Of oxcart tracks and other steep places... Dieuxieme Part

When last we left our Heros, they had successfully slithered, wriggled, and shimmied their way down the hauts de Cagnes, their new (to them) Prius unscathed, and shocked at how narrow old medieval streets were back in the day, and well today for that matter.

Since we'd failed to meet our simple normally easy to grant wish of finding a place to park, and knowing we weren't going to walk up the hill to les hauts de Cagnes, we chose a different destination for our next adventure.

We flung the arrow high into the air and *thud* it came down on a pretty little hill town called Saint Paul de Vence.  Gilda Radner and Gene Wilder were married there.  Yes.  This is true.  I'm pretty sure other important things took place there over the years, but I can't recall exactly what at the moment.

So off we went on a well chosen Friday.  It was the day before the Hoards of Paris invaded the cote d'Azur for the winter school holiday.  We anticipated a Covid-19 style wild week ahead.  Masks seem to be optional down here and red marks the region on maps of where people are dying the fastest.  We hoped to avoid such unpleasantness by going before the mob (Parisians, not Mafia, though some might argue the distinction) could arrive.

The little hill town does, indeed, have good and proper places to park rather near the entrance to the village.  I can't tell you how happy we were for this.  Climbing up and down and walking long distances just to see something isn't on the menu for these two old folk.  Been there.  Done that.  Yes, we, too, were young once.  I think.

Shock of shocks, wandering the old town and no one was home.  Sure, a small group of old guys were playing petanque in a park just outside the old village.  And there were perhaps 5, maybe 6 inhabitants who scurried from one door to another like cats trying to avoid being petted.  But tourists?  Non-existant.  Such things are bliss and paradise made of.

As you might imagine, the place was quaint.  It was clear it was well monied, too.  There were a lot of hipster gallery spaces and really nice looking restaurants.  All closed until une nouvelle ordre (due to CV19).

After seeing what there was to see and enjoying the peace and quiet, we started our way back to our nicely parked car.  Down a very narrow stone path from one narrow medieval street to another took us by a small "incident" that was unfolding in real time.

An old guy (older than I, that's certain) had gotten his VW 4X4 stuck.

He'd been trying to get up a narrow goat path sized medieval street when he felt he could go no further.  So what to do but to back up.  Right?  Except the poor driver was flustered.  

His wife was out of the car trying to direct him back down the hill.  He had less room on each side of his car than we had in les hauts de Cagnes in our Prius.  It was well and truly stuck.

To make matters worse, just a few minutes of effort later, his rear left tire was 1/2 off a granite drop-off.  The poor guy.  For all we know he's still trying to back his 4x4 down the street.

Two things.  First, we're not alone.  Second, I'm glad that wasn't us.

Have I mentioned how tight spaces can be here in Yerp?

 

 

More photos from our adventure around the village can be found here.

The swallows arrived today...

Here we are on the 12th of February around 1pm in the afternoon and a large gathering of swallows has made landfall here at the Nice port.

There were a couple of swallows that look like they had wintered over.  That seemed a bit unusual.  But what do I know about birds and France?  Practically nothing.

It's really quite fun seeing all these birds in the sky.

Of oxcart tracks and other steep places...

One of the reasons we purchased a car here in Nice was to visit the surrounding area and, most of all, to visit a few harder to reach by public transportation hill towns.

We would begin our adventures with a hill town that is very close to Nice, les Hauts de Cagnes.

Before going anywhere new to me I like to use Google Maps streetview to see where we are going.  It helps me anticipate, even if only a little, some of the details of where we are headed.  In this way I thought I'd pretty well "mapped out" the trip and parking spaces around les Hauts.

It was a complex drive.  Here in France the spaces and distances are much narrower and shorter than in the States.  The travel times can be shockingly long, too.  It took us an hour to get there when it was noted on Google Maps that it should take only 30 or so minutes.

Finally reaching the top of les Hauts where I had noted parking would be, there was none.  No space at the inn, or should I say, no space at the chateau fort.

OK.  There was nothing for it but do head back down the hill and make another tour to see if we couldn't catch an empty parking space on the backside of the hill.

Up and over the road next to the marie (city hall) at the chateau fort we went.  Only to find that the street narrowed.  Dramatically.  With granite steps from doorways encroaching into the, um, lane. And a full sized camion (van) parked blocking the descent.

We're not backing up this steep, narrow ox-track.  No way.  No how.  We patiently wait.

Things eventually clear and we slowly make our way off the hill, around the backside for a second time, up the hill and we find a parking space.  But it is a long steep hike up to the top just to see things.  And the hour is late.  Rush hour traffic is piling up on the roads due to a 18h00 curfew that has been imposed on us country-wide due to Covid 19.

OK. OK.  We'll let the GPS guide us off this thing and back to Nice.  Maybe we'll come back another day.

Retracing our first ascent was quick and easy.  When we get to the plaza next to the marie the sweet-talking GPS lady tells us to turn left and follow the road down a slightly different way from when we first ascended.

Only to find this shockingly steep path.  It was very likely made for goats or sheep.  Maximum two-wide.  How man or beast or cart ever made it up this thing is well beyond me.  If anything or anyone was headed downhill, they'd better have had outstanding brakes.

Ooooo... things are getting tight, now.  The passenger is getting squeamish and isn't liking the "look of things."  This is our new car, afterall.  We don't want to scratch nor damage it during our first serious outing.

Yikes!  Look at this, will you?  We have a comfortable inch, maybe two, on either side of the rear view mirrors and the hard rock walls of the buildings on either side.  One front tire gently brushes one of those damnable lane encroaching stoops.  Whee... everyone take a deep breath, shall we?

I've driven some crazy routes in my life, but this takes its place near the top of my list of Insane BatNuts Crazy Adventures.

Wherein we relearn that nothing is ever as we expect nor hope, here in France where the women wear no pants.  We just have to go with the flow.  Even as it hurtles us down a path unfit for animal life.

For obvious reasons, no photos were taken during this adventure.