Coursegoules

Today we were back in the foothills of the Alps, on the Plateau de Saint Barnabé, a lunar chaos of limestone with an extraordinary richness of plants eking out a difficult existence in the harsh conditions. We set out on our walk from Coursegoules, the next big village along from Gréolières. That village had been nice, but this one was even nicer. Unspoilt, still viable as a community, and spic and span. They have a super website also, which gives the clear indication that they are passionate about their community.

Our path took us due south, rising steeply towards the plateau through the typical woodland which covers the non-sunny side of the valleys. Even in the most inhospitable areas, the signs that people had made superhuman efforts to clear fields for cultivation were everywhere. The fields were so small, and the cleared rocks so abundant, that the drystone walls appeared like the ruins of some Cyclopean city, spread out over miles of rolling hills.

Lunch was had, in the form of a hearty picnic, on the doorstep of an old chapel in the one hamlet which almost had agricultural potential, and even a touch of green. Though the chapel was closed, our voices echoed strangely from the gaping, glassless windows. The lunch was somewhat hurried, though, as a thunderstorm was looming, and we knew from experience that it wasn't wise to get caught out at that altitude. We steamed back up the mountain, literally, because the impending storm made the air very close and sweaty, and we were almost running to get over the exposed part of the track.

We reached the car with only a few drops of rain on us, and a few loud warnings of thunder. All the sweat and heat was worth it for the views and the scents, and the swim in the sea when we got back sorted out all the stiffness.