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Thierry greeted us again this morning in the dining room, with some more colorful commentary, which made us laugh as we ate our croissants. After breakfast, we packed up our things, leaving the room quite clean since Guy and Thierry were also the maids for the B&B. Then we said our goodbyes in case we didn't see them when we came back to pick up our luggage. We decided that we would spend some time at Saint-Paul-de-Vence on the morning before driving to Eze, a neighboring community famous as a haven for artists. Our guidebook told us that Picasso and Matisse, among others once paid for room and board with their paintings at a hotel there after the first world war. The village had maintained it's history of love for artwork, and the old-style buildings and cobblestone pathways spots on marked contrast to the modern abstract art that was displayed in the village and the numerous art galleries. We had arrived at the same time, unfortunately, as several other tourists and as the alleyways became more and more flooded with people, we knew it was time for our lunch. We went to yet another outdoor cafe and sat under a lime tree that had been planted there centuries ago and now provided us with some welcome shade. My lunch was light and delicious, a salad with fresh whole prawns, Parma ham, and crab meat, all artfully arranged on a slice of watermelon that had been sliced into a perfectly round disk.
Before leaving Vence for good, we decided to visit the Chapelle de Rosarie, which opened at 2pm. It's claim to fame was that it has been designed and built in it's entirety by Henri Matisse, it's construction consuming four years of the famed artist's life. It was a small structure, remarkably different from the ornate and intricate places of worship that we had come to expect in France. Inside, walls were painted plain white, and most of them were completely unadorned. The chapel area itself was tiny, brightened by beautiful stained glass windows that Matisse had painted with cactus leaves representing the tree of life in colors of blue, green, and yellow. One wall was covered with several square white tiles across which Matisse had drawn a larger than life line figure representing Saint Dominique, the founder of the order that practiced here. Two adjoining walls were covered in those same tiles, one with a drawing of the Virgin Mary with baby Jesus in her lap, and the back wall with Matisse's depiction of the 14 stages of the crucifixion of Christ, which were explained to us at length by Sister Marie-Jacques. The black and white line drawings were all very characteristic of Matisse's style, whimsical yet simple, asymmetrical and imperfect, almost child-like in its representation. This was also notable in the colorful but understated robes that he had designed for the clergy, which were on display in the adjoining museum. Also in the museum were the original drawings and plans that Matisse had created for the chapel, which changed several times during the construction of what he considered to be his masterpiece. I was so glad to have made the visit to this beautiful little chapel, as its modesty was so refreshing despite its rich history, and in comparison to the showiness that characterized other parts of France.
Eze was only half an hour away but the route there was a nightmare. The GPS was much less useful and reliable than it had been during the other legs of our journey but as we drove around and around the mountain and climbed to greater elevations, it got confused on several occasions, also confusing us on the process. "Turn right, then turn sharply left. When possible, make a u-turn. Recalculating," it would say it's pleasantly mechanical voice. As Thierry had said, "Zee JPS, eez crazy here, eez no use here, zee JPS." After a few wrong turns, some missed exits and tension rising between driver and navigator in the car, we found ourselves on the right path, sighing in relief when we spotted signs pointing towards Eze Village. Although heights don't normally bother me too much, I could nonetheless feel a small knot forming in my stomach as we drove along the treacherously winding roads which did not have much in the way of barriers to prevent us from driving off the cliffs. The views were fantastic, though. The cliffs were no longer rich with ochre, but the water down below was still vast and mysterious. We could see Nice after having driven through it, and then Saint-Jean Cap-Ferrat, jutting out into the sea. Eventually we pulled into Eze, and then Eze Village, which was even further up the mountain. We pulled the Megaine into the parking lot of the Chateau Eza, which fit precisely two cars. Maneuvering was dangerous there, it was a tout squeeze and there were some expensive cars parked nearby. We handed the keys over to the very experienced valet, who indicated that he would also help is with our bags. It wasn't your typical hotel, as reception was located in an entirely different area. The hotel was not all one cohesive structure, it's rooms scattered throughout the top of the mountain. The main area was a three-story climb up from our parked car, along stone steps and steep stairways with signs pointing in every direction, maze-like and dizzying. Panting and in pain, we finally reached the front desk, which was housed in a small cave-like room built into the cliff. The copain, as is usual at every check in, asked for in upgrade but was informed that it wasn't likely, but that hey could try to give us a better rate on a seaview room. With that in mind, we were led out to the terrace, across the alleyway from reception, for our welcome drink. We sat and looked out at the incredible view of the water and the cliffs, while a bridge, dubbed "The Devil's Bridge" to our right was being crossed by cars which seemed miniscule from our perch. The air was that much fresher up here, and I felt calm and relaxed sipping my juice cocktail and munching on the hors d'oevres (skipping the teenie weenie shrimp with head and legs attached that we were apparently supposed to eat whole - ick).
