Winding our Way Through the South of France

“Oh my gosh. I can’t believe it. Just look at that view,” I said, in awe of the vista we were driving by.

“Yup. I’m sure it’s nice. I’ll take your word for it,” muttered Mum between clenched teeth, eyes tightly closed and squeezing the door handle.

As we navigated yet another switchback up the winding cliffs above Toulon, the passenger seat where Mum was sitting once again faced the hillside. “Okay, Mum. You can open your eyes now,” I said with a bemused smile. She tentatively opened her eyes, one at a time, and breathed out audibly.

I can’t blame her. If I were scared of heights, I might not have fared much better myself. If the impressively winding roads around the south of France weren’t enough, the incredibly narrow width somehow meant to accommodate cars going both ways made the ride harrowing for anybody used to North America’s wide avenues. Add to that the fact that one side of the road entailed a sheer drop with no hope of survival, and Mum’s fear of heights was in high gear.

But the views of the seaside towns in the south of France prevented me from having any such difficulties.

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