As much as I would like to cast myself as a very thorough and organized traveller who always squeezes the most out of every travel experience and always sees every inch of a place that I visit, I must admit that I stumbled quite clumsily…Read More

As much as I would like to cast myself as a very thorough and organized traveller who always squeezes the most out of every travel experience and always sees every inch of a place that I visit, I must admit that I stumbled quite clumsily upon the market square in Grasse. Had I not absent-mindedly taken a wrong turn, it would have remained a great unknown to me. That would have been a crying shame as it was a truly quaint experience.

I had been enjoying a cup of coffee at a very nice café on the main street of the town. I was scheduled to meet a friend at the bus station, which is located at the top of the main street. So, after slurping the final dregs of my coffee I headed up the hill in that direction. However, as Grasse is a rather picturesque little mountain town, I found myself gazing at the beautiful palm tres that line the streets and the beautiful architecture of the buildings in the centre of town. 1`As I did this, I inadvertently took a fork in the road that led away from the station and down towards the square.

Had I been in a rush, I may have done a quick about turn and headed for my render-vous. However, as I had a few minutes to play with, I decided to see where the fork took me. It led my to the town square, which proved to be very, very nice. As it was Saturday, it was market day. There was great arrays of vegetables, meats and cheeses produced by local farmers on show. I was a little disappointed that I had a full day ahead of me and couldn't take any back with me to Nice.

The square was surrounded by three or four storey buildings that seemed to lean in as older buildings have a desire to do. This, coupled, with several rather well-groomed trees, created a lovely feeling of shade and serenity. The higher levels of the buildings were offices and apartments. However, their ground floors were taken up with an array of art galleries and antique shops, which seemed to make the whole place perfect for a leisurely Saturday afternoon of browsing. I was just disappointed that I had scarcely twenty minutes to enjoy it all.

Grasse town square is situated in the centre of the market town, just off the main street and around 50m away from the bus station. It is located a little lower than both. There is a stair case that leads to the bus station and a slope that leads to the main street. It is certainly worth a visit if you wish to while away a lazy Saturday afternoon.

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If you have read any of my other journals from my travels around the world, you will probably have noticed that sport – both watching and playing – always plays a major. This has taken in football and cricket matches in countries across the world…Read More

If you have read any of my other journals from my travels around the world, you will probably have noticed that sport – both watching and playing – always plays a major. This has taken in football and cricket matches in countries across the world as well as the odd slightly more off-beat sporting experience. Therefore, my interest was piqued when my friend Kaleem began to give me a brief outline about the small part the village St Valery Du Theirs played in French football history.

Prior to speaking with Kaleem, I was under the impression that the only claim the village made to fame was as a stopping point on Napoleon's march to Paris after his first period in exile. However, I soon learned that it had another, slightly more recent, story to tell. Kaleem and I were sat enjoying a beer by the village green when he informed me that it had been one of the staging posts in the career of French football legend Zinedine Zidane.

Zidane ultimately found fame with Juventus and then as a 'Galactico' with Real Madrid. However, he started his professional career with French minnows Cannes who play their games just a few kilometers along the coast from St Valier. As they were a smqll outfit, Cannes did not possess a particularly large training facility. So, on Sunday mornings after home matches, the players would come up to the village green in St Valery to do some warm downs and discuss the previous day's game. Locals sat enjoying their morning croissant, therefore, had the chance to rub shoulders with a true legend – although at the time they were unaware of it.

There is nothing to herald the master's presence in St Valery. So, the area would only really be of interest to a true football enthusiast, but it is an interesting little piece of sporting trivia. And, I must admit I enjoyed having a beer in one of the cafes by the side of the green knowing that I was overlooking a spot that had played a minor part in sporting history.
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In one of the other entries in this journal, I discuss the differences in the views from the hills above the town of Grasse on days when it was sunny and when it rained. I detailed the beauty of the views when the sun streamed…Read More

In one of the other entries in this journal, I discuss the differences in the views from the hills above the town of Grasse on days when it was sunny and when it rained. I detailed the beauty of the views when the sun streamed down and gave the whole Mediterranean panorama a wonderfully bright glow. I also described the way in which the mist and rain seemed to slide down the mountains and shroud them in a wistfully beautiful cloak during a day of bad weather. The two trips in question took place in May. However, a few weeks later I made the same journey and was astonished by the scenery I encountered.

It was a wet Sunday. When I had left Nice a couple of hours before the outlook was not particularly promising. The skies were grey and the sun was masked by a bank of dense cloud. However, it had remained relatively dry until my bus got within 10km of Grasse. At this point the windows became streaked with rainwater and puddles began to swell by the side of the road. By the time the bus pulled into the station, we were in the midst of a downpour.

I was scheduled to meet my friend Matt who was to drive me up to St Valier du Thiers. However, he would not be there for another hour or so. Therefore, with time to kill, I scurried into a cafe in the town square to enjoy a cafe au lait. The square is lined with petite little cafes all with outdoor seating and parasols. Generally, the parasols are to teach the sun at bay. Thankfully, they also work well with the rain. It was a beautiful scene. The square is surrounded by high buildings – five storeys or so – that peak out above the trees that line the square. They are impressive enough in themselves, but when the clouds are so low that they obscure the top floors, they look truly wonderful.

