Straight from late summer into what feels like winter, we’ve somehow missed autumn entirely. The leaves are yellowed and fall magnificently, but the temperature is blustery.
My thoughts are down south in Italy where I’m sure it’s not only warmer but they’re eating particularly good ice cream while maneuvering the cobble-stoned streets.
One of the first things I like to do when I arrive in a city with any sort of hills, is to go up up up and find the nicest view of the place. The photo above was a moment where I thought, ‘People actually get to live here.‘
Considering I live in Munich, which is another place where visitors walk around and marvel at the wonder of living in such a beautiful place, I appreciate the novelty of the tables being turned for a change.
Yet here I am back home dreaming of exotic ice cream flavours and homemade pasta and the reflection of the sunlight on the water. We’ve got sunshine and water and all the rest of it hereabouts, but it’s somehow just not the same.
What is it about me that even when I’m on a beautiful coast, I want to go up up up? That’s a rhetorical question. No way you could begin to answer that.
The previous post was about the devil’s bridge that connects Eze with the towns heading west towards Nice below. As nice as the winding roads were going up there, once there I looked out across the high coast and something in me had to go higher. In the distance I sawla Turbie and we were off. Much less tourism in this little village with the Trophy of Augustus sitting atop the summit.
Here that is:
But after all that climbing, albeit in the car, the next goal we pushed on to reach was Peillon. Read somewhere that this was a destination that the locals headed off to to get away from the bustle of the Riviera. This we had to see, right?
The village of Peillon sits perched atop a cliff, and from a distance looks impossible to reach. Not only impossible by car-this place doesn’t look reachable by hiking. My kind of place. The narrow, winding roads reminded me of some of my favourite places in Colorado.
Of course the discussion while driving eventually came round to whether traffic going uphill or downhill has right-of-way. It was a moot point, because there was practically no oncoming traffic (uphill drivers should have right-of-way for the record).
Then, there we were-atop the cliff.
And the most curious thing? While we were up atop Peillon, I read about a hiking trail climbing farther up into the mountains. If you supposed I wanted to go up immediately, you’d be right.