Having chugged a double latte from MacDonalds, I arrive at the meeting place with 3 minutes to spare and pile into the charter bus along with everyone else. Stories from the night before are still circulating, but generally we're too exhausted to offer much more than a groan or smile at the memories. At 8:15 we're still loitering against the curb, waiting for Andres who comes sprinting out of the metro out of breath and grumbling about his bus driver who took as long as humanly possible that morning. Finally, finally, we're off... Driving along the highway toward our first stop: Annecy.
As Lyon trickles, the French countryside sprawls out for far as the eye can see. Green grass, blue skies, bright sun. The only thing you don't see? Billboards. It's fantastic the measures the French government has gone to to ensure a pleasant, uninterrupted view of how gorgeous its country is. I appreciate it. During those 2 hours, the meadows and plains gradually transform to rolling hills then scattered peaks and soon we find ourselves at the back of the French Alps... and Annecy.
Admittedly, my first impression was a bit... unusual. I've mentioned the state of French public toilets in my previous post, but even I was taken aback when we lined up outside the restrooms. Seeing the girls one by one turn back and walk away shaking their heads, I finally step into the bathroom and discover that within each stall is not a toilet but a literal hole in the ground.... I'll just say thank goodness for kleenex and hand sanitizer. Continuing with Annecy, it truly is paradise. The water is the shade of blue you expect in a Monet painting: simultaneously blue and green and so impossibly beautiful it can't be a true feat of nature. The mountains crown the distance, hazy but promising, and tourists settle beneath the trees for a snack while they watch the swans swimming through the lake. The swans ebb close the edge without fear, and me being me, I take advantage of the situation.
I handfed swans in the Alps! This is really my life. I can't believe it myself. Once I run out of crackers, the swans are in a better mood and I catch the male and female courting... In the shape of a heart! What is this place?
When I think I'll soon see the seams, the plastic edges, the proof that this is all some fantastical mirage, we pile onto a boat and take a tour of the lake... Simply: my mind is blown.
This impossibly beautiful water is sparkling, the sky is dotted with fluffy white clouds, the mountains are rolling in the distance, sailboats glide past... The air is crisp and whipping around my face. My stomach is empty and growling, but I would rather circle the lake endlessly. I can't imagine that anything could potentially rival this experience. Then we dock and head into the actual city of Annecy which has been preserved with such quaint charm that I feel I've stepped into some Disney movie.
We wander aimlessly through the narrow streets, necks aching with how we try to take it all in. When our stomachs protest, we settle beneath the shade of a small cafe and order the plat du jour: tartiflette. We haven't the slightest clue what that is, but that's a recurring theme in our lives. We order blindly and are rarely disappointed. Turns out a tartiflette is as fantastic as the city surrounding us: potatoes, bacon, and melting bubbling cheese.
And for a dessert because our lives are not decadent enough, we alternate between the fondue au chocolat and apricot tart which I obviously couldn't resist.
Bellies first, we waddle through town and poke our heads into little shops to consider all the knick-knacks before we are called back to the bus and head off to the Chateau de Menthon where our bus wobbles unsteadily through tiny forest roads. We all collectively hold our breaths at every turn and try not to peer out at the fall awaiting us.
The views are anticipated but no less spectacular. We take a tour of the old Chateau, and I'm most interested to learn their gigantic library houses an original 1st edition encyclopedia. How cool is that? Once the tour is finished, we're exhausted and ready for a place to rest. We pile into the bus a final time, ride an hour to Chamonix, and discover our fancy hotel is in fact a fancy, French Best Western. Even so, it's the best Best Western I've ever been to! Stephanie, Tara, and I share a room with three twin size beds. We rest for an hour watching a French version of Jeopardy which makes no sense to us before we head downstairs for dinner... Tartiflette again. And we enjoy it again. You're only in France once! Two glasses of wine, and I'm exhausted. I pass out in my bed by 11 while Tara and Stephanie settle into bed. We have to be up at 7:30 and ready to explore the mountain. I have no idea what to expect...
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