“All truly great thoughts are conceived while walking.” —Friedrich Nietzsche

Though born in Germany, Nietzsche was a Mediterranean at heart. After giving up his professorship, he pursued the life of a private scholar, moving between Switzerland, Italy, and France in pursuit of a climate conducive to his chronic illness. Under surprisingly similar circumstances, I found myself in the South of France earlier this year and figured I’d spend a day exploring Èze, the town that Nietzsche lived in. I expected a small village, clear air, and maybe a nice view, but when I arrived found a surprisingly daunting hike ahead of me.

The village where Nietzsche stayed is at the top of a 50-minute hike; it was on this exact path that he found the inspiration to complete his masterwork Thus Spoke Zarathustra. The trail is dotted with signs displaying quotes from his works, and at the base of the hill is a passage from Beyond Good and Evil, conveniently translated into both French and English.

I encountered few people on my ascent, which was especially odd considering it was the height of Éze’s vacation season: warm enough to enjoy the sun and breeze from the French Riviera, and not yet so hot that it became unpleasant. I think Nietzsche would’ve preferred it this way; despite Nice, Cannes, and even Marseille being colonized by tourists, the trail was an exercise in solitude.

About halfway through, I began to wonder how he managed to do this steep climb often, in light of coming here due to poor health in the first place. Almost immediately after thinking this, I realized how modern my thought was. If you’re unwell, the last thing you should do is sit around bemoaning your misfortune; the answer is vitality, which can be found in nature. I suspect this was the underlying reason behind Nietzsche’s departure from the University of Basel in Switzerland—for what atmosphere is more stifling than a Classics Department?

The photos fail to capture how bright the hues were and how vibrant the contrast was between the water, sand, and trees. Even compared to the sun-kissed pastels of the Nicean houses, I was impressed that nature could produce such vibrance (and yet our cities are built with concrete and the same four shades of bluish gray).

Having ascended the path, your finally enter Éze Village, and are greeted from a passage from Nietzsche’s last book, Ecce Homo, where he discusses how he wrote Thus Spoke Zarathustra:

“The decisive part of Thus Spoke Zarathustra which I entitled “Old Tables and New Ones” was composed during a very steep climb between the station and the wonderful village of Éze. It was when inspiration flowed in me most creatively and richly that my muscles work best.”

The village itself is an eclectic mix of Medieval fortress-style buildings and classical statues. I was denied entry to the prestigious Michelin-starred restaurant, Chateau de la Chevre d’Or, on account of looking like a vagabond. Perhaps it was for the best—this was an occasion for reflection rather than indulgence.

After failing to find anything Nietzsche-related beyond the signs on the trail, I decided to make my way back down. I doubt Nietzsche would think very highly of the place today. The trail he once took to ponder Zarathustra’s words now only led to another bourgeois vacation hotspot beyond his price range and beneath his tastes. The contrast between the crowds of the village and the seclusion of the trail was shocking but not surprising, as the very ideas discussed on the signs are forbidden today.

Yet there is solace to be found. Though by a professional failure in his own lifetime, censored and hated in the 20th century, and misrepresented by politicians across the political spectrum in the 21st, there are still those who will brave the hills of Èze for a glimpse at what Nietzsche might have seen.

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