Up Up Up to Eze

I hopped off the train between Monaco and Nice at Eze, which is a small hill town that was recommended to me by one of my co-workers. There were three Americans standing in front of the map and bus schedule on the main road also trying to figure out how to get to the town. None of us were entirely positive when the next bus was coming, and the map said the walk up took an hour. That was out of the question. One of them suggested a taxi, and I was ready and willing to ask if I could pitch in for a quarter of the cost, but instead they decided to go for lunch on the beach and wait for the next one. Well shit. I didn't want to wait around for an hour at a bus stop. The walk up to Eze started to seem like my only option.

As I tried to warm myself up to the idea, I decided a 60 minute walk wasn't THAT bad. But it was also 30 degrees at midday. Still, I had climbed more intimidating mountains in Canada, and Patti said the views from the top were amazing. I found the trail head which labelled the path as Sentier Nietzsche, since the famous philosopher wandered around these hills during his lifetime. I like Nietzsche, I should like his path. Right?

Up up and up I climbed. There didn't seem to be any level bits of the path at all. The view really was amazing though, and kept turning backwards to gaze longingly at the cool blue waters of the Mediterranean below me, wishing I could jump in.

Considering I had only been climbing for five minutes, I forced myself to stop since it seemed cruel to think I had 55 more minutes to walk away from the ocean. Up up up. The area is naturally rocky, but it seemed like some of the stone had at one time been sculpted into steps that had then been left to weather into rubble. Half way up I took stock of what I had. Shoes: 10 dollar slip on flats that were giving me blisters in 2 different places. Water: Well, I was glad I picked up the more economic 1.5L bottle in Monaco, but even that was close to being drained. Energy: No food on me, two small pieces of Baguette slathered in Nutella for breakfast. Probably not a good call, but I guess that's what eating 3 times my body weight during exams was for.

Ten more minutes up I passed this house being renovated in the middle of nowhere. I greeted the carpenter working on the deck and kept going. A few steps later, he called after me and asked if I wanted some water (well, he motioned 'drinking'). Regardless, Yes!!

With my water bottle topped up, my energy levels were sustained and I was looking forward to food in town. Unsurprisingly, I only met people walking down the hill (and I was spending a lot of time resting/taking pictures, so someone easily could have passed me. The man who filled my bottle said something I didn't understand in French but gestured upwards and said Brava! Yup, only a small selection of people like me don't have the brains to avoid 400 metre inclines during the hottest part of the day. I don't know how Neitzsche used this hill to think. All I did was sweat.

Complaining aside, the hike was a lot of fun and had really great views down to the coast below and the hills around me. I finally reached the end of the path and hopped out back into civilization and into the parking lot of Fragonard, a perfume company in France. Patti had told me about it too, so I wandered in to see what it was like and try to find a sink to get some cold water on my face. I was as red as a beet, my face seemed to have reached a perma-sweaty state, I most likely smelled horrible. Naturally, the first people I met were the perfectly put together women who use perfume and hygiene for a living. The potential of having an allergic reaction prevented me from trying out any of the perfumes, but I found a bathroom, cooled off, and headed up (further up) into town. I ran into the Americans who had a nice lunch then taken the bus up to Eze like rational people. I told the man I walked up, and he said “YOU DID WHAT? YOU CRAZY CANADIAN!”

“Well you know, I like climbing mountains in Canada and this is kind of like a mountain..”

“KIND OF? THIS IS A MOUNTAIN!”

It was all the praise I needed.

I grabbed some lunch at the grocery store, and headed up (further up) into the old part of town, which is a small walled city with incredibly narrow streets. While exploring the town, I determined that it seemed to be made entirely of a few gift shops, artist's studios, restaurants, and dozens of hotels. I kept going up (further up) to the gardens at the peak of the hill that had a breath taking view of the area all the way to St. Jean Cap Ferrat. I ate my lunch, checked out all the cool exotic plants, and gladly started heading down (finally going down) back to the bus stop—I wasn't about to try the path downhill. While the outer walls of the town were all made of stone laid centuries ago, some of the doors were open to see into the rooms that were perched the edge of the old town. They all had modern interiors and I could just see the blue waters of the ocean through the windows. Unbelievably picturesque. Thanks for inspiring the great afternoon, Patti!