My walk began with a pleasant saunter through St Étienne's back streets then down the valley on the old road to Nice. A sign beside the road, indicating that cars should give cyclists plenty of room, stated "La Metropole Nice, Côte d'Azur, Aime les Cyclistes". Such references to Nice, my final destination, made me realise my trip was nearing an end. But first there was a steep climb through larch forest, leaving the fields of the valley behind. Eventually I reached a pass, the Col d'Anelle, after which there was the inevitable descent to the town of Auron.
Auron consisted of modern buildings and owes its existence to skiing. A series of posters displayed near the centre, showed photos of skiers dating back to the 1930’s. Being August there was no snow, instead the ski lift was taking mountain bikes and their owners to the top of the mountain so they could race down. With helmets and dressed in clothes armoured with rubber pads at key points to provide protection, the cyclists were prepared should they come off their bikes at high speed on the steep track down through the forest. Auron had a selection of cafes, shops and restaurants at its heart, which were keeping busy despite it being summer.
On the long climb up the forested slope out of Auron, I met many people coming down, possibly also having taken advantage of the chair lift. Beyond the high point of the Col du Blainon I saw no-one as I walked across grass covered slopes high above a deep valley. Pools of lavender proliferated and the grass was turning yellow in the August heat. Once the area would have been populated with farmers. Stones were in piles having been cleared from fields, and the slopes terraced to create workable land, but now the farm buildings were either in ruins, the wood of their roofs collapsing inward, or they were shut up but apparently unused. Above the tumbledown walls of a chapel, only a few skeletal rafters of the roof remained, but the small tower still had a bell.
The path then dropped down into the valley where the little hamlet of Roya stands beneath cliffs. I was early. The gîte would not open for two hours. After trying the church and finding it locked I sat down beside where boules is played, wrote up my blog and read my kindle. On getting into the gîte I was directed into a dormitory where I found a woman in her underwear. I thought I had better check to ensure I had the correct room. I had, the dormitories are of course mixed. I felt like a prudish Englishman faced with a more natural continental approach. At dinner I discovered the lady and her partner were from Switzerland, as was another lady at my table. We were all walking the GR5.
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