Annecy

Riding back from town with a guy who works for the Auberge where I am staying and has spent his life in the hospitality industry, I get to listen a little to a local talk about... local stuff. I have a foot into his soul because he loves America. Not the big cities America, but, say, the Rockies ("where you live!" -- he says, displaying the conventional wisdom for Europeans that in America, there's the East Coast, there's California, and then there's everything else). Of course that would be his fave! He moved his family from Paris to Annecy because it was too stressful in  the big city. Here, his kids swim, boat, bike outside. Better quality of life -- he tells me.

You know, he smiles, we measure the health of the tourist industry in France by the number of Americans that come here. You are good visitors! You dont just go to the main sights, you travel to other parts of the country, you sample the cheeses, you understand our wines! (He was born in Bourgogne. He's going to like people who like wine.)

We talk about the weather because it's important to people who live here. The unusually long and hot summer. Indeed, the warm fall. It's not normal for it to be this warm, he says. And the winters! No snow, no cold nights -- this climate change is terrible for our planet. To move us to less distressing topics, I tell him how beautiful the lake is. He is full of pride. As if it was his own! 

In 1958, Annecy established laws that forbade any introduction of anything into the waters of the lake. Commercial or private. So it's fed just by the mountain streams. The cleanest lake in all of Europe! And no minerals either so we actually drink it with a simple filter. No need to take out calcium, like they have to do in Paris. Geneva -- their lake was pretty clean as well, but with warm weather, they are starting to get the algae. Oh, don't I know about algae! I don't tell him that back home, no one can stop people who live right by the lake from dumping chemicals on their lawns. Ed and I saw this while biking by Lake Waubesa. We both said simultaneously -- may as well just pour the stuff right into the lake...

Honestly, in all my life, I have never seen a lake as pristine as Lake Annecy. Never. If I ever come back here, it will be for the lake.

(morning walk)

Breakfast...

... and again I watch a couple bring their dog. Another small one, but this little guy is a floor dog.

What strikes me though is how full of laughter the old guy (with the yellow socks!) is. The dog's co-owner. Genuine laughter. You can't fake happiness -- in him, I see happiness.

Which of course makes me happy! Misery can be contagious. Thankfully, happiness can be contagious as well.

And at 9:30 my ride to Annecy is waiting for me. I ask him to drop me off downtown, by the shore. By the Pont des Amours (Bridge of Love). 

I start my walk here, by the misty lake, and the river, and this love bridge...

But I immediately turn into town. I chose this day for an Annecy visit because it's market day. Year-round. So, take a look at this lovely old city and then we'll go straight to the market, okay? It's a long stroll and a huge market, winding up and down the streets and across one of the bridges, so bear with me! You will see a lot of bridges!

[Market foods: beautiful tomatoes from Provence, so many cheese makers -- selling, of course, the beloved Tomme de Savoie among other great Alpine cheeses, and sausages, and strawberries! -- we in Wisconsin sell fabulous veggies, but why dont our markets ever have such delicious strawberries, even in the height of strawberry season? The ones here are from Lyon. Other fall fruits which I wish we could find in our markets: fall plums. And of course, no French market is complete without an olive vendor, a chicken rotisserie, and paella with seafood. Last but not least -- the porcini. Wow!]

(a few more bridges!)

I wont go out of my way to track down food places, but I've read enough about an Annecy pastry shop (Patisserie Rigollot)  to really want to see it. Award winning fruit tarts? That's so my thing!  It's supposed to be right by the market but even equipped with Google maps doesn't help me. I cannot find it. I have to ask some locals.

One of them walks me to it. No wonder I got lost in my search for it: the shop is hidden in the back of something that resembles an urban strip mall, only with most spaces shuttered. It's hidden in the back of a dark, awful building. And then you alight to this splendid shop. And the pastries are unbelievable! 

(cakes, too!)

I study them carefully, knowing full well that I will not leave Annecy without trying one of the pastries. But not yet. I have four hours in town before my ride back expects me to be by the lake again. Let's save the indulgence for the last hour.

Annecy is pretty, but it's not as if you're going to want to explore its cultural heritage at great length. There's a Savoyard museum, there's a castle further up. All good, but I'm not looking for every last tourist sight, in the same way that I'm not seeking out every best cheese, best sausage, best Savoyard whatever. I'm at an age where best is less important than the simple pleasure of unhurried walking in an interesting place.