After a rather aquatic hour in the square, Matt arrived to pick me up. It was at this point that things got really exciting. As we climbed towards St Valier, we became fully immersed in the clouds. The whole trip had a very ghostly feel as we inched our way along the mountain roads waiting for other vehicles to emerge from the blanket of grey. Over the 20 minute journey, the clouds scarcely broke at all. However, when they did, it was truly spectacular. On one occasion they opened out giving us a view of the sea, which was looking a mournfully grey as the sky. This monotony, though, was spectacularly cracked by the sight of huge lightning bolts crashing down into the sea. The scene had something of a mythic feel to it, as though the Gods had concocted it all.

I make the trip to Grasse and St Valery regularly over the French summer. And, on no occasion, does it fail to impress. However, there is really no telling how it will impress.   Close

If you have any of the other entries within this journal, you may have noticed that my first trip into the mountains was something of a damp squib. I had taken the 500 bus from Nice to Grasse in the foothills of the Alps and…Read More

If you have any of the other entries within this journal, you may have noticed that my first trip into the mountains was something of a damp squib. I had taken the 500 bus from Nice to Grasse in the foothills of the Alps and then grabbed a lift through to the village of St Valery to enjoy a game of cricket with some fellow expats. However, my day was scuppered by the weather. The rain put pay to the cricket match, and the low cloud ensured that I could not fully enjoy some of the scenery on offer.

Thankfully, my second trip a week later proved to be far more successful on both counts: the cricket went ahead and – not to blow my trumpet – I played a starring role in my team's victory, plus I got to enjoy the countryside far more. The specifics of my journey were exactly the same. I took the 500 from outside my apartment in Nice to Grasse, from where my team-mate Kevin picked me up and drove me to St Valery. However, this time, there was plenty of sunshine.

The first leg of the trip, from Nice to Grasse, was not massively different to the previous week. The early parts of the journey ploughed through the suburbs of Nice, through Cagnes Sur Mer and out into the countryside. It was only when we began to climb that things seemed different. More specifically, it was only as we neared the approach to Grasse that things became different. On the previous week the road into town had been immersed in low cloud and the driver inched in to the bus station. I had scarcely been able to see anything through the bus windows – there just a truncated view down the mountainside. At the time, I had thought that relatively impressive. However, with the added visibility, it proved to be absolutely stunning. The trees had a wonderful lush appearance and the small villages that were perched in the hills seemed delightfully delicate as their egg-shell white walls peeked out through the greenery.

The journey to Grasse was a slight improvement on the previous version. However, the journey to St Valery proved to be almost unrecognisable. Without the shroud of mist, I saw so much more and could not believe what I had missed on the first trip. The first thing to grab me was the view from the hill above Grasse. We could look back down passed the tow and out to sea. Whereas the week before it had been a bank of grey cloud, I could suddenly spot islands and yachts in the deep blue of the Mediterranean. Kevin explained to me that on a really good day it was even possible to spot Corsica. Apparently, the mountains in the centre of the island poke above the horizon to reward those who strain their eyes hard enough.

Once we got up into the mountains, I was surprised to spot a golf course that had been hidden in the grey the previous week and several small cottages that seemed to have suddenly materialized out of the void. However, the biggest surprise was that I had also missed a giant prison. Around 3km from Grasse is a high security facility perched on the top of a mountain peak. It comes complete with huge barbed wire fences, armed guards and watch towers. It had been completely obscured the previous week. Kevin and I mused that on a clear day it must have a truly amazing view and that having such a view, but only being able to enjoy from behind bars must have felt like a form of torture.

The scenery on both my trips into the mountains was stunning, but in different ways. When we were surrounded by clouds, it was eerie, but also beautiful. The absence of the cloud took away a little of the mystery, but it revealed some stunning panoramas.
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It was a wet Saturday afternoon in mid-April and I was on my way to play cricket. My destination was the mountain village of St Valery Du Thier in the foothills of the Alps. To get there, I had taken the bus from Nice to…Read More

It was a wet Saturday afternoon in mid-April and I was on my way to play cricket. My destination was the mountain village of St Valery Du Thier in the foothills of the Alps. To get there, I had taken the bus from Nice to the town of Grasse, where I would meet Kevin, one of my team-mates who would give me a ride from Grasse to our ground in St Valery. I met Kevin outside the bus station in Grasse and piled my cricket equipment into the back of his Jeep. We set off through the mist towards St Valery on what would be a surprisingly interesting trip.

The first part of the trip that attracted my attention was the scenery. I had already been suitably taken aback by the Provençal countryside on my trip from Nice to Grasse on the 500 bus, which had wound its way from the beach all the way through the mountains. Grasse is already over 500m above sea level, despite being less than 20km from the Mediterranean. So, when we climbed higher, I was a little surprised and certainly rather excited.

