October 16, 2023, Madrid Puerta de Atocha, Train Station

We have completed the first part of our adventure and are on a Renfe high-speed train about to leave for our two-and-a-half-hour journey to Malaga, Spain where we will stay at the Plaza de las Flores in the historical district.  It will be a pure pleasure to unpack for a month’s stay in one place, and to do some laundry.  My H & M dress needs a little tender, loving care!

On the road since October 2^nd, that little black Peugeot barely fit our luggage and Erik’s head tapped the ceiling because of his six-foot-four inches.  He hadn’t driven a stick shift since high school but the Italian at the leasing counter said in broken English, “It’s like riding a bike, you never forget.”  Between Erik’s hand gestures and his Spanish/Italian, the two of them sorted through the details on the car and he helped us program the GPS for our first stop in Assisi.  Once on the road, we realized the directions were spoken in Italian, so we pulled over to plug his phone into Apple Play.  You can only imagine Siri’s pronunciation of the Italian road names. Little black Peugeot below. I know, it needs a bath.   

Erik drove 1,777 miles (2,860 kilometers) and by the time we arrived in Madrid on October 15, he was taking those curves in the mountains like a Formula One driver.  Down shifting, up shifting, and his timing on that clutch was superb.  I did a lot of gripping of the grab handle on the ceiling above my seat (some people call this the “oh shit grip”) and a bit of fussing about his speed.  He was patient with my anxiety and just told me to take half of a Xanax.  I did once or twice, I’ll admit. 

Surprisingly, leaving Rome to Assisi was an easy drive, and getting to La Spezia to visit Cinque Terra for a couple of days was a breeze. 

We drove through Northern Tuscany in an area called Lunigiana.  The scenery was totally unexpected.   Mountains jutting into the sky were densely forested with so many types of trees.  I thought we would be driving through rolling hills dotted with olive trees and vineyards.  This area was the beginning of the Aupuan Alps. 

We had no idea what was for in store for us on the next part of the drive from Italy into France, however.  The A-10 is called an Autostrada in Italy and Autoroute on the French side. 

You do not want to be out for a slow Sunday drive on this highway.  And don’t linger in the left lane.  The left lane is for passing only, and Italian drivers are impatient.  They come out of nowhere and are suddenly five inches from your rear bumper. I squealed more than once. Erik was unfazed. 

The right lane is for the big rigs and getting stuck between two of them going 120 kilometers an hour is treacherous.  We figured out that the middle lane was the safest bet.

The 120-kilometer speed limit is merely a suggestion to Italian drivers.  And no one uses their blinkers to change lanes.  They just whip in and out.  Changing lanes in Italy feels like playing the old game of pin ball.  Erik smiled the entire drive.  I covered my eyes a lot. 

But what took us by surprise was the number of tunnels along the way.  We didn’t start counting until we were in Genoa.  From Genoa, Italy to Monaco, on the border of France, we went through sixty-one tunnels through mountains so massive that my breath caught as we entered each one.  I was having a tough time not thinking about the mass of earth and stone above me when we went through tunnel after tunnel!  I’m a bit claustrophobic and for an anxiety ridden person like me the tunnels and big rigs were overwhelming.  More Xanax please. Erik continued to smile.  He loved the driving challenge. 

Finally, we were through Italy and ready to travel north through Provence to reach the rural village of Moustiers-Sainte-Marie.  Erik’s sister Carol recommended we visit this small village and one other, Carcassonne, since our time in Provence was limited. She lived in Provence in her thirties and met her husband, Edward, there so we trusted their direction. We had a timeline to reach Lourdes, France and then Pamplona so our time in Provence had to be short unfortunately. 

We took the exit North off the A-10.  No more tunnels.  Whew! 

The next Mario Andretti challenge would be round-a-bouts, however.  The countryside became terraced hills planted with olive trees and vineyards, and multiple round-about too numerous to count as we passed through dozens of quaint countryside villages.  We spun around each of those round-a-bouts listening to the Siri voice instructing us to “take the second exit” over and over again.    

Second exit is Siri talk means go straight. HA!  For back up I had Google maps on the I-Pad along with Erik’s phone plugged into the car.  We had “double instructions” with two different female voices instructing us seconds apart.  At one point Erik said, “Turn her off. I’ll figure it out on my own.”  I reluctantly complied. 

We pulled into Moustiers-Sainte-Marie at 2:00.  Parking is never easy in these small villages but somehow the parking genie always arrives as Erik arrives.  The hotel was right across the street.  Whew.

Moustiers-Sainte-Marie is not on the radar for most Americans.  This little village is was built in the side of a solid rock cliff face.  It is in the Alps-de-Haute-Provence  in Southeastern France, and is part of the Parc Naturel Régional du Verdon, (Verdon natural regional park).  It also has the designation of Les Plus Beaux Villages de France (meaning “the most beautiful villages of France”) and has a population of around 700 people. 

None of them I met spoke English.  It was time for me to rely on my two years of college French and Google Translate.  Mon Dieu! 

Somehow, I had booked the perfect hotel in the perfect location through Booking.com without knowing one thing about this village.

Le Relais de Moustiers was not a fancy five-star chalet despite its name. But it was a quaint hotel that overlooked the incredible waterfall that poured off the mountain and ran down the hill directly below our hotel room window and out to gorge of the valley below.  And the feather bed was the most heavenly treat so far on the trip. 

The weather was perfect, and we opened the windows to listen to the waterfall when we retired for the evening. 

Moustiers was an unexpected discovery.  The night air was fresh and cool after having been in the heat of Italy.  The cool mountain air at 5,000 feet and no tourists in this little village was literally a breath of fresh air.