A car journey along the French Riviera is captivating,
to say the least. But it is by no means a road trip in the American sense of vast
distances and devil-may-care parking. No, it's definitely a Euro experience where
credit cards pay tolls, parking is always an issue, and instead of barking into
a Wendy's drive-through I speak my best French into a speaker at the gates of
a medieval village so the garbled voice at the other end can lower the barricade
and let me in--wherein I barely avoid scraping up against the excruciatingly narrow
13th-century ramparts and almost tumble down the marble steps into the cemetery
as I back up in a desperate attempt to turn a sharp corner. That said, Marc Chagall
is in the cemetery at the edge of the town of St-Paul-de-Vence, and a wild game
of pétanque (Provence's answer to the Italian boccie) is in progress as
my shaky legs take me to the Café de la Place for a much-needed beer.

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