Once you plunge into the warren of narrow streets winding every which way, the road way also the sidewalk, the cafe tables all obstructing your path, the tall-ish buildings exaggerating the dark, narrow streets, you’d think it would be supremely easy to be lost-er than you’ve been since that day you spent six hours trying to get out of the Grand Bazaar (which you did, two carpets later). But no, the fix is simple. Proceed to the next intersection; look to your left; if you see high green hills, you are headed for the water and you are not lost. If you see only more narrow, dark, faintly foreboding alleyways, keep turning clockwise till you do see the green hills. You are now oriented.
The high hill once housed the Chateau that overlooked and protected the city below. Now it is a grand park and an overstuffed cemetery where the competition for the best guardian angel, the best inscription, the best view of the city is as keen as a serpent’s tooth. The city below, like so many medieval cities (and Roman and Greek cities before them), seems to be protected, but really any attack from the sea or from the plague or from down the road a piece is going to devastate the town while the chateau looks serenely on like that traveler on the Venetian ship who saw Icarus plunge into the sea and sailed on, doing nothing.
Anyway, I tried getting lost in the old city yesterday. I failed, so I hiked up the long hill, visited the park and the cemetery, and returned to a Provencal beef stew and grilled veggies, which turned out to be grilled and marinated red peppers bathed in olive oil and topped with local olives, giant capers, large chunks of fresh garlic, and anchovies (which I survived handsomely, thank you very much).
In the process of not getting lost, some pictures to show you the way.