The anti-tourists

Pont du Loup pre WWII.
Image from Wikipedia Commons

We are living in a village called Pont du Loup. The name is taken from its literal location as a bridge over the Rive Loup (Wolf River). There is a highway that runs northwest from Nice on the east side of one mountain, crosses the bridge here, and then curves back down to continue on to Grasse. It is a main thoroughfare for locals and tourists alike. Until the 1940s, there was also a train track that crossed an enormous bridge in the middle of the village, giving us the name.

We are in a narrow gorge, or valley, between two mountains that make up the Alpes Maritime, where the French Alps begin emerging from the Mediterranean Sea on their way toward Switzerland. Some road markers around here call them the Pre Alpes, which I suspect is the French way to putting you in your place. You think these mountains are big? These are just the PRE Alps.

Construction of Le Pont du Loup, 1892.
Image from family archive

In the late 1800s and early 1900s, the Cote d'Azur was the place to go for vacation. Back then, people weren't interested in the beach. They wanted to breathe the fresh mountain air and to be one with nature, particularly if they lived in dirty, crowded cities, and this area was clean, pure, and very rural. Pont du Loup was one of several inland villages on a train line that was the main artery for travel, and at one time it had four hotels in a village of a few hundred people. In fact, Queen Victoria vacationed in Pont du Loup and visited La Reserve, the restaurant hotel across the street that was owned by Hubby's great-grandparents. She is largely responsible for turning this area into a tourist attraction  because where a queen goes, others follow. According to Belle Mere, other people who visited La Reserve included Walt Disney, Winston Churchill, and "that seamstress who married the king" (Mrs. Wallis Simpson).

The pillars of the pont du Loup today.
Image by jenveltsos

Near the end of World War II, however, the Cote d'Azur was the site of a fierce battle between the Germans and the Allies. Most of the fighting took place near the coast, but as the Germans retreated from the area, someone blew up the bridge. Some say it was the Germans so that the Allies could not follow. Others say that it was not the Germans at all but offer no explanation for why the railway was destroyed. One guess is that without the main thoroughfare of the railway, more roads for automobiles would be developed and property values in the area would increase, which is exactly what happened. Truth or revisionist history? In any case, the train bridge was never rebuilt and its broken pillars are a lasting reminder of the war.

The two larger hotels are also sad reminders of this village's once illustrious history: Restaurant Hotel Dozol (the yellow building center left in the modern day photo, opened 1900) closed more than 20 years ago and the mother and daughter who ran it lived quietly within its walls, a situation that reminds me of Miss Havisham in Great Expectations. (The mother died a few years ago at the age of 103; the daughter, approximately 85 years old, lives on.) Hubby's grandmother sold La Reserve in 1990. Not long after the purchase, the guests at the hotel were politely escorted out in the middle of the night and the village was shaken by a loud boom. Some say the new owner set off a bomb in the hotel to collect the insurance money; others say he was being taught a lesson about owing money to the Russian mob. Until a few years ago, the hotel was condemned because the structure was deemed unstable. Then a buyer purchased the hotel, discovered it was structurally sound after all, and began renovating it into apartments. Unfortunately, the bad luck continues: the owner and his architect have had a dispute and work on the renovations is on hold indefinitely. The silver lining is that the parking lots of these two hotels are now public parking, which is sorely needed. The Grand Hotel is now the village elementary school, which the Boys will attend starting September 2. The Auberge des Gorges du Loup, once the smallest of the village hotels, remains open and successful.

Today, as a century ago, the village's main source of income is tourism. Below the broken bridge is the Confiserie Florian, a small family-owned factory that makes candy and jam out of flowers and fruits that grow in the region. A few years ago, the owner began buying up properties in the village and expanding his business. The chocolate factory moved into the ground floor of our building because he could air condition it and keep the chocolate from melting. Sadly, we almost never smell chocolate up here. There is a cafe/brasserie to our right that closes at 8 pm every day and all day Saturday, a tabac on our left that is closed on Mondays, and Fun Trip two doors down, an adventure travel company that is open every day to take visitors canyoning up the gorge of the Loup river. The river itself is a major attraction not only for us, who visit in late afternoons to escape the sweltering summer heat, but also people from all over the region. We even witnessed a tour bus drop off a group with towels and picnic baskets. Tourists drive in and fill the handful of parking spaces available, overflowing onto curbs, yards, and once, even our doorway.

Our apartment is at the center of the village. Although other properties were available in the area, none had the proximity to Belle Mere. Our backyards (actually, side yards) adjoin, and we have been able to open sections of the fence to come and go easily. But our location also makes us feel like we are being held captive at times, and to survive, we have learned to become anti tourists. The parking lots are full between 11:00 am and 6:30 pm, so shopping must be done first thing in the morning or late in the afternoon if we want a parking space near the apartment. (We are lucky to have an alternative: Belle Mere owns a property on the road behind us, but it involves a wickedly steep and treacherous set of rustic steps that are the equivalent of about 4 flights of stairs.) We try to ignore the rumbling motors of trucks and motorcycles and the honks of cars who are impatient by dawdlers who gawk at the ruined bridge. We use curtains to block off the view of 20-30 canyoners changing into and out of wet suits at Fun Trip next door. We visit the river no earlier than 4:30, when tourists are starting to pack up and leave, and we try to convince the Boys to avoid it on the weekend...with little success. We're planning a series of weekend trips in August, realizing that we will be the bane of someone else's existence in order to get a little peace of our own.

Belle Mere assures me that we arrived at the worst of the tourist season and much of this will be reduced after la rentree, or the beginning of the school year. For now, we simply focus on settling in to our new home and watch the chaos from our terrace high above the street.

Panoramic of the village of Pont du Loup as seen from Belle Mere's terrasse. Image by jenveltsos