The road from Grasse to St Valery Du Their was stunning. The gradient was fearsome. Kevin had to drop his Jeep into a very low gear as we crawled up the winding mountain pass. The view back down towards Grasse was stunning. The slope led passed the town and down into a valley that melted into the mist and low clouds. As we began to inch higher and higher, the cloud descended in all round us making it feel as though we were embarking on a rather intimidating Alpine ascent.

As we reached about 900m above sea level, we came to the village of St Valery and Kevin turned to me to ask me a question:

"Do you know the story of St Valery?"
"No, what story?" I replied.

Kevin explained that when Napoleon made his return from exile – a period known as the 100 days – on the Island of Elba, St Valery Du Thiers was one of his first stops on his march back to Paris. Apparently, he and his men stopped there for lunch in the village square. Because of this, a bust of the little man now sits on a plinth in the centre of town. Sadly, it is not the original. That disappeared during WWII.

That all seemed a very nice story and an interesting snippet of local history. However, as significant as that seemed, I could not get passed the idea of the general and his men marching through such heavy mountain terrain. By the time they reached St Valery, they would certainly have earned their lunch.
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It was early on a Saturday morning. Ordinarily, I would have been sound asleep with no intentions of rising from my slumber until the afternoon began to loom. However, I was due to play cricket in a small village close to the mountain town of…Read More

It was early on a Saturday morning. Ordinarily, I would have been sound asleep with no intentions of rising from my slumber until the afternoon began to loom. However, I was due to play cricket in a small village close to the mountain town of Grasse. The game started around lunchtime, so I needed to be on the 9am bus that left from the stop outside my apartment on the Promenade des Anglais. As I stood waiting for the 500 to arrive, I was focused more on the game than on the journey to Grasse. About 30 minutes later, though, that had all changed. The scenery on view was breathtaking and the cricket had drifted to the back of my mind.,

Grasse is situated in the foothills of the Alps, about 45km from Nice. As it was such a distance away, the fist thing that struck me about Lignes D'Azur's service was the price. To go all the way from Nice to Grasse was just one Euro. The first part of the journey was rather underwhelming. The 500 passed through the airport and then the town of Cagnes Sur Mer – not to be mistaken with the rather more famous Cannes – on the outskirts of Nice. This was all very bland, and I found myself close to dozing off. In fact, after about 25 minutes of the journey, I was remarking to myself how disappointing it all was.

Thankfully, a few minutes later, things began to change as we moved out of the suburban sprawl of Nice and Cagnes and into the countryside proper. At first, things seemed very gentle. The land was relatively flat and splendidly green. It was dotted with small villages nestled amongst the trees and farmland. There were some very nice looking farmhouses and a few very petite cafés and brasseries. After a few minutes more, though, things began to take on a whole different persona as we began to climb into the foothills of the Alps.

The first sign that we were beginning to get significantly higher up in the world was the sound of the bus's engine as it began to labour up some of the inclines – this did not stop the driver pressing his foot to the floor and trying to go as fast as humanly possible, as French bus drivers seem to love to do. The second was the weather. Near Nice and Cagnes, the sky had been a rather disappointingly dull shade of grey, but it had been mercifully dry. However, as we moved higher, we actually found ourselves immersed in the clouds. As a consequence, it became infinitely wetter and visibility dropped to just a few meters.

The drop in visibility was a crying shame as it obscured some tremendous views back down into the valleys. It was only as we entered Grasse that the sky cleared briefly enough for us to enjoy some of the fantastic views. The approach comes in along the side of a mountain. From there, I stared through the window and down a long sweeping valley in the direction of the sea. The whole valley was covered by lush greenery that was punctuated by small villages and solitary cottages clinging precariously to the hillside. I thought to myself that getting such a view for one Euro was a real bargain.
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Many people know that Grace is the perfume capital, but not everyone knows that the perfume industry has grown from a tannery. In its vicinity are always grown herbs that are suitable for tanning and thus in Grasse appeared prestigious shop glover.When the French Queen…Read More

Many people know that Grace is the perfume capital, but not everyone knows that the perfume industry has grown from a tannery. In its vicinity are always grown herbs that are suitable for tanning and thus in Grasse appeared prestigious shop glover.

When the French Queen Catherine de Medici introduced the fashion for perfumed gloves in Grasse engaged in the production of perfumes. At the same time and was registered profession perfumer.

Now there are several in Grasse perfume houses, renowned brands which belong to the largest corporations. Tourists can come to the factory and create your own unique scent from 34 to 50 euro. More and diploma student will hand you a perfumer. Formula your spirits will be entered into the database and you can always order them over the Internet.

The city, like the ant-hill has focused on steep slopes. Climb to the very top of the foot can only trained people. We are half way up the steep, long staircase, then spit and boarded the bus, where I chatted with an older man in Arabic tunic, being quite sure that I understand it. When he learned that we were from Russia, he once even upset.

Highways surprisingly narrow with sharp turns. At times, impossible to cool.

Grace - an Arab city. Especially his old part. More precisely this: in the Old City Arabs live. Many of them do not speak French. On the streets clearly heard Arabic speech.

Who could say what, but I really liked Grace. This vintage doll town. There's cute, though live, it would probably be bored.
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