A road called Route des Crêtes (Last part)

By Cherie Mercado Santos

Last part

At other lookout points—seemingly within an arm’s reach, but in reality, hundreds of feet away—on rugged rocks and, at times, the seemingly smooth walls of steep mountains, you would see black dots, which I mistook for trees, but upon squinting and wearing my correction glasses, I realized they were rock climbers, conquering these steep slopes. Some had hammocks installed in the middle of the climb.

On our safer side of zero-extreme adventure, where our feet were safely planted on the ground and our reliable car was waiting for us in the curb, we saw many bikers on their Harleys and Ducatis, stopping at every lookout point with their buddies or partners, letting midlife pass in spectacular views.

There were also many bikers of the hardcore pedalling type, whose muscles, upon reaching this point of the road, must have been as hard as the limestone walls. My awe and admiration for them were also as high as the altitude of the place where we stood.

Hikers abound, as well, as one can go on foot from one rugged point to another. They’re not exactly the extreme type, as the hike route can go from as easy as a walk in the park to as difficult as a daredevil worthy of a Guinness World Record.

I saw hikers who were easily twice my age, alone, with hiking sticks and small backpacks. I saw a couple who went on a spontaneous hike, with the lady in ballet flats and the man with a slight paunch in more appropriate shorts and sneakers. And some pedal bikers who hiked from one slope to another.

With the assorted characters this awesome road gets to attract, it made me ponder on life’s real necessities. Whether you’re escaping life’s stresses, trying to discover your own physical limits, just passing an afternoon or searching for life’s meaning, nature has a way of clearing the fog.

And as characters go, we might have added to the many who flock to this road to seek life’s surprises. My husband of 10 years—perhaps moved by the dramatic scenery or the vastness and blueness of the Mediterranean, or affected by the thin air at this high altitude—decided to go down on his knees, present me with a beautiful shining rock and seek my hand in marriage for the second time.

I have never been as surprised as this in our 10 years of marriage, plus the five years of knowing each other before then. I was so surprised: I had no words, no tears, no expression on my face and no wit whatsover left in me to push the record button on my already running cellphone camera.

In this world of modern technology, where every move can be uploaded or every crime caught on CCTV, I have no photo or video to capture that moment.

But it was a once-in-a-lifetime moment, when the breathtaking view was upped by an even more breathtaking moment.

I’m a sucker for romance, and my husband knows that. He doesn’t pander to my cheesiness and I have been known to complain about it. But this one instance just made up for all those moments—if there are even any—when he missed the chance to be that knight in shining armor.

It’s not the ring, which was precisely beautiful, as my husband, a stickler for quality, would settle no less for. It was the gesture, the nervousness, the unsurety, the shy gallantry of it all that got to me. He didn’t plan on giving it to me there, as this route, as I have mentioned, was not part of our itinerary. He was keeping it in the bag the whole time, waiting for the right time. Somehow, he knew that even the most romantic city of Paris and the stunning countryside of Aix-en-Provence weren’t the right place. He knew, somehow, that there would still be a better place. And this was it. On top of France. On a rugged, ancient rock protruding to a drop of 1,300 meters to the deepest blue ocean I’ve ever seen in my life.

If I had jumped to my death that day, if I had moved five big steps from where I was standing and dove into the ocean, I would’ve still died happy. But why end something so heavenly?

I was speechless for a good 30 minutes or so. He had to check on me every now and then if it was borne out of happiness or I was catatonic for suddenly acquiring a unique strain of a French virus.

There were no words. Beautiful road, perfect weather, stunning views, majestic mountains, the bluest ocean, my best travel companion in my dream destination, and the most wonderful gift of knowing the man I’ve been with for the past 15 years would choose to be with me again for the next stretch.

But even without the ring, and you visit Route des Crêtes alone (as we’ve seen many people do), with friends, with your partner, or with your dog, it is still guaranteed to take your breath away.