The River

I wrote this post last Thursday and put it aside to revise it before publishing. On Friday morning, a weather system moved into the aread, and on Saturday, October 3, torrential rains caused significant flooding in the Riviera. The coastal cities of Antibes and Cannes were hardest hit. Up here in the mountains, there were mud and rocks, but no deaths and no significant flooding, thank goodness. The river here rose by nearly a meter on Saturday, but by Monday afternoon is was nearly back to normal.

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It's the beginning of October and the weather is changing. It might surprise you to know that here in the South of France, the place known for its warm, sunny climate, we are on the same line of latitude as our home in Mankato. We knew this, of course, because of a ceramic mural in the university's library called Around the World on the 44th Parallel. Created by artist Joyce Kozloff and installed during a renovation in the mid 1990s, three clusters of panels depict twelve cities on roughly the same latitude:

• North America: Eugene, OR; Mankato, MN; Burlington, VT; Toronto, CA
• Europe: Nice, France; Ravenna, Italy; Sarajevo, Bosnia-Herzegovina; Florence, Italy
• Asia: Vladivostok, Russia;  ChangChun, China; Sapporo, Japan; Urumqi, China

But Hubby assured me that the warm winds of the Mediterranean sea (13 km/8 mi south) create a much more temperate climate than the jet stream from the Canadian tundra that drops polar vortexes over Minnesota between November and April. In fact, my first visit to Pont du Loup was in late December 1997-early January 1998, so I have even experienced "winter" in the Cote d'Azur. During that trip, the overnight lows were in the 20s and 30s Fahrenheit (0 to -3 degrees C), and the daytime highs were in the 40s. My pea coat was more than enough for the depth of winter. Thus, in a fit of irrational exuberance, I assumed that we would experience summer forever. In retrospect, perhaps I watched too much Phineas and Ferb with the Boys.

As I mentioned in a previous post, the river is a popular tourist attraction because it's a way to cool down on a hot day and because it's free. The water is fed by natural mountain springs, and in the spring is filled with melting snow. (Although we do not get snow in Pont du Loup, the mountains behind us, where the Loup River begins, do.) Even in the middle of the July heat wave, the water temperature did not rise above 65-70 degrees F (18-20 degrees C). But we discovered that jumping in really does help, and while Hubby and I are happy to sit on one of the large rocks to warm up, the boys can happily jump and swim and float for an hour or more. Until September, we never ventured very far up the river because the Boys simply did not want to do so. They have named several landmarks for ease of use:

The Beach, a shallow area with a clearing that is popular with families
Niagara Falls, a small but furious section where the river narrows
The Swimming Pool, a small, calm, oval bounded by rocks that appears to have been created by one of the families that used to live along the river
Carl (background) and Jay (under Boy2), two large rocks with smooth tops upon which we rest and warm up
The Swimming Hole, a large, calm area approximately twenty feet across that varies from 2-5 feet deep
Bob and Bob Jr., the rocks from which they jump into the Swimming Hole (seen in the distance in this photo)
The Suntan Rocks, two very large rocks with steeply sloping sides that drop into a wildly churning rapids area and are popular with sunbathers
Poisson Pool, a small pool upriver next to a rock that has a fish carved into it

But although the sky is preternaturally sunny, the temperatures and winds are showing more similarities with Minnesota than I would like to admit. Nighttime temperatures are dropping into the 40s and daytime highs are in the mid 70s. The last time the Boys were able to swim in the river was September 21, and they were only able to withstand the cold for 20 minutes. Summer is definitely over.

But we are not yet finished with the river. Once the Boys realized that they couldn't go into it, they finally decided that they wanted to explore it and see where all those other people go.

The path is well worn, of course, and mostly smooth, although there is a definite incline as it creeps northward into the gorge. About 20 minutes upriver, the path veers away from the river into a dark, damp copse of trees. A giant boulder shields this area from the river. Adding to the creepiness factor is a small, empty cave with a framed-out doorway; a large, square concrete basin sits in a small yard surrounded by a low rock wall. Legend has it that the inhabitants of the center of the village hid in this cave while the Germans were retreating (and, you know, blowing up bridges) at the end of World War II. The cave existed before the war, of course, and but I haven't been able to find out who might have lived here.

About 30 minutes upriver, a bridge crosses the gorge. Here on the western side, we encounter an immense rockface that is popular with amateur rock climbers because it is well mapped out and riddled with carabiner clips. (The serious climbers go further into the gorge where the faces are more difficult and less frequently used.) The path on this side is much steeper and uneven, and the rocks are slippery from use. The gorge narrows considerably here, and at one point we feel like we could almost touch the rocks on the far side. There are pools in the river that could be anywhere from 5-10 meters judging by the blackness of the water. Ropes attached to the side of the rock indicate that the Fun Trip canyoning groups probably use this area.

As Hubby and Boy2 checked out the path ahead and I read a sign about the path, Boy1 wandered a bit downriver. He was the first to see the climbers, and he raced back to tell me about it. But in his excitement, he stepped too close to the edge. As I turned, I experienced one of those moments when time seems to slow down. I watched the dry earth at the edge of the path crumble and give way, and then I watched his head sinking from view. Most of the path has steep drops to the river below, and the river at this area is filled with boulders and furious whitewater. I screamed for Hubby, and then realized that he had come to a stop. My son is so considerate that he fell off the path at the one spot that had a large, flat ledge before dropping to the rocks below. Two passing hikers helped me pull him back up and I checked him over for injuries, but he was absolutely fine. And then he climbed back down to the ledge to retrieve his walking stick. Because he's a boy. We continued our trek, but he was required to stay directly in front of me so that I could see him at all times. How's that for helicopter parenting?

After 60 minutes of walking, we find a second bridge over an immense, churning, thundering section of river. This was as far as we walked because the sun was setting in the gorge and Hubby was growing concerned about our safety in the dark (after all, Boy1 fell off in broad daylight). Even though it was only 5:00 pm, the walls of the gorge start blocking the sunlight at mid-afternoon.  A passing group of hikers reported that the trail ends about 30 minutes beyond the second bridge. In most French villages, there would be a restaurant--or at least a small cabin--where we could buy a beer or coffee and a little snack to reinforce us for the walk back. Sadly, no entrepreneurial spirit has done so here.

An idea for our retirement is born.