Epilogue

Max turned out to be a triathlete and had represented Germany (U-21) in world championships. he told us tales of strict training and bits about pulse rates - what was healthy - what it should be if you are caning it etc. So every five minutes, going for a shower, turning the pages of a book, scratching an ear, we'd check our pulse rates. The hill pushed it up to 120. The hill was no better with gear than without - which made sense since only 5% of the weight of my set up was my baggage. Even Max didn't like the hill.
Italy was just around the corner, although its not a pretty piece of Italy and the roads are not too hot. But you can impress your friends with swimming in France in the morning then Italy in the afternoon, and, if you run the few yards into the sea - you can say you are triathlete.
Lolling about on the sand and indulging in coffee while watching the beach go by was scant substitute for the Alps but it was better than a poke in the eye. We took the train back to Nice - 4.40 E - the track, hugging the cliff face, provided great views. We cycled back to Airport from the Gare. And that was that.