I board a train south and find myself on top of the world. 
The mountain village of Èze shimmers in the distance, with cobblestone passages bookmarked by clinging jasmine and stately cacti that hover over the Mediterranean.

Carved into the cliffside, La Chèvre d’Or dances discreetly, a tango of hidden gardens and reading nooks and cold plunge pools to linger in for hours.

We taste regional favorites like caramelized onion pissaladiere and Swiss chard-stuffed barbajuan and sip St. Germain spritzes heady with mint. Even the air, warm and perfumed with an encyclopedia of flora, tastes different from such great heights.
​I feel far and away, but I'm waving just the same.   

A Travel Vignette: Èze