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The Back Country of the Côte d'Azur


Fifty miles northeast of the Côte d'Azur, in a high valley buried by snow nine months of the year, are more than 36,000 Bronze Age rock engravings. Reachable only by hiking or guided jeep excursion, the valley -- a wide cleft atop mountains 9500' high -- is spectacularly beautiful, a fit backdrop to art created 4,000 years ago. So profound and magical is the feeling of connection to prehistory here that the place is known as La Vallée des Merveilles -- the Valley of Wonders.

 

Glacier action during some past ice age smoothed the valley's rock faces, making them a natural canvas for the ancient Ligurian people who lived in the flatlands below around 1800 - 1500 B.C.

The Ligurians, whose religion is thought to have included mountain and bull cults, viewed the high valley as a place of worship and awesome power -- and it's easy to see why. In spring life-giving streams arise here, feeding into the raging rivers far below, and inter's ferocious storms sweep down from its mist-laden heights.

The ancients expressed their hopes to the powerful Gods who controlled these forces by engraving symbolic depictions onto the rocks. An arrow might represent hope for victory; a ploughed field, the wish for a bountiful harvest. Using flint or quartz tools, they peppered the surface with closely-placed, very tiny dots, creating representations of human beings, bulls, ploughs, weapons, and many other as-yet unidentified forms.

Hiking the valley is a full-day's work -- three hours each way -- so it's best to begin early. I usually journey the day before to St.-Dalmas-de-Tende, the unofficial base camp, arriving early enough to enjoy the local sights. In nearby Tende (a different town than St.-Dalmas-de-Tende) I may visit a 16th Century church with a richly-decorated interior, and then, armed with a citron pressée, spend an hour in that most pleasurable of French pastimes, café-sitting. Later I shop for provisions - paté, cheeses, bread, fruit, a liter of water -- for the next day's hike. After a meal of fresh-caught mountain trout, I retire early.

Copyrighted photo - used with permission.The trail to the Valley of Wonders begins at Mesches Lake, a ten-minute drive from St.-Dalmas, and I arrive there just as the world turns light. Within minutes I've strapped on my knapsack, tied up my sturdy hiking boots, and started uphill. Once I pass the assortment of buildings near the trailhead - a kids' summer camp and the National Park office, among others -- I'm completely alone.

Carpets of wildflowers are everywhere, dancing joyously in the early-morning sun. Gentle, tinkling sounds waft occasionally through the air, created by the movement of belled sheep grazing the surrounding hillsides. Each bell has a unique pitch, but all are soft and haunting, and their music follows me until I've left the grasslands far below.

Slowly the terrain changes. At first I move on a winding dirt path through dense forests -- chestnut, fir, pine -- but then the path levels out and the land opens onto a stretch of grassy knolls and widely-spaced trees. The first time I hiked here I grabbed a shrub I'd never seen before for a closer look: it was nettle, at the height of its late-spring powers, and its painful sting traveled with me all day long.

The trees gradually thin out, eventually all but disappearing. The path becomes rocky and rutted. I'm high in the mountains now, and the air is thin and cold; though it's early July, large patches of snow still cover the ground. I fumble in my knapsack for a heavy sweater, thankful for the hotel patron's kindly insistence that I carry one along.

The land is now eerily beautiful, earth's version of a moonscape with moisture. Small, ice-cold pools of water dot the surface of flat rocks. The residue of countless landslides is everywhere, seen in the piles of oddly-colored stones -- pale green, aqua, purple, violet, dusty red. The scarce plant life fights stubbornly for existence: tiny succulents wedge protectively into rock holes, gnarled and twisted trees extend their roots upward to extract nourishment from the stingy terrain. Such harsh and unforgiving beauty seems somehow sacred: it's easy to understand why the Ligurians made the long trek into this mountain vastness to engrave their hopeful totems.

Finally I arrive in the valley, where a primitive refuge rests beside a small alpine lake. In theory, simple meals are available here, but in fact it's not always open. I'm lucky on this day, though! I order a pot of steaming tea and nurse it while gazing at the surrounding snow-capped peaks and the beautiful icy lake. Refreshed, I continue uphill. The first engravings, I know, are at least thirty minutes away.

 

The trail has turned muddy and narrow, dotted with boulders and edged by steep cliffs. I see engravings on a few nearby rocks, but I don't want to stop until I reach my favorite place, the place I always go first. The ancients had their own peculiar rituals when they came here, and I have mine.

Far above the world is my destination: a high-sided flat red rock, perhaps one-quarter mile long. After a bit of struggle and a lot of tenacious climbing I pull myself atop and look back at the way I'd come, surprised at how toy-like the refuge and lake appear.

It's odd about the engravings. When I start walking atop the rock I see nothing; but gradually I spot one, then another, and another after that; in the end they seem to be everywhere. It's as if my vision is veiled at first by the years separating me from the artists, as if my twentieth-century perception expands backward in time with each step.

Copyrighted photo - used with permission.

I traverse the entire rock, searching out my favorite engraving. There are hundreds, perhaps thousands, of symbols on this red rock face and along its sides - bull heads, criss-crossed patterns thought to designate ploughed fields, arrows, pregnant women. It's hard to locate one in particular, but midway back to where I started I find it: a stick-figure human being, arms and head thrust skyward in exultation. I trace the engraving lightly with a fingertip, experiencing a profound sense of wonder as I connect for a brief moment with an artist who lived four thousand years ago.