So I walk. A lot! And when I need a destination, I look up a store that may solve a Paris problem for me: you see, just about the only thing I tend to buy when I travel to France (apart from the occasional piece of candy) is some interesting, reasonably priced clothing for the grandkids. Nothing extraordinary, just a nice change from their standard daily wear. And I got this idea that I could get all five outfits made from the same (plaid felt) fabric, only different stuff for all five. Shirts for boys, dresses for Chicago girls, and a skirt for the one girl who refuses dresses. And then, say on Thanksgiving weekend, they all put on their plaids and it will give me a chuckle. Only I could not find the right size of the last item in Paris. So, one person is out of luck! Unless... In Annecy...

This is my excuse for heading toward the shopping mall here. Me who hates malls. Me who hasn't been to one back home in maybe a dozen years. I find the mall.

(a mirror shot, to prove I was ... there!)

It's actually pretty enough if you like that sort of thing. With a concentration of stores you'd see in Paris, only spread out over lovely city streets there. But, stores are stores and they have the one I'm looking for and they have the size, so time well spent! And a few more blocks down, I enter the very famous department store, Galleria Lafayette -- insanely crowded in Paris, very empty and rather pleasant here.

And now it's time to take a circuitous route, via the stunning lake...

... back to the pastry store. How to decide which pastry! How to decide!!

I narrow it down to these three: the lemon, the apple and the raspberry chocolate one.

In the end, I stay with the fruit tart genre because, well, that's what drew me here in the first place. The apple tart it is:

And by the way, they have the pastry chef's cookbook on display and I look up some of the pastries and note that there are maybe two hundred steps involved with each preparation! Impressive and impossible! And yet, here we are, with row after row of perfect little pastries...

I'm back at the Auberge by 2:30 and this is the time for me to shed all warm clothing in favor of a t-shirt and pants that dont quite reach the ankle. It is sunny and warm! 

I sit down by the lake and order a fruit salad and a spritz, only they first bring the spritz with one of their savory cakes and of course, there is then one sparrow joining me in this snack...

... and then there are four more...

.. until the waitress takes the remains away. 

Since the Auberge brings some baked addition to every single thing you order here, I feel a bit sweetened out and so eventually I retire to my room, ditch the computer, the bag, ditch everything, and go for a little walk. I toyed with the idea of swimming, but that requires way more effort than I am willing to put in. So it's a walk. Sweet and short. My rings were closed a long time ago!

In the evening, I eat at the Marius Bar once again. Honestly, I should have tried harder. I should have left the premises, walked up the hill, maybe ordered a Savoyard dish of potatoes and cheese. That's what you do when you come to the French Alps. But, there's something very uncomplicated about staying put, taking the crayfish over homemade pasta dish off the menu...

... and retiring to my room. 

Tomorrow is my last full day here. I will try to make it fit the image I had when I first decided to come to the Auberge on the lake Annecy. 

Until then...

Lake Annecy

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...

to Annecy

Good morning, Paris! Good morning, city that believes croissants and baguettes are important to one's well being! Good morning to all you French people who cannot go through the day without saying bonjour (good morning) a thousand times over!

At this time of the year, Paris mornings are dark. Sunrise is just short of 8 a.m. (Madison's sun rises a whole hour earlier today.) Even though I am leisurely about getting up, about showering, about packing up my bag, I step outside for a pre breakfast walk in the gray light of predawn.

Of course, I walk to the park.

I love this time best here. You see the runners and the handful that cut through to get to work, but mostly you see empty spaces. 

Autumn is definitely felt in a park with so many chestnuts. Nonetheless, the gardens will maintain the flower beds for a long time. Something will be planted in them, in fact, even in the winter (this tells you how mild Parisian winters are as compared to those in south-central Wisconsin!)

Alright, time fro breakfast back at the hotel.

I leave this curious and culture rich city today. At around noon, I have a train, a super fast TGV that will take me all the way to the southeast of France. To the edge of the Haute Savoie -- that mountainous region that I've grow to love. To its regional capital -- Annecy.

I've wanted to see this town for a while now, but it's so out of the way, and definitely a hefty trip even on TGV trains. Not many cities are worth that kind of effort. I've long abandoned a love of urban crawling in favor of something more gentle. But I found a place to stay a bit out of the city. On Lake Annecy. It offers the tranquility I'm looking for on this trip, at the same time that it's a short ride over to the old town for when I do want to explore city streets. (It's called Auberge du Pere Bise -- a  family-run hotel and restaurant standing at the lake's edge for 120 years.)

