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Laying in bed this morning, with the large glass sunroof above our head open, we marvelled at the perfect blue sky back-lighting the trees. We could hear the pouring waters of the nearby falls, as they cascaded into the pool below. How lucky were we, to be experiencing something so lovely?

Today we were hoping for a more tranquil drive in Marge. But read on. Passing through Grasse, the home of French perfume, the road climbed, affording fantastic views for the passenger. The road to Nice was also climbing and winding with lots of sheer drops and hair pin bends, but now confident in Marge, we took it in our stride. Along one of these roads, we saw a mobile barbers at a lunchtime stopping point for the lorry drivers, which we thought was a good idea. Then we arrived in Nice. Palm trees, parasols, red hot pokers, astro turf, sun, sea and traffic, lots of traffic. But the roads in Nice are both steep and narrow. Finding there to be no space at the aire, we decided to try another about half an hours drive away . No Marge the bridge is 2.9 metres clearance and you are 3 metres high. So much to the annoyance of the French, who took to sounding their horns, Marge had to do a four point turn in a very narrow road. But that's not all. No Marge, I don't think you'll fit, as the road narrowed. Marge is a tad over two 2 metres wide, it was just too tight. So another tight turnaround, and more sounding of horns. Already nervous by all this, there were the youngsters on their scooters to keep an eye on. Daredevils, who thought they were protected from harm or even death. By 3 pm, Marge's driver was fearful of a heart attack, the stress was too much. So we stopped in the Lidl car park for lunch. Our feelings, 'get us out of here, this place is hell on earth'. Nice, is a never again! On the plus side we had a lovely lemon tree next to us as we ate our lunch.

So nerves still frayed, we decided to push on for a further hour and a half. But now it was good bye to scenic routes, and hello toll roads, what could go wrong? Marge won't fit under there she's over 2 metres, reverse. Put a euro coin in the toll machine, haven't got one. Put in a two euro coin then. Sorted, we're off. Oh no, another toll booth. It will not accept the coins. Push for assistance, a voice says 'can you speak slower'. Yes, but the lorries behind would like a quick solution. Money finally accepted we're off. Long slow gradients and tunnels through the mountains, were reminiscent of Spain, We had already discussed that old Marge (our previous van, would not have survived this far today), and new Marge with a full water tank, eased up the gradients.

Tonight's aire is in the mountains, so after we left the toll road, it was another white knuckle ride, climbing higher and higher, too close to the edge for comfort, along a road not really wide enough for two lanes of traffic. It was a case of taking possession of the road, holding your nerve, and on a wing and a prayer, swinging Marge around another blind hairpin bend, hoping that we did not meet one of the large lorries coming in the other direction. Do something every day that scares you. Is it suppose to be just the one thing?

We are now safely on the aire, along with a few other vans who survived the journey. We took a walk into the nearby town.

We can tell we are near the Italian border by the design of the buildings. They are tall and narrow, with balconies on every level, each displaying a rainbow of colour from the drying washing.

Through the town, the river flows under the stone bridge, tumbling over the edge at the far end. In the square, two early evening games of boules are being played, which we watch briefly before looking at the war memorial. We notice that more civilians were killed than military personnel in the second world War in this area. Perhaps they were in the resistance.

Walking around the town, we were lured into narrow cobbled passage ways, which led to cobbled streets and the square in front of the cathedral.

As the light fades, and the air cools, the surrounding mountains are dominant. The soft lights, glow in the town down below, and the river can be heard as it dances over the rocks.

Shortly after arriving at tonight's aire, a young American man came over to talk to us. He and his partner lived in Winchester, so quite near to our home town. They are also heading to Italy to watch the Giro, a famous Italian cycle race. He was a keen cyclist, and said he drove the roads, as he would cycle them. A bit worrying. After commenting on the fact we were supposed to be on holiday, but it sometimes felt like an endurance test, he simply said, 'I like to call it life', and do you know what, we have to agree with him!

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