Jon voulait voir des montagnes, donc j’ai trouvé des montagnes.

18 04 2011

So, as we were approaching our second to last weekend in Nice, Jon’s mom (and most of our other friends) asked us “So what are you going to do this weekend?”  Likely question, but we didn’t have a definitive answer.  Jon just wanted to see some mountains.  After asking a friend if he would help us with a good place to go, and if he would like to join us, he was only able to provide some help with the former; apparently a thesis was calling him, poor guy.  He did however, suggest Mercantour National Park.  Well, Jon did some research and couldn’t find anything to get us into the park, despite its rather great size.  So he went to bed suuuuuper late after doing some night photography (while I slept, because I thought he was crazy), which allowed me some time alone to do some research in the morning when I woke up a few hours before he did.  Before Nicolas’ screams had a chance to wake him up, I found us train times and a village to see in one of the valleys that feeds into the national park.  Sure, we weren’t actually going to be in the park, but they were mountains, and we figured that was good enough for us.  Since Jon got so little sleep, I decided (after consulting the unpredictable weather forecast) against waking him up and saying “Come on, lets go!” and told him when he was awaken by the screams that I had plans for us the next day.  I figured that might make waking up to a screaming 3-year-old a little less annoying.

Saturday went by with not much to say about it; just some homework, some eating, some screaming, and some reading.  I finally finished Julia Child’s My Life in France and I loved it.  I’ve now moved on to my list of classics that I never read as a child, and the first on the list was Lewis Caroll’s Alice’s Adventure’s in Wonderland.  It’s definitely interesting!

Our plan Sunday morning was to get up early and take the 7:30ish train into Breil-sur-Roya.  Well, apparently it took Jon 20 minutes to even get me awake (I didn’t sleep well the night before, probably because I knew I needed proper rest), and after getting ready and double checking the train schedule, I realized that the times I had remembered we backwards; the train that left Nice left at 7:21, and the train that left Breil left at 7:38.  So on top of being late, we lost 17 minutes in my mistaken planning.  Thankfully though (and I already knew this), there was a train that left at 9:05 and we considered this not much time lost.  The train into the village was fairly smooth, mountainous views all about, and my ears popping like crazy the entire way.

Once we got to Breil-sur-Roya, we were met by a very tiny, adorable little village.  It being Sunday, and the fact that its touristy season doesn’t start until its warm enough to enjoy any water sports (since theres a wide river that runs right by it), not much was open to get something to eat.  We found one place were we had the most amazing fries, and Jon ordered something called the Americain and I ordered a kebab.  The Americain is basically France’s interpretation of American food smacked between halves of a baguette; one or two burgers split in half, lettuce, tomato, some sort of sauce to your preference, and fries.  Yes, fries in the sandwich.  It was delicious, but he couldn’t finish it.  After finishing our food, we told our server that we were looking to do some hiking and asked if he knew of a good place to start and how to get there.  He beckoned another girl, and she rambled off directions in the fastest French I’ve heard yet.  Thankfully though, we caught enough words, and I was able to follow most of what she was saying through her hands, and we found ourselves a path.  And boy was it a path.

The original path we found came to a fork, and we opted for the one that looked significantly steeper.  The name of the path was the Boucle de la Cruella which translates to the curls of Cruella (DeVille? Hehe).  Given the nature of Cruella, this path was nasty.  Really steep, really narrow, parts of it were extremely loose, and I was not doing well.  Part of the problem is our inability to plan proper amounts of water.  We ran out of water about halfway up the mountain, and had to take frequent breaks to combat the rest.  Its the sort of hike that gets your heart rate going pretty hard, but then every time my foot would slip on the loose rocks, my heart would skip a few beats out of fear, which would send it into an uncontrollable heart rate.  Not fun in the slightest.  But when we made it up to the top where the old château and its ruins were, it was well worth the hike.  The view was fantastic.

One our way back down the path, we ran into a mysterious dog that scared the living daylights out of us, but ended up being totally adorable and unbelievably happy.  We also found his owners a few meters a way further back on the path.  Nothing like some doggy lovins to make you feel great!  As we continued to climb down, Jon insisted that instead of going back to the village (where there was nothing to do for a few hours before our train home, but there was water) we should take the other part of the path that forked off at the beginning and see where it takes us.  He always wins.

