Gourdon

"The Earth is made of God's love and the same green cheese as the moon."

Because each of us has the equivalent of a Google Translate app in our head, this is what I heard when a bus driver told me no buses go to Gourdon and that I would need a car to visit the mountaintop village. The thing is, Gourdon predates Roman times and the automobile is only a hundred years old. A puzzle piece is missing.

We made a deal that he would take me to the Pont du Loup stop on the D2210 road between Vence and Grasse and I'll take it from there. The result was an unforgettable day on Le Chemin du Paradis.

What a bus stop it is.

Appropriately enough, the Path to Paradise is a difficult one. Even with Fahrenheit temps in the high 50s you will soak through at least one shirt and find yourself, hands on hips, taking a breather every couple hundred meters.

At least three pillars that held up the old Chemins de fer de Provence railway are still standing here.

Honestly, it's not too late for Germany to pay for rebuilding the tracks. They can afford it. Roger Farnworth has a terrific website that amasses photos of the old Central Var Ligne.

Wild plumbago, sarsaparilla and aster line the trail. Rosemary and sage, too. Everything they say about Provence is true.

A stone bench for the weary.

Rounding a switchback, you are greeted by a sheer rock face.

About three-quarters of the way to the top, signs of infrastructure begin to appear ― a concrete wall, and a fountain dispensing precious spring water.

Looking down at the Gorges du Loup, you can see the three railway pylons at lower left and the town of Pont du Loup. There had better be a pint waiting for me in Gourdon.

Two hours after setting out, j'arrive. An orange tree prepares to sleep for the winter. Stepped lazybeds are in the distance.

It's a tidy, touristy little town with smart little boutiques, galleries and perfumeries. I count six streets in total.

All churches should be this simple and unassuming.

I love the li'l Phillips organ.

The view is quite good from La Taverne. That's the Mediterranean Sea on the horizon.

Maybe 75 people live here. Between this village and Pont du Loup down in the Vallee du Loup, the combined population is 406. I don't know why they calculate it this way.

It's chilly. Need to get back on the trail and warm up.

On the descent, I take the turnoff to Le Bar sur Loup, known as "The City of Oranges."

The trail spits me out at a chapel outside town.

This detour to Le Bar sur Loup was recommended to me by a very serious young man in the Gourdon tourism office. I asked him where he lived.

"Le Bar sur Loup."

Quelle surprise.

But he's right. It's another impossibly picturesque hillside medieval village. They are are strung like pearls across southern France. 

Outside the town's cathedral is a statue of Francois Joseph Paul de Grasse, a French admiral who routed the Royal Navy in the Battle of Chesapeake Bay, preventing the English from rescuing Cornwallis' forces at Yorktown.

Seven weeks later, Cornwallis surrendered to Washington and America had gained its independence.

Waiting in the dark for a ride back to Vence, I think of all the people in the U.S. who love to disparage the French. Fuck 'em. Without les Francais we'd have 26 tea-stained teeth in our heads and be just another nation of plucky losers.

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