Greetings at Thanksgiving, we hope everyone will enjoy this day to the fullest. For us it was just another day in paradise. We finally made our way over to St. Paul de Vence and the Fondation Maeght. It may be my favorite museum in all of Provence, Deb is holding out. It was founded by a German family, Maeght, in the 50’s when they really committed to modern art and artists. They purchased works and befriended the artists then in the end created a museum. They build a beautiful estate high on a hill very near to St.Paul de Vence where Marc Chagall was living. To get there requires an effort if one is committed to public transportation. For us it started with a tram ride to the west end of Nice then a transfer to a local bus over to another station in 
Cagnes-sur-Mer. Interestingly all the trams and busses are electric and at some of the terminals they have high capacity charging apparatuses. The bus pulls up to the stop and a charging arm lowers from the ceiling and commences charging as the bus unloads and reloads. Today as the bus pulled up there were a large number of people waiting. Impatiently as it turned out for one man, as he charged over to the bus and accosted the bus driver for some perceived misdemeanor. The driver responded, Tough! Even I need a toilet break now and again and a cigarette. He then walked off and everyone trooped on to the bus to wait for him to finish his break. In a short while he came back and off we went.
From there we took a second local bus that followed a ridge line road from the sea up to an almost 500ft elevation, where the town is located. We had a few minutes wait for our connecting bus in Cagnes-sur-Mer. But presently the bus came and this time we had 4 people on the bus, basically a large limousine. When we arrived at St.Paul de Vence 3 of us got off.
The last time we were here Deb had reached her limit after our visit to Fondation Maeght. So she waited for me to explore the town for a few minutes after our lunch. Since then I’ve never missed an opportunity to let her know that ‘it was such a wonderful visit, so beautiful, blah, blah, blah”. But it really was, so I was very happy we began our adventure by strolling through the town. We made our way to the ramparts which circle the town and began walking. Immediately we came upon several little restaurants that had open patios that sat right at the wall’s edge. Spectacular views over the valley below and all the way down to the Mediterranean. We assessed them and walked on to see if we might have other options before making a 
decision. That led us to walk about three-quarters of the way around the town, it’s very small. At the southern end of the town is the cemetery where Marc Chagall is now buried, so I made a little pilgrimage. We were never particularly interested in Chagall, nor impressed, until we visited his museum in Nice. There we were treated to an extensive exhibition of this works and came away much more receptive to his talents. But I digress. The streets in St Paul are just as tiny as the streets in Eze, but the gradients are not nearly so severe. We were able to walk all through the town in less than 30 minutes, it’s tiny. Plus I don’t believe there were over 100 people walking the streets, so it was magical. Also, there were no restaurants open and very few shops, so it’s a two edged sword. I was able to navigate across the width of the town and got to a staircase that terminated exactly where the open restaurant were situated.
We started our usual heming and hawing about which to choose, but I was getting hangry, so we chose one that had more diners. It seemed more appealing to Deb so that’s where we ate. We sat at a table that was a hybrid of outside and inside right at the opening of the place. The first thing the server said was that they were out of three different menu items, any of which would have been a good choice. So we looked at other options and finally settled on the Nicois raviolis stuffed with mushrooms in a mushroom sauce with a slice of fois gras garnish. It was the special of the day and came with a salad. I probably would have ordered something else, but I have to say it might have been a mistake because the ravioli were delicious. Our server also told us that this was the first day they had opened since their ‘fermeture annuele’. That is the several week period when the business shuts down and the employees have their vacations. So the kitchen was really just getting heated up again. We sat next to a woman who was dining with her mother, who had come from Spain. Evidently the young woman was a local because so many people came by to chat with her and to meet her mother. The waiters even moved them to a larger table and sat visiting with them off and on. But we were focused on visiting the museum, so we didn’t linger.
It’s probably a 20 minute walk from the town to the museum and there are two or three choices of how to go. You can go down the hill to the road that leads up to the museum or you can take a couple of roads that basically traverse across the face of the hill. We chose the later, it begins with a moderate climb up from the town and then basically runs flat and downhill to the museum entrance. Because it it limited to residents it’s a very quiet way to go. Once you get to the museum entrance the road to it becomes the hardest climb of all. Once again Deb would have had her physical therapists in raptures of delight at her ability to navigate all the walking and climbing. We arrived at the museum around 3:30 but since it’s open until 6:00 we knew we had plenty of time for our visit. There is a sculpture garden just inside the perimeter walls leading up to the building. In it are several monumental pieces by sculptors like Eduardo Chillida, Barbara Hepworth, Jean Arps, and Henry Moore. When you go inside, across from the entrance 
is a courtyard with several Giacometti sculptures tastefully arranged. The crowning glory of the outdoor sculpture is however a full labyrinth garden created by Joan Miro comprising over a dozen larger than life sculptures. All tied together by Ariadne’s thread, in this case a white line painted on the top of the enclosing courtyard walls. They are all monumental and created in clay, bronze, steel, concrete and marble. They were designed to be followed in a set order, but that’s not our way, we went through backwards, Miro would have approved! Maybe. It was coming on towards 4:30 when we left and walked back to St.Paul village to catch a bus towards Nice. But the sun was down when the first bus picked us up and completely dark for the ride back to town.
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| A hanging sculpture |
The bus ride back was not without it entertainment provided by a young garçon. He boarded with his mother when we did but the youngster came to sit towards the back of the bus. His mother, not being a fool, sat at the front of the bus. He began talking with whomsoever happened to be sitting near him and engaged to converse with them for the entire hour of so of the ride. For a large part of the ride his victims were high-schoolers who were incredibly nice with him. He asked them questions and they answered and then he answered their queries in turn. At one point he observed that one of the young women spoke pretty well, which had everyone laughing out loud. For a 4 year old he was very outgoing or maybe they’re all that way.
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