After some convincing, we headed that direction, and noticed that the river that the mountains surround was getting closer and closer to us.  Given our thirst, and how crystal clear the water looked, we decided to keep going until we could find a way to get down to the water.  We eventually did, and found the most peaceful place to spend about an hour and a half of our afternoon.  We filled up our water bottle, examined it thoroughly, smelt it, and then eventually took a sip.  It tasted wonderful; just like the water that originally filled the bottle.  Sure, in a survival situation I wouldn’t have done that without testing the water first, but we were thirsty, not lost, and not far from help.  So far, its proven to not be a bad choice, as neither of us have come down with mysterious symptoms out of no where.  Jon was wearing his FiveFinger shoes again, which are much better suited for water than my Nike tennis shoes, so he took of his shorts (don’t worry folks, he was wearing under armor underneath!) and got in the water to take some pictures of the little bitty water falls around us.  It was too cold for me, so I stuck my toes in ever few minutes too cool off.

Even more interesting though, was there were quite a few of these little purpley-blue butterflies everywhere that insisted on landing on us.  I don’t really know much about butterflies, but they were not shy like they usually are.  They landed on our feet, shoes, Jon’s socks, our hands, watches, hair, everything.  They were adorable and entertaining.  So while Jon was off mid-thigh high in ice cold water, I was being entertained by a bunch of adorable butterflies.  I thought that sort of thing only happened in Disney movies!

Once we started to feel a little too relaxed, we decided it was time to head back into town.  We figured we had just about enough time to stop at the first place we saw that had ice cream, have a little treat, and head to the train station to take the first train back.  Sure, it left Breil-sur-Roya about an hour earlier than we had intended on leaving, but we did a lot more in our 7 hours than we thought we would have, and did not regret our decision.  We were exhausted, and didn’t want to push ourselves so far that the last couple hours just wouldn’t be enjoyable.  Ice cream proved to be a wonderful idea, as I ordered possibly the best vanilla ice cream I have ever had in my entire life, with chocolate sauce and whipped cream on top!  It actually tasted like vanilla, something most vanillas lack.  With a Coke to wash it all down, which proved to be a good thing to order since it helped make Jon’s lemon sorbet and vodka a little easier to stomach when he mixed some in.  Definitely a good idea.

Our walk back to the train station seemed longer than we thought, since we’d had time to relax while we ate our ice cream, and were growing more tired by the minute.  The train ride home was the same as the one there, but with a lot more napping.  We got home and basically went into zombie mode; we didn’t even have dinner.  This was all made better by the absence of a screaming 3-year-old, since our host family is out of town until Friday or Saturday.  Yay for silence!

I’d say, good day accomplished.

Oh of course, les photos.


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Hier, on a trouvé une chute d’eau

24 03 2011

Yesterday proved to be one of those days where it pays to be a little adventurous.

First of all, let me start by saying that at the start of the day, I didn’t anticipate doing much more than napping.  The tickle in the back of my throat turned into an actual sore throat, and my glands were so swollen they made my entire head and neck ache.  Well when our professor asked us “Qu’est-ce que tu vas faire cet après-midi?” Jon replied (much to my surprise) “Peut-être, on va aller à Èze.” So much for a nap…

We invited Ilona to come with us, since she said she hadn’t been, and made plans to meet her near the bus station at 1:45 to make it to our 2:00 bus.  Unlike last time we went to Èze, when the weather was freezing and we welcomed the warm bus, the weather was gorgeous, which made the bus seem quite stuffy and warm.  Alas, for a single euro, I can manage a stuffy 30 minutes.

Once we got to Èze Village, Ilona realized that she had indeed been there before, and had fond memories of it.  I guess thats better than taking her some place that she hated.  We did pretty much the exact same thing we did before; a lot of uphill walking to the top of the exotic gardens.  A few of the cacti were of course, still covered, but the sunlight made everything much more beautiful.

As we were leaving Èze Village, instead of stopping some place for a bite to eat, we opted to take the path next to the hotel’s valet parking area that said something to the effect of “Èze-Sur-Mer 45 minutes.”  Èze-Sur-Mer is a relatively new little village at the bottom of the mountain that ancient Roman Èze Village sits on.  Jon, having remembered that a bus goes through the little village that could take us back to Nice, insisted we give the little path a try…

… This was no little path.  And just because it was downhill doesn’t automatically make it easy.  Though given that some of the poorly places steps were concrete, and there for not as old as the Roman village we left, it was still quite old, and not exactly well kept.  Regardless, knowing in the back of our minds that we wouldn’t have to trek all the way back up the path kept us going.  The sign was clearly written when watches ran slower though, because it definitely took us nearly an hour and a half to reach the bottom.  We did however, take a little detour.

