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.
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