An Afternoon in Vence, a Night in Nice
Nice, France
October 12, 2005
I was ensconced for two days in a high hamlet below the Alps and above the sea. I now write from the eclectic city of Nice, nestled comfortably in between. This is my first visit since Rita and I were here several years ago.
My excuse is the bi-annual meeting Unisys hosts for its Airline Cargo User Group, of which I am the Delta representative. Today is my first opportunity since arriving Monday to escape the private conference center in the hills above St Paul-de-Vence. Meetings consumed that afternoon and all of Tuesday, with obligatory (and extraordinary) dinners and happy hours enlivening both evenings.
Despite the exquisite quality of the French cuisine and the charming company of international attendees, I regret not spending either evening in the medieval village of St Paul. I did my best to rectify that today.
The walk from the Unisys facility to the center of town is only twenty minutes across the rolling terrain of the Vence countryside. The winding dirt road passes a plethora of olive trees, stone homes, and flowing flowers I am reluctant to touch for fear of smearing the paint from Cezanne’s brush.
Stooped older men dangle cigarettes from their mouths as they repair shutters, sweep porches, or sip drinks while taking curious interest in a strange American wandering aimlessly past their home. Within minutes, the odd interloper is beyond their site, and before the battlements of St Paul-de-Vence.
Francis I requested the walls, built as a replica of the citadel in Nice. Within its gates, familial coats of arms adorn most of the Medieval and Renaissance structures that confine, direct, and decorate the narrow Rue Grande and the side alleys that flow into it as barely passable tributaries.
The patron saint of the village lends his name to the collegiate church that dominates the highest point within the walls. To my considerable regret, ongoing renovation left the nave inaccessible and almost beyond recognition.
The aisles tried to compensate with their architectural splendor and a few works of art, including Claudio Cuello’s depiction of St Catherine of Alexandria. In her hand, and draped in a bright red cloak, she holds the sword of her martyrdom. At her feet lies the head of Maximian, the emperor under whom it was carried out. Catherine is the patron of philosophers and scholars, a designation buttressed by a prevailing notion that she may never have existed.
Staircases are to St Paul-de-Vence what canals are to Venice. They’re everywhere. A few are ornate, most are practical, all are necessary. One returned me from the church to the Rue Grande, along which I passed a large fountain dominating a small plaza in the guise of a large ornate urn. Several public and potable fountains flow ceaselessly along le rue, relieving pedestrians of thirst borne of a thousand steps…and hopefully not of anything else.
I soon arrived at a gate on the opposite side of the commune from the one by which I entered. Through it I saw…perched precariously on a promontory overlooking the base of the Maritime Alps…a cemetery so pleasant that it might tempt the death of the most vivacious soul.
I returned thru the town along the opposite wall from which I entered, absorbing along its length an astonishing assemblage of mountain, sea, and sky. I arrived back at the conference center ten minutes before our shuttle departed for Nice.
Dropping my luggage at the Belle-Epoque Hotel Boscolo on Boulevard Victor Hugo, I walked ten minutes to rendez-vous with colleagues at the Hotel Negresco. After a quick drink, we strolled Le Promenade d’Anglais to Vieux Nice, and the abundance of churches and restaurants by which it is blessed.
Being with others, I adjusted my pace, and limited the number and duration of my stops. We started with the Cathedral, then darted quickly past or thru other churches as we encountered them, almost as if we were being waved into the Confessional or dodging collection baskets. We then took more time over another drink, but postponed dinner till a couple of us ascended the chateau above the city.
The elevated location and fresh springs appealed to the strategic Greeks who first colonized this port and named it for the Goddess of Victory. It appealed to us for the view it afforded. Upon ground occupied a thousand years ago by a Medieval Chateau, a grand Cathedral, and a bustling village, it was surrounded by fortress walls once thought impenetrable. For centuries, they were.
The chateau succumbed in 1706 to the inadvertent good fortune of Louis XIV. As the Sun King launched an attack that seemed doomed to fail, a cannonball flew over the ramparts and into munitions storage, destroying a portion of the fortress, allowing soldiers to invade, and providing sightlines for our view. A triumphant Louis XIV dismantled the chateau, and redeployed its stones as pavement on Le Promenade d’Anglais.
Upon descent, we re-connected with the balance of our group for a casual al fresco meal of pizza and red wine at a sidewalk café on the streets of Old Nice. Fortified and refreshed, we returned toward the promenade under the fading light of an approaching dusk.
After a brief walk along the calm sea, we arrived at the hotel under the dreadful anticipation of a pre-dawn flight. Knowing that we would be half-way to Paris before we saw the sun, we approached the bar, bidding adieu to Nice with one last drink.
JD
