throw from the Italian border (not a figurative stone's throw but a literal one, and especially considering the village's perched position, the stone makes it to Italy without a problem).

Beyond Piène Haute, and via a path adorned with ancient specimens of olive trees, you make it to Italy, in the small village of Olivetta

In Italy the dress codes change and even the public bathroom signs are more elegant:

The menu in the village's sole restaurant could use some work, although the crazy water fish was tempting.

The walk led to the medieval town of Sospel, seen below:

Above the town of Sospel, a refreshingly shaded path through the ash forest, and in easy zigzags, leads to...

...the summit of Mont Ours. At over 1200m in altitude, I'm perched high above the Mediterranean, with an awe-inspiring panorama. In the very centre of the photo is the goal of the day's walk: the medieval village of Saint Agnès, itself perched at 800m above sea level. Only 3km from the coastline as the crow flies, Sainte Agnès is touted as the highest coastline village in Europe ("highest coastline" is a bit of an oxymoron but we'll overlook it) .

Entering Sainte Agnès' cobbled streets:

I'd been in the village at least ten times, but this would be the first time I'd spend the night. The hikers' hotel Saint Yves proved to be far more comfortable than I had imagined, its prices miraculously outdated for the Riviera, a wonderful ambiance, and two meals in their restaurant that even I couldn't finish (I'm never frightened by large portions)

A view from my room:

A stained glass maker in town:

The streets of Sainte Agnès at dusk...

From the village of Sainte Agnès, looking out towards the Bay of Menton, tomorrow's walking destination.

From Sainte Agnès most of the day is a descent save the 30 minute walk up to the perched village of Castellar. Castellar, with its quiet streets, sole bar and grocery store, is a last bastion of tranquility before reaching the Côte d'Azur.

The walk descends right atop the old part of Menton, probably the prettiest town on the Riviera:

Menton...