The hotel receptionist came to fetch us after some time, and proceeded to show us some room options. The first was the standard suite, which we had reserved, the "Provencale" room. It was a house that had been converted, with a sitting area on the first level and the bathroom and bed upstairs where there was a partial view of the sea. It was a bit cramped though, but was cozy and clean, with surprisingly modern shower and sink fixtures. The copian, however, wanted to see the other rooms and I knew that would be trouble. The next one they showed us was much more spacious, with a full view of the water, a terrace equipped with a jacuzzi, and the shower stall in the bathroom had a floor to ceiling window looking to the outside. Everything about this room was much kore glamorous, from the bedding to the glasses to the decorative cushions. How much for this level of luxury? Only a mere 200 Euros more per night. When we declined, she looked at us wide-eyed. "Really? she asked. Uh yeah, really. Its not like she was asking for 20 Euros more. I mean that would be 400 Euros more than our room, which was already the most expensive of the trip, at nearly $600 more per night in our currency. Considering we didn't generally spend much time in our hotels, it was most definitely not worth it. Just for fun, she showed us another room, which had "Royal Suite" emblazoned on the door. This one was even bigger and more extravagant, with a view that could be enjoyed from the bed and a large terrace, albeit with no
jacuzzi. We didn't even bother to ask how much this room was, and sadly trudged back to the Provencale. I mean honestly, it was a really nice room, but unfortunately it paled in comparison to others. On our way back, we spotted the porters who had lugged out suitcases and bags up the same way we came. They huffed and puffed and sweated and struggled and I felt so bad for them. For some reason I had thought that there would be an easier way to transport luggage that wasn't manual (apparently, this job used to be left for donkeys but their use was abolished for fear of them injuring the tourists). Trust that those bellboys got a good tip for their trouble.
Exhausted from all the traveling and sightseeing of the past few days, we opted to stick around our hotel room and lounge until dinner, which we had booked at the Michelin-starred hotel restaurant. I dressed for dinner, pulling on my wedge rather than the towering heels that I'd brought with me, for fear of losing my footing and tumbling down the uneven walkways. At the restaurant entrance, the hostess informed us that they had prepared the best table in the house for us but first had to ask if we were afraid of heights. We both inmediately answered no, and followed her through the restaurant to our table, which was the only one that was outside, located on a tiny terrace that teetered off the cliffside and looked out to an amazing panoramic view. I could feel jealous eyes upon us as we were seated, wondering if they felt sorry for us about the room situation and decided to compensate us with an amazing dining experience. It was a truly breathtaking sight to behold. We had arrived at 8pm, and the sun was just beginning to set, the sky alight with orange and purple. Lights came on in the houses below, one by one, and stars began to twinkle above us. The sea seemed like it reached the end of the earth, endlessly rippling and moving, twisting and flowing. As the sun disappeared behind the mountains, the water turned a dark navy, with a streak of white from the glimmer of the moon shining above it and patches of shadows cast by the moonlight against the clouds. It was breathtaking. The waiter told us we were at an elevation of approximately 1500 feet. I suddenly felt very lucky, we were in one of the most beautiful places in the world.
Dinner was on par with the one that we had at the Prieure, although this restaurant tipped the scale with the view. We went for the tasting menu again, which was seven courses long. A young waiter true to explain each one to is as they were presented but his accent was so heavy that at times I couldn't tell if he was speaking French or English. We started off with a cold spicy soup of carrots and other root vegetables. This was followed by a small pot of oyster mushrooms stewed with thick chunks of caramelized bacon. Those are probably two of my favorite ingredients, and their combination was heavenly. To cleanse our palette, we were presented with ice shavings from frozen watermelon juice, set in a lychee flavored gelatin, which was delicious, light, and refreshing. By this time it was really dark out on the terrace, with only a small candle helping us to see what we were eating. I didn't mind so much but it seemed a shame since each course came out like little pieces of art, painstakingly arranged to perfection, but at that at the very least, my sense of taste was satisfied. We had an impeccably tender lambchop as our main that was juicy and full of flavor, our only complaint being that there was only one chop served (the copain muttered that he could've eaten another two of those bad boys). Dessert was of the chocolate variety, much to the delight of the copain. It was layers of velvety smooth chocolate mousse and cake topped with berry compote. A few other small sweets followed, and after an espresso to wash those down, I was at an optimal level of fullness, feeling rather content.
The copain was starting to get a bit grumpy, and generally had been for the last day or two, travel-weary from the exhaustion and anxiety of driving on French roads with French drivers. The waiters, who had been very attentive during our meal, ignored us a bit afterwards, probably because they wanted to leave us to enjoy the view, but the copain was ready for bed. I was also quite tired, I think from the scaling of mountains that we'd done that day and the stress of playing the role of navigator and GPS interpreter. With the bill (oooooh ouch) settled, we climbed back to our suite for bed.
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