About half-way down our little mountain trail, I kept insisting “I hear water, there’s water near by.”  Ilona was half convinced, but Jon wasn’t; figured it was just the wind rustling through the trees through the valley.  As we got closer to the source of the noise, we all agreed it was water, and that we should find it.  Jon thankfully spotted a very well hidden little path that went past a small, old ruined building, and just a little ways behind it was the waterfall.  It was beautiful.  They don’t exactly exist in Florida, so I haven’t seen one in quite a long time.  We got right up next to it too, could have showered in it if we’d wanted to.  We took a few needed pictures and after consulting our watches and our clothes, which were growing wetter with the mist, we proceeded back to the path.  Definitely a wonderful find.

That being said, the past after that seemed rather long.  Except for a few spots were the view opened up to something quite spectacular, there were no more waterfalls.  We could hear it for a while, and in one little turn of our path we could just barely see through the shrubbery to see it, but other than that, the rest was just a rather long, downhill mountain hike.  We slowly began to grow tired, and as the trees thinned and exposed us to the sun, we got warmer too.  Eventually through we noticed the path become more civilized, and a few meters later it was a paved path.  Unfortunately, if you’ve ever walked downhill something completely smooth, this part of the trip proved to be the most difficult.  Your feet and knees hurt from gravity pulling your body on them in weird ways, and you’re gate is in that awkward stage between feeling the need to walk, and the need to sprint; sprinting of course resulting in the typical snowball effect, minus the snow.  Once we made it down to flat ground, our knees and feet thanked us, and we sighed almost in unison “Oh thank goodness, flat ground.”

Now, since we decided to ignore our growling stomachs at the top of the mountain, they were particularly upset with us when we reached the bottom.  We were a little underwhelmed when we got there too, because there wasn’t much more than just some rather lavish and expensive houses, and a restaurant that doesn’t serve food in the evening (someone please tell me how that makes sense, France…).  We went searching for the beach and when we finally found a public entrance (something I’m not used to having to look for, being from Florida) we realized why Èze is known for their perfumes and not their wonderful beaches.  They weren’t really anything special, and they were inside a bay where the water didn’t move much, so it was dirty and smelly.  Either they found that they had wonderful ingredients to make perfumes and never bothered advertising for beaches, of their citizens needed something to make them smell better after swimming in the water.  Who knows?  Either way, we were ready to catch the bus home.

The bus ride home was probably the worst part of the whole day.  Once we saw a bus stop, I realized that it was the same windy bus route we took to Monaco that left me feeling a little ill.  I was not looking forward to this in the slightest, but I figured I would feel better just to have a place to sit.  Well, the bus was packed; instead of sitting and feeling every little turn, I had to stand, making me feel every turn ten fold.  I kept moving from one spot to another, probably annoying all the passengers around me, in search of a place where I could hold myself looking out the front of a bus.  Unfortunately I only found this a few stops away from ours, but needless to say, I was not hungry when we got off the bus.

I was however, starving just a few minutes after getting off the bus and on to the tram, and even more parched than before.  Jon and I agreed to get off the tram a little sooner and stop at the grocery store.  Normally in the beverage section, Jon will reach for a beer he hasn’t tried before, and I flip flop between Orangina, Fanta Orange, Fanta Citron, and a variety of other juices.  This time, all we wanted was Gatorade.  They didn’t have the same choices I’m used to in the states, but it didn’t really matter what it tasted like, it was gone before we even got out of the store (and we opened them after paying for them!).

Once we got home it was really hard not to fall right to sleep.  After dinner (which I was nearly too exhausted to eat), I took a really long shower, and proceeded to pass out just about when my head hit the pillow.  Oddly enough though, I didn’t sleep that well last night; I was moving around a lot more than normal, which would result in me waking Jon up, and then him waking me up to tell me I woke him up and that I needed to move over.  Lovely system.  All and all though, totally worth it.

Now readers, I may be absent for a few days, because tomorrow after class, we’re going to TORINO!  Finally.  I’m so excited.  I promise though, I’ll have quite the post for you when I return on Monday, so stay tuned!

Until then, the pictures:


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Categories : Europe, France