To see Annecy, it would have been easier to fly into Geneva -- a mere 22 miles south of it. (By comparison, Paris is 350 miles north of Annecy.) But I'm not a fan of that kind of a trip. When it's an option, I do want to take a train over an airplane. And flying into Switzerland taints the trip with flavors of another country. In flying into Paris, I'm keeping it all French.

The train to Annecy leaves from the Gare de Lyon. Feeling ambitious, I decide to walk to it. I've done it before -- google gives it a bit under an hour. But google didn't drag a suitcase and wear a backpack when it ran its estimates. It takes me well over an hour. 

(French men have have conversational skills that come from years of practice...)

And I should have remembered -- it's not an especially pretty walk in that there is a lot of traffic along the major circuit. Still, with a 3.5 hour train ride before me, I like the idea of morning movement. 

And eventually, I pass the Jardin des Plates and that's always interesting, though a little less so toward the end of the blooming season. Still, lovely tree lined avenues!

And now it's time to cross the river...

(finally! Gare de Lyon...)

At the station I pick up a cup of coffee (at Starbucks! I almost asked them if they made Pumpkin Spice Lattes -- but was afraid that they would understand me to mean that I wanted one and there is not a whole lot more on their beverage list that appeals to me less). And now it's time to board the train.

The ride of course is smooth. Very fast initially, slowing down as we reach the more mountainous region of the country. On time. Pleasant. And now I am in the Haute Savoie Department (this is the place where both Morzine (February 2022) and Chamonix (February 2023) are located).

Let me tell you just a little about Annecy. Sometimes called the Venice of the Alps, the town is picturesque, sitting at a point where the river meets two canals. It's green, big on flowers, big on sport. The history of it is complicated and perhaps I'll come back to it when I actually do go into town. For now, think of it as a mid-sized French town (population about 125 000) with Medieval roots and a stunning landscape of water and mountains bordering it on all sides.

I arrive at the train station at 4:30 and cab over to the hotel. 

(on the approach, from cab window)

Too late to study bus schedules. I just want to get to my room. This one.

Trying to save money, I took a room with a "partial" lake view -- meaning you can see some water out the window!

No matter. You just need to walk the hotel grounds, or sit on the terrace to enjoy the fuller view.

I felt the water of this lake -- the cleanest in France, they say. It's actually warm(ish). Not warm enough for me though! This paddler is in a full wetsuit!

I do want to swim though. I need to get my fake knee to work well in water. I deliberately chose a place with a warm pool. Indoors! 

I can't be ambitious today. Call it a soft arrival! I want to smell the air and walk the shoreline for a few minutes and then retire.

(Looking back at the 120 year old hotel...)

I go up the hill to the village (Talloirs) center.

There seems to be a party going on in the main square. All the villagers come out for it. I ask if it's a wedding, but they say no, it's Amelie's birthday! (Is she famous, or are the villagers merely that friendly? I ask at the hotel desk -- who's Amelie?? They tell me -- she runs the Tabac (newspaper) store. Everyone knows her...)

Love, pouring in... so beautiful to watch...

All my dinners are scheduled to be eaten here, at the hotel. I'm staying for four nights and I plan to switch between the two casual eateries at the Auberge. The owners are actually very much involved with refined French cooking -- the chef of the most well known and loved restaurant here has two Michelin stars for it  (Le Restaurant Jean Sulpice), right on the premises of the Auberge. But since I am alone, eating that kind of a meal is simply a waste of money. I want to stay with simpler foods. Today, for example, I eat at the much more casual Le 1903.

One thing you learn very quickly when you try to save on restaurants in French hotels is that the kitchen in the "lesser place" is still run by the same leader who oversees the two-starred Michelin place (that's fancier/way more expensive). At the 1903, the waiter's reaction to my choice of appetizer (crayfish, swimming in a delicious sauce)  was -- oh, that's the chef's most well known dish! Well now, am I really eating in a lesser place?

That crayfish appetizer was indeed fabulous. When I moved on to the fish (from Lake Annecy), I thought perhaps there was a pattern here: the fish was lovely, but it was the sauce that stole the thunder. Remember when French cooking first came to town here, in the United States? We believed then that its value lay in the sauces. Tonight's meal surely lent support to that...

(the bread was also superb: made here, with natural yeast.)

Time to go to sleep. I haven't caught up yer from the lost night over the Atlantic! And tomorrow has to be a full day. Even if it's a "full of nothing day." Somehow nothing in travel is always richly rewarding.

And love...