Trees for all (French) seasons

Trees bordering the road from Opio to Valbonne (April)

Trees near Pre-du-Lac (Grasse region, November)

The French had a great idea—tree-lined roads to shade travelers, mark property lines and provide guideposts. I thought this innovation dated from the time of Napoleon. But apparently, Henri II signed an edict in 1522. He was ahead of his time.

But with urbanization, increasing traffic and larger cars, I'm not how long these scenes will remain.

Town squares often have sycamore, with scaled, spotted bark. They are trimmed in January, and for months their branches look gnarled and arthritic until the leaves return in late spring.

Magagnosc, just east of Grasse, overlooks the Mediterreanean

The French Riviera, with its micro-climates, has palms and citrus inland as far as Grasse. Although the region looks very tropical, the temperatures may drop below freezing in winter nights, and the bone-chilling Mistral wind whips through the area. But clothes dry quickly on outdoor lines. . . . Unless they have blown away.

The Fragonard Museum, which contains works by artist Jean-Honoré Fragonard, is in the old city.

An older residence in Vallauris, a region made famous by Picasso, with citrus and palms.

Parasol pines provide a canopy of shade over the boules area, overlooking the Mediterranean

The unique trees make the region. And I may take up boules just to have an excuse to spend my days under these parasol pines.

Taking Olives to the Mill. . . .

An olive tree in front of a mas (farmhouse) near Grasse, France

The season to harvest olives and take them to the mill is nearing. It's something I always planned to do. After all, we lived on a parcel of land with more than 40 olive trees. Two majestic trees stood in front of the house, and the top windows looked right into those silver-gray leaves.

We hired a gardener to help us revive the trees. He wanted to cut back those two majestic trees, claiming it would enable us to harvest olives. We refused.

On small plots of land bordering winding roads between Valbonne, Opio and Grasse, plastic nets are spread on the ground to catch the small, dark olives as they fall. Most friends cured the olives in brine. For those who had the quantity of olives needed to be pressed to oil, the mill generally took a percentage of the oil as payment.

I always planned to gather olives and take them to the mill. But I never had the quantity needed (not to mention the nets or time). Now, more than 20 years have passed. . . . I no longer have 40 olive trees but a small olive tree growing in a pot.

The vendor thought the tree would produce in the next four years. . . .Certainly not enough for a bottle of oil but maybe a few olives I could serve guests.

From Cafe to Countertop, Coffee!

These plates have a price printed on them—2F, ½ F, etc. In his Movable Feast, Hemingway described Parisian cafes that used these saucer plates under drinks to indicate prices--coffee is ½ franc, whiskey is 2F.

Today, less than 2 euros gives you coffee and the right to sit on a terrace for hours. The Crystal in Juan-les-Pins is one of my favorites because the coffee and service are good but mainly because the people watching is excellent. No need to bring a book or newspaper.

On sunny days, the Place aux Aires in Grasse has back-to-back cafes, which also serve lunch on the square that is used for the open-air market.

My kids are very particular about their coffee. Not only do we explore cafes, but we also have tested many coffee machines. Nespresso has colorful pods with numerous flavors.

I have a smaller version, the Pixie, which my kids gave me for my birthday. Was it to ensure I experience wonderful coffee back in the States? Or to guarantee great coffee on their visits?

Now that the coffee issue has been resolved, about the cups? Never enough!

Inland on the Riviera

Grasse and the Gorges du Loup by Jane Tolbert

In past years when the crowds thickened and coastal traffic intensified on the Riviera, I used to seek respite in the hillsides of the backcountry. The inland villages, once strongholds against Saracen invasions, have replaced pots of boiling oil, bows and arrows and war machines with boutiques filled with perfumes, lavender honey or provençal herbs and pottery.

Grasse, once a city of tanners, gained renown for its perfumeries that developed after Catherine de Medici (16th c.) ordered perfumed gloves. Until recently, travelers needed to take a bus or drive here, but a train now links Grasse to the coastal cities. For the tourist, the city provides a cathedral with paintings by Rubens and Fragonard, museums, perfume factories, a labyrinth of old city streets plus the market and bistros on the Place aux Aires. Although ornate buildings and exotic vegetation give the old city a turn-of-the-century elegance, it continues to struggle to attract new businesses and year-round residents. The networks of narrow alleys and the lack of convenient parking within the city walls would probably discourage most of us from settling.

On a road that climbs inland from Pré du Lac to the 11th-century fortified village of Gourdon, I cross a few tour buses, quarry trucks and determined cyclists. This perched village, built high on a rocky crag, has withstood centuries of invasions but now caters to tourism. Instead of entering Gourdon, I head in the direction of the Plateau of Caussols, known for the CERGA observatory, and I turn off on the Chemin des Claps. The landscape is desolate, and I feel like I am at the top of the world. Below is Gourdon and a glimmer of the Mediterranean Sea. Paragliders hover, suspended in the in the air. Traces of the Via Aurelia, or Roman Road, and abandoned sheep folds are all but camouflaged in the rocky landscape, which contains ammonite fossils, hints of the marine environment once here. Tufts of wild lavender have gained a foothold, but small vipers also lurk here.

Returning to the entrance of Gourdon, I head in the direction of the Gorges du Loup (Loup Valley) along switchback turns that bring out the rally-car driver in us all. Signs point to Gréolières, a small, local ski station, then Bramafan, plunged in perpetual darkness because of its dismal history. According to legend, a 15th-century seigneur locked his wife away in a tower to die of starvation. Her cries were heard by villagers (hence the name, Bramafan, or “cry of hunger”). A large American ragtop, a relic from the days of cars with big fins, scrapes by on the narrow road. Pont du Loup, the end of the circuit, has a candied fruit factory, worth a detour to sample my favorites--the rose petal, fig or citrus jellies. From here, the courageous hiker—which has never been my case—may opt to climb a small footpath marked “Chemin de Paradis” (Road to Paradise) that leads upward to Gourdon. However, I remain in my car. Bar-sur-Loup is a small village directly below Gourdon with a micro-climate favoring the cultivation of citrus. The village has undergone a substantial facelift. The once-dark alleys now have brightly painted village houses, and the town boasts two gourmet restaurants--the Hostellerie du Chateau, opened by a former opera singer, and La Jarrerie, located on the main road. Historically, the village has ties to the States. In the American Revolutionary War, Admiral François-Joseph de Grasse, who was born here, played a critical role in the defeat of Cornwallis at the Battle of Yorktown. The village church (13th-15th c.) houses the “Danse Macabre,” or Dance of Death,” a painting depicting dancers dropping dead amidst festivities, surely a sign of divine retribution for revelers.

Over the years, even the backcountry has become increasingly populated on a year-round basis in part due to the development of the research park of Sophia Antipolis and its employees who seek housing. Although small corners of the region remain inaccessible to tourism, but they were likely already known to the Saracens or earlier invaders.

# # #
Photos: Grasse, Place aux Aires. Bar sur Loup seen from the Chemin de l'Hubac.