Morning Thoughts
In my most hectic days back home, I would turn my thoughts to this: soon I will have a day by the lake where there will be nothing before me but time. No calls, no unrelenting emails, no piles of paper, no fields of weeds. No dust in not so hidden corners, no scattered toys, dirty plates in places where there shouldn't be dirty plates. None of the things that necessarily fill our days. Just peace, with nothing pulling at me from anywhere.
I thought about this as I got up before sunrise and strolled along the lake to take it all in -- the mountains, the absolutely translucent water, the flowers, not unlike mine back home, minus the weeds.
I thought about this too at breakfast. No effort to land a croissant on my plate...
... with perhaps a wild blueberry clafoutis (wild Savoie blueberry clafoutis!), and a slice of Jean Sulpice (the chef guy) pain perdu (French toast) on the side. Because the gods deemed that I should try a real pain perdu while in France and someone brought it to my table and said -- for you. And a poached egg with mushrooms, coming up!
I look around. Older couples mostly. All French this morning. Or maybe it's that the French, like me, get up early. A woman has brought her dog -- not unusual, this is France, they like their dogs. But hers is extra special and she keeps him in a bag with a cushion, behind her on the seat so that he can feel the comfort of her body against his small torso.
Me, I am so relaxed, I could float out of my chair and float to my room, or to the garden, or out on the lake, floating, being carried by no thoughts, no churning thoughts, nothing but the will to find peace.
The Hike
My idea of a spa-like day though is not to sit but to log in a solid walk. I've visited many interesting places and stayed in many nicely situated hotels in my life and I have found that it's not a given that there would be hiking possibilities. Out the door hiking. The kind you can do at a moment's notice, without bother, without the need to get in a car to get you to the starting point. While planning this trip, therefore, top on my list of essentials was that there would be a path that would lead out the door and into the wild yonder.
The desk clerk is all prepared for the likes of me. She hands me a printout of a trail map, showing me the path that starts by the lake and climbs up the rock, the one that I see out my window early in the morning.
I should have taken note. You cannot see a trail up that rock, but it's there. And it is steep.
Initially, I'm not worried about the climb. I'm more worried about the narrow ledge I have to navigate, dropping off into the lake, a nice clear lake, but the lake nonetheless, where I do not want to fall into, with my camera and my small slung bag. When did I become so averse to drop-off ledges? (Answer: since childhood. It's in Like a Swallow!)
Nice view back toward the Auberge and the mountains though. I'll give it that.
And then starts the climb. At first I'm the eager beaver. I love the mountains, Ed and I hike all the time after all. And the desk clerk said it's easy. (I forget that she is French. The French think pedaling a bike in the Alps is easy too. Never listen to the French on this!)
But I have this new knee and I haven't really climbed a mountain or a steep rock since before Covid, and there was a warning sign at the bottom about having the right shoes for this, and I have okay shoes, but not the right shoes at all, and get this: I forgot my hiking pole! It's there, in my suitcase, packed for this day, for this very hike! (I also forgot water, but this is okay because it's not hot and I'm told within a couple of hours the trail will plunge me back into civilization.)
It's slippery! Slabs of stone, tree roots, fallen leaves -- a vicious combination. I pick up a stick, about two thirds the size I need, but it will do. I need something!
And up that rock, to my left, I have again a drop into the lake. I think about whether the few saplings will catch a fall. Maybe, but maybe not. And if I fall, aren't I glad the desk clerk knows where I went! Or does she? When I dont show up for dinner, they will go to my room and find my hiking stick and say to themselves -- she mustn't have gone on that hike because of course she would have taken her hiking stick. Probably went for a dip in the lake and drowned, oh well, let's notify the family and ask them if they wish to have her belongings sent back home. Along with the hiking pole of course.
But eventually, this precipitous narrow trail joins a major hiking route. My knee performed! I survived! (Because of course, we always survive the dangers that are all in our head.)
This is when I start thinking again about how beautiful this spot is! The forest is full of birds and I take out my app, wondering if it will identify these European warblers. It does! Great Tit, Eurasian Nuthatch, Short-toed Treecreeper (!), European Robin. A hello to you from our farmette robins!
Eventually I reach a clearing and a plateau of stone and the views are incredible.
I've forgotten the slippery climb already. All is beautiful, all is wonderfully calm. Well, until a group of French hikers comes up the wide trail, though being French, they probably could have done the narrow slippery one as well. And they're seniors too! But with hiking poles, lucky guys.
The next 90 minutes are indeed just fine. Easy even. Some ups and downs, twists and turns, but all clearly signposted so that even a child could find her way. Or a 70 year old without a walking stick.
When I come out onto a meadow, an Alpine meadow no less, I again wonder why horrible weeds do not take over these lovely expanses of grass (and likely spring flowers). I'm sure no one has exerted any effort over these meadows and yet they thrive. And behind them -- mountains. Stunning mountains. Not the high snow covered peaks further east, but mountains nonetheless. Because yes, that is what give the Haute Savoie its character, its history: the mountains.
(Do you see the gliders? No? Look closer!)
What goes up must come down, but now I am on a paved path so this is merely an exercise of keeping that fake knee steady so that it works in harmony with the other leg. No problem!
Within a short while, I am in the village of Talloires.
It is tempting to pause here -- for water, coffee, for one of these:
But it's just a few minutes after noon (the whole hike took under three hours). Too early to eat again. And so I descend some more until I reach the Auberge.
The Spa
Now is not the time to sit down. There are better ways to grow limp: for example, wouldn't it be a fine time to visit the pool? To teach my fake knee how to behave in water again?
This is what I do then.
And because the water is warm, and because I have been working on my ballet moves back home, it proves to be fairly easy to get back into a swimming mode. A few laps and I feel like I'm back in circulation.
The pool has a few of those accoutrements that keep hotel guests happy. This includes a sauna and, too, a place where you can have your face slapped around with all kinds of tonics to improve circulation, but really to make you think that you are improving circulation. In any case, I do go to the sauna room, because it has such a lovely fragrance, and it reminds me of the summer I spent on a Finnish farm, helping out, and after all work was done, us kids (well, I was 20, but still...) would run down to their sauna hut to sit as long as we could stand it (the Finnish kids could stand it a lot longer than I could!). These days, I prefer to take my minutes in a sauna without the plunge into a cold lake afterwards. And afterwards, I again feel as limp as an overcooked spaghetti noodle, and it is wonderful.
Before having my face slapped around, I go out to the Auberge garden where someone brings me exactly what I want: a wild blueberry tart (this one made by Jean Sulpice himself, or more likely one of his underlings). With a cappuccino. It was supposed to be cloudy and cool but it's actually sunny and warm and I am so relaxed that even if I picked up the newspaper and read much of the front page stuff on it, I wouldn't bristle.
My face gets its psychological boost. I'm showered, I'm refreshed, I closed my watch rings. The day did its magic on me.
The Evening
Once again I eat at the hotel, this time in the breakfast room, which in the evening they call the Marius Bar. It has light meal items and this suits me just fine because, well, breakfast was huge and I no longer need such copious amounts of food, even if I do scale mountains and do laps in the pool. (Truthfully, there were not more than a dozen laps.)
(lake fish with pumpkin and a salad)
And so ends my day of total exhale (well, except for the pant up that mountain).
Tomorrow, I will go to Annecy, which I have learned is pronounced An'cy. Who knew?!
with peace and love...