I spend the rest of the day climbing over rocks in search of engravings, taking photographs, and sharing my finds with other trekkers. It's exhausting work and when I finally begin the long journey down in the late afternoon I'm bone-weary but spurred on by thoughts of a fine raclette dinner and a restorative demi-bottle of wine. By that, and by the hope that someday soon I'll return to the Valley of Wonders to honor the unknown artist whose joy was recorded for all eternity - or, at least, for me.

Copyrighted photo - used with permission.Getting There:

St.-Dalmas-de-Tende is about 50 miles from Nice. The route is windy and picturesque, so plan on a minimum three-hour drive. Head east from Nice along the A8 into Italy (where it becomes A10), then north on S20. Almost immediately you'll be in semi-wilderness but for the occasional ancient stone town perched highs above. At Olivetta, cross back into France and follow N204 through the spectacular red-rocked Saorge Gorge, home to the fast-rushing Roya River. >>From there it's a short hop to St.-Dalmas.

When to Go:

The Valley is usually covered by snow from the end of September until sometime in June. The best conditions exist from July through September. If possible, however, avoid August -- all of France goes on vacation then, and the trail will be crowded.

What to Bring:

This is high, rocky mountain territory and the weather changes rapidly. Be prepared for sudden rain squalls and cold temperatures; but, since the sun may well shine, bring sunscreen and a hat, too. Comfortable hiking boots and thick socks are essential, a compass and map a good idea. And don't forget a nourishing lunch and plenty of water.

Accomodations:

It's very difficult to get reservations at the Valley's refuge, but you can try. Everyone sleeps in the same room and facilities are primitive, so this may not be your cup of tea. You can probably get a hot meal here, but be prepared with food of your own.

For reservations write:

Syndicat d'Initiative, Tende 06430 France. As for the hotels, keep in mind that you'll be in the hinterlands. Accommodations are quite simple.

Finally I arrive in the valley, where a primitive refuge rests beside a small alpine lake. In theory, simple meals are available here, but in fact it's not always open. I'm lucky on this day, though! I order a pot of steaming tea and nurse it while gazing at the surrounding snow-capped peaks and the beautiful icy lake. Refreshed, I continue uphill. The first engravings, I know, are at least thirty minutes away.

The trail has turned muddy and narrow, dotted with boulders and edged by steep cliffs. I see engravings on a few nearby rocks, but I don't want to stop until I reach my favorite place, the place I always go first. The ancients had their own peculiar rituals when they came here, and I have mine.

Far above the world is my destination: a high-sided flat red rock, perhaps one-quarter mile long. After a bit of struggle and a lot of tenacious climbing I pull myself atop and look back at the way I'd come, surprised at how toy-like the refuge and lake appear.

It's odd about the engravings. When I start walking atop the rock I see nothing; but gradually I spot one, then another, and another after that; in the end they seem to be everywhere. It's as if my vision is veiled at first by the years separating me from the artists, as if my twentieth-century perception expands backward in time with each step.

Copyrighted photo - used with permission.

I traverse the entire rock, searching out my favorite engraving. There are hundreds, perhaps thousands, of symbols on this red rock face and along its sides - bull heads, criss-crossed patterns thought to designate ploughed fields, arrows, pregnant women. It's hard to locate one in particular, but midway back to where I started I find it: a stick-figure human being, arms and head thrust skyward in exultation. I trace the engraving lightly with a fingertip, experiencing a profound sense of wonder as I connect for a brief moment with an artist who lived four thousand years ago.

I spend the rest of the day climbing over rocks in search of engravings, taking photographs, and sharing my finds with other trekkers. It's exhausting work and when I finally begin the long journey down in the late afternoon I'm bone-weary but spurred on by thoughts of a fine raclette dinner and a restorative demi-bottle of wine. By that, and by the hope that someday soon I'll return to the Valley of Wonders to honor the unknown artist whose joy was recorded for all eternity - or, at least, for me.

Copyrighted photo - used with permission.Getting There:

St.-Dalmas-de-Tende is about 50 miles from Nice. The route is windy and picturesque, so plan on a minimum three-hour drive. Head east from Nice along the A8 into Italy (where it becomes A10), then north on S20. Almost immediately you'll be in semi-wilderness but for the occasional ancient stone town perched highs above. At Olivetta, cross back into France and follow N204 through the spectacular red-rocked Saorge Gorge, home to the fast-rushing Roya River. >>From there it's a short hop to St.-Dalmas.

When to Go:

The Valley is usually covered by snow from the end of September until sometime in June. The best conditions exist from July through September. If possible, however, avoid August -- all of France goes on vacation then, and the trail will be crowded.

What to Bring:

This is high, rocky mountain territory and the weather changes rapidly. Be prepared for sudden rain squalls and cold temperatures; but, since the sun may well shine, bring sunscreen and a hat, too. Comfortable hiking boots and thick socks are essential, a compass and map a good idea. And don't forget a nourishing lunch and plenty of water.

Accomodations:

It's very difficult to get reservations at the Valley's refuge, but you can try. Everyone sleeps in the same room and facilities are primitive, so this may not be your cup of tea. You can probably get a hot meal here, but be prepared with food of your own.

For reservations write:

Syndicat d'Initiative, Tende 06430 France. As for the hotels, keep in mind that you'll be in the hinterlands. Accommodations are quite simple.