St. Paul-de-Vence

What always has been astonishing to me is the loving care, pride and willingness of people to preserve their historical past and sacrifice quite often the comfort and advantages of  modernity. They seem to enjoy belonging to and sharing with.

I’ve decided to start our journey through France not in chronological order from Paris to Nice, but randomly following the mood of the day. It’s December, cold and windy.

I’d love to take you to a sunny, warm and enchanted place filled with cicadas screeching, craftsman’s tuck-tuck-tuck, and delicious smell of freshly baked baguette, into the streets were time has actually stopped long time ago so much to our delight.

Tiny medieval village St. Paul-de-Vence is a well known tourist Mecca in Provence, Southern France.  It’s proudly listed in every guide book thus quite a popular destination. During high season narrow hilly streets can hardly bear the constant lava stream of visitors .

It is so scenic and picturesque from any angle, at any corner that you actually don’t have even to point and shoot, just bring along camera and it will do the rest.  Every step brings a sigh of admiration. The only trick is to come early ahead of fellow visitors crowds and you will be rewarded beyond your imagination.

This is exactly the picture every tourist expects to find in la Belle France , the 3D live of  the best books on  the style of  douce Provence. You hear your own steps on the cobble stones and don’t believe it’s real.

St. Paul is genuinely beautiful with all it’s patina, wrinkles and scars, lush green vines climbing freely the walls, flower pots and evergreens, painted shutters, wrought iron gates, door knobs and knocks and all those shop signs slightly moving in the scented wind.

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I wish the word charming wasn’t overused and reduced to cliché, because it’s the best one I can come up with. Graceful ageing. Passage of time. Stories to hear. Two rusty horse shoes embedded into the beam above the heavy solid door which has seen centuries passing by.

You see a tired vagabond knocking at this door on a rainy night hoping for auberge , a bit of bread and wine and a warm place near the cracking fire in exchange for his pilgrimage stories.

Or this window  encased in a thick wall  the only way for the wandering eyes of a handsome passer by to catch a glimpse of a shy local beauty weaving thread behind it.

Can’t you see a gracious little hand throwing a few coins out of this open window to an anxious minstrel performing his ballads on a tiny square below and hoping for more then a coin? So romantic.

St. Paul-de-Vence is not only a historical site, a heritage jewel in the treasure box of Southern France marvels, but a very creative symbiosis with modern art.

Dozens of  contemporary artists ateliers are scattered throughout the village and quite a few modernist sculptures perfectly compliment the traditional views. Artistic community brings lots of life and vibrancy to otherwise sweet and sleepy village so it’s not a cute jar of a tasty homemade fruit preserve but a cool glass of freshly squeezed juice  or wine with a distinctive bouquet.

A touching funny couple. Will she say Yes to his proposal?

A tiny town of fine craftsmen and sculptors who always eager to decorate every possible spot with their art or display collectibles, or just put out a few ceramic-metalic-glass ware with local ornaments and patterns.

Some studios are housed in traditional tiny spaces with raw stone walls and wooden beams, others more spacious in glass and steel carefully inserted in archways and alleys.

This place is so heavenly beautiful, authentic, so unpretentious and natural . The Alpine mountains on horizon, green hills spotted with red roofs, majestic sun light and quietness (let alone tourists). No wonder great artist Marc Chagall made his home here long before the summer nomads took it over for a season.

Happiness to be there is floating in the sky on his paintings like this enchanted flying duo over the St. Paul-de-Vence. 

And this plain and funny gentlemen, ordinary as he could be, questioning the sky with endless stare and standing on his tip toes to be closer, is probably St. Paul himself, just his modern incarnation. He is the first one to meet you at the entrance to the walled village. He is the last one to say a bientot .