My trousers and tee shirt were a still damp from when I washed them late last night, but at least they were not sticky with sweat. They did not stay sweat free. First there was a pleasant stretch through an urban landscape.
By a recreational area people gathered with their dogs for a chat during the morning dog walk. Then the first climb. Up through stunted trees of oak and pine with limited shade over a hill of dry vegetation. My first milestone was Aspremont, a town where I stopped for an Orangina and chocolate ice cream. Refreshed I began my second big climb of the day. I questioned why those behind the GR5 had decided to send it up all these hills, but realised that the valleys were built up and their roads frequently left no room for pedestrians. The path was exposed and temperatures were in the mid thirties, I had lost the cooler air of the higher Alpine altitudes. Drops of sweat slid down my face. I frequently had to dab my face with my now damp handkerchief to stop the sweat stinging my eyes, rendering me temporarily blind. Rocks and small outcrops made the path slow to navigate without tripping. Years of footfall had polished the surface of the stones. I was now walking among scrub with bushes of broom. A few violet flowers (called cupid's dart) and some blue thistles caught my eye among the dusty vegetation.
Nice was visible ahead of me and beyond a hazy grey sea with slashes of white from the wake of fast boats.
As I had been warned, the walk through Nice and its northern suburbs was not attractive, busy roads rather than urban parks. I stopped at a restaurant for lunch, enjoying the shade of their awning, then began the final hour of walking. The red and white GR waymarks seem to end at the Place du Général de Gaulle. I walked onto my Hostel for the night, ridiculously expensive as is all accommodation in Nice it seems. A young man sharing my room seemed surprised that such an old man as myself had walked from Lake Geneva. I told him it was down to motivation.
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