Upon leaving Menton, I headed for Sospel -- and faced the challenges of becoming acquainted with my vehicle. In some ways, it was a good drive for that purposes, as there were few other vehicles on the roads. In other ways, it was truly awful: some of those roads were exceedingly narrow, and many were seemingly endless sequences of blind curves going up, and then down, mountains. And even if there weren't many other cars, there were some! The car had all sorts of sensors, resulting in countless beeps and bells, few of which made any sense to me at first, most of which went off when I could least afford to pay attention. They worked, though -- I learned how to avoid them! I never became comfortable with that car's size, but I did, over time (read "days") develop a working relationship with the beast.

Too, I was using my old TomTom, and as already noted, doing so had it's, uhh... moments. It soon became clear that my efforts to update its maps had not succeeded. I have absolutely no idea whether I was on the roads that would have made most sense or no, but as I said, it always got me where I wanted to go -- at least more or less.

As a first example, it took me into the back streets of Sospel before I realized I wasn't on a through road -- but I realized my error fairly quickly, and if anything, that gave me a brief chance to see a few blocks of the town. I stopped for a few minutes to stretch my legs, take a break from the beeping beast, and see Sospel's Vieux Pont, complete with midstream guard tower. The wide, rocky streambed it crossed attested to the powers of the waters that have coursed through that channel in the past, and perhaps seasonally.

Although my focus was on the road, I caught glimpses of fields and forests; grey outcroppings of rock surrounded by ground cover in various greenish greys, with more intensely green trees in the lower slopes; and every so once in a while, awesome distant peaks. The brief stretch of road through the Gorges de Saorge was stunning -- the road was flat and near the base of some undulating pale grey rock walls, and one could easily see the pale blue water crashing over and around massive boulders or eddying in its onward rush. Somewhere that day I remember crossing a bridge and looking out and realizing that someone had painted one of the boulders to look like a pig's head. That was unexpected!

The TomTom, vehicle, and I then had some difficulty finding the entrance to Saorge, first encountering several road closures and then taking a road to the opposite hillside. I appreciated the stunning views, but was less enamored of the "opportunity" to navigate, and then re-navigate some very narrow, twisting roads.And then my first attempt at parallel parking that tank. The space was barely longer than the vehicle, with a tree not quite all the way into one corner, and even with the rear-view camera and its projected trajectories, and even getting out frequently to try to figure out what, exactly, those trajectories meant in terms of actual distance, it must have taken me a half hour and -- if I had to guess -- a hundred moves forward and back before I managed. What a pain! What a relief! At least I seem to have provided entertainment to an elderly gentleman who watched the last 10 minutes or so and who offered me a high-five when I finally succeeded. Trust me when I say that I spent the rest of my time with that vehicle doing my best to avoid parallel parking.

A long road lined by pruned plane trees (I know there's a name for the technique that involves leaving almost nothing except the new growth, but I forget what it is) led along the hillside to town. Then, following ancient lanes and cobbled walkways, I climbed to the Eglise, with its sadly crumbling stucco, and, upon entering its Baroque interior, found myself surrounded by organ music -- someone was rehearsing, and if a few of the organ's keys might benefit from attention, it was still very nice to hear.

I made my way past stone and stuccoed buildings, virtually all with shutters and a flowerbox or two, some painted lovely warm shades resonant of the town's Italian roots, and by old roofed lavoires, to the Monastère de Saorge. I enjoyed the cloister's roses and sundials; found the "Franciscan Baroque" frescoes interesting, if not particularly to my tastes; and noticed some gorgeous wood work in the chapel. Best, the extensive terraced monastery gardens offered glorious views of the valley and surrounding mountains, as well as glimpses to distant mist-shrouded peaks, some still bedecked in snow. And, walking back into town, I could also admire the village arrayed in layers climbing the steep slope.

Of course, the town has some public squares, too, shaded by huge, leafy plane trees, and a few hardy souls sat at benches overlooking the valley despite the chill.

Back in my car (it is so much easier to LEAVE a parking spot than to enter it!), I was glad to see signs for my next destination -- and as already noted, signs almost always trump GPS directions. A broad valley held the Pont du Coq, a wonderful old stone bridge that turns a corner (thanks, rhon, for mentioning it!), and then I followed the road into a forested area beside a rushing river that cascaded over boulders.

There, nestled on a grassy lawn, is the small Notre Dame des Fontaines, with its incredibly well preserved and exquisitely detailed 15th century frescoes. Stunning! And rather awesomely frightening in parts, as they seem to have been painted with a clear intent of showing, in extraordinary detail, some of the horrors awaiting the unfaithful. I had been studying these paintings for some time when I realized that closing time had passed, even if only by a few moments; kudos to the young man at the door who didn't give even the tiniest of indications that he was in a hurry or that I had inconvenienced him.

From there, it wasn't far to Tende, which I reached in time to spend an hour or so at the museum there -- except that the museum had already closed for the day. My arrangements with the B&B at which I was staying called for us to meet in a little over an hour, so after confirming that there was no answer there, I roamed the town for a while, enjoying some wonderful views of surrounding mountains and noting the mix of old and new in the town's buildings. And then I sat near the entrance to the B&B, catching up with my journal, until it started raining. It was cold, the rain was blowing on to me even as I sat on a roofed terrace, I was tired from the stresses of managing mountain roads in a tank, I was frustrated that the museum hadn't been open as my research had led to me expect, and I was increasingly anxious to settle in to my lodging.... Let's just say that it was NOT the finest moment of this trip, and when the B&B's owner finally showed up, I was so grumpy that I wouldn't be surprised if she'd wished at least one of us hadn't! As it turned out, we had misunderstood each other -- I thought I was only to call if I would be late, while she thought I would call when I arrived. I appreciate the grace with which she steered us through a few awkward moments.

Tende's Hotel le Miramonti has a few rooms above a restaurant that was, unfortunately, closed the night I was there. It's a bit rustic and certainly nothing fancy, but my room was very comfortable and had some charming touches. And honestly, the owner could not have been more understanding. She recommended a nearby restaurant, La Margueria, where I had a delicious and very generous salad with chevre toasts. Despite a language barrier, staff there were extremely kind and welcoming.

Afterwards, armed with the jacket and scarf that had been in my suitcase earlier, I enjoyed a slow stroll back to my room in the crisp mountain air.