20 – 21 April 2005

Prêt à Manger

La-Bollène-Vésubie has a Post Office open every day, Monday to Saturday. From 1000 to 1130. There was one food shop, but it was closed when we went up into the village at 0915. Only one place was open: a small butchers tucked away below the main square, announcing Produits Régionaux. Not much good for food for lunch,
we thought. Then I saw a sign in the window – dépot de pain mercredi. I counted on my fingers. Wednesday! Yes! We went in and bought a baguette and a piece of cheese. At least we’d have something to eat. We wondered what the village did for bread the other days of the week.

Route barrée

Today was designed as an easy day. Uphill all the way, but only about 4 hours’ walking. The first part was very steep with the path rising in zigzags before reaching the point where the gradient eased and the route headed up the valley towards the Col de Turini, our objective for the day.

The GR and GRP footpaths in France are maintained by baliseurs bénévoles, volunteers who refresh the waymarks, report problems, and so on. Their summer season must start later than April, because fallen trees across the path were becoming a regular hazard. We’d first had the problem two days before on our way down to St-Martin-Vésubie. Today we had the best – or rather the worst – so far. A freshly-fallen mature pine was across the path. With a steep drop on the left and a ten foot wall of loose rock on the right it was impossible to go round. Climbing over was also impossible. The only solution was to go through the tangle of branches, which is exactly what we did!

If you can’t go round …

Snow business

Do you think there’ll be any snow up at the Col?”, I’d asked Jonathan earlier. We were sitting on a huge log, one of four left by the forestry workers at the side of the track, having lunch. We’d agreed there might be a few patches of old snow, but not much more. The next part of the track was a muddy mess – the foresters were felling timber, and their heavy machinery had enormous tyres with huge chains that had churned up the track. A group of them brewing up by their 4×4 gave us a courteous “Bonjour” as we passed. The sky had clouded over in the last hour, and as we hopped and squelched up the track trying to avoid the deepest mud a mist came down around us and light snow began to fall.

We came to a junction – signpost number 196. The mud continued down to the left on a track that joined the D70 road which loops in magnificent hairpins up to the Col de Turini from la Bollène. We’d had glimpses of it on the other side of the valley for most of the morning. Our way continued to climb eastwards, gently but steadily, but with no forestry vehicles working it was covered in several inches of soft snow. We slowed to a steady trudge. The light snow continued as we ground out the last kilometres, stopping every quarter of an hour or so for a break. The snow finally stopped only as the first buildings at the Col came in sight.

Tony in snow

At the Col de Turini

The menu said “Civet de Biche”. “I understand Civet”, I said (in French) to Jean-Paul, “but what is Biche?” Jean-Paul looked non-plussed. “It’s an animal”, he proffered. I asked if it was large or small, had four legs or two, but he had no further suggestions. It was the end of our third day, and we had reached the Hôtel les Trois Vallées at the Col de Turini. Although a thirty-something woman was around some of the time, the management and operation of the hotel seemed to have been left to Jean-Paul, who was about 13 years old. He had checked us in and shown us to our room almost without speaking, and now he was maître d’hôtel, waiter, and sommelier for our evening meal. We were the only guests.

It had been snowing again outside, and the Three Valleys was cold. The heating in our room was on, but the radiators in the bar and the small lounge – which were otherwise quite attractive areas – were cold. A half-hearted fire in an open grate had all but gone out. In the restaurant, a radiator by our table gave some warmth. It was a shame, because on all other counts the Trois Vallées seemed to be a nice place. The Col de Turini is well-known to car rally enthusiasts, and features in the Monte Carlo Rally. The walls in the bar and restaurant were covered with glossy photos of glossy cars and glossy people. (Actually, some of the people weren’t very glossy.) There was a picture of the car park full of red Ferraris. Many of the pictures had signature flourishes of presumably famous drivers, and inscriptions “to my friends at les Trois Vallées”.

The thirty-something woman, wearing a gilet body-warmer, had been pleasant enough for the few minutes at a time when we had seen her, but most of the time she was hidden in the back rooms of the hotel. Another woman, who we assumed was the owner or the owner’s wife, had shown us to our table and promptly disappeared never to reappear. Our meal, though, was good. A large bowl of hot vegetable soup followed by a salmon steak in a creamy herb sauce warmed us up, although the tarte au myrtilles which followed was rather heavy. Jean-Paul had opened our bottle of wine with skill.

Near the end of our meal, around 8.15, the front door of the hotel rattled. A couple of travellers were trying to get in, but the door was already locked for the evening. Jean-Paul first pretended he hadn’t seen them, then gestured that the hotel was closed. The would-be guests, though, had seen us eating and wouldn’t be turned away. After a quick discussion out of our sight the door was unlocked and the couple let in. They were shown a room, decided to stay, and came down for dinner just as we were finishing. We wished them a polite “Bonsoir”, and headed back to our heated bedroom.

The incongruity of the Trois Vallées continued the next morning. Our breakfast was the best we were to have during our trip. As well as the standard croissant and small quantity of bread and jam, there was yoghurt, fruit, ham, cheese, and a pain au chocolat each. Normal service was resumed a short time later, as Jean-Paul checked us out in silence apart from a final “Bonne journée”. Who we were, where we had come from, and where we were going was obviously a matter of complete indifference. Maybe if we’d arrived by Ferrari it would have been different.

Tracks

At the Col de Turini

It was still below freezing when we set off through winter holiday picture postcard scenery – a bright crisp day with pine trees, a clear blue sky above and brilliant white snow underfoot. With no footprints to follow we needed a little careful navigation to make sure we were on the right track, but we soon picked up the white and red splodges that had kept us company for the past few days.

Half an hour later we were at the unremarkable highest point of our walk. The GR52a by-passes the crest of the ridge rising south-west from the Col, and my altimeter showed 1735m as the broad track eased from an uphill to a downhill gradient. We were below the Cime de la Calmette, invisible on the ridge above us. Another 5 minutes and we came into the open as the path joined the ridge. Footprints in the snow – two humans and a dog – joined our track from the path coming down from the Cime. We stopped by the signpost and took in the view.

In the distance our first sight of the sea, a deeper blue than the sky, showed the Côte d’Azur living up to its name. Between us and the sea a chaotic jumble of hills and steep-sided wooded valleys hid our next two objectives – Moulinet, which we hoped to make by lunchtime, and Sospel, our next overnight stop. Behind us, snow-topped mountains rose up to the ski resorts of Isola and Auron.

JT: From here, it almost looked like a pleasant stroll down to the coast. Ha!

View Towards Coast

The tracks of the two people and their dog kept us company for a while, finally taking a different path at a junction. Then a hare’s tracks followed our route for over a kilometre. Other tracks – birds and animals – crossed the path. I recognised deer and, I thought, fox. And one set of particularly large dog-like tracks: wolves have returned to this region – was this one of them?