what we've got

Up at five, we leave the house for Lake Geneva for the sunrise concert. We’re all tired and share a sense of unreality that being awake so early brings. To keep us going, we pack flasks of coffee and ‘l’escargot’, those delicious snail-shaped breakfast pastries.

When we arrive, there are already dozens of people there. The concert is free, but it’s still a surprise to see so many people. The conductor taps his baton on the music stand. The audience settles down. We wait…

This has to be one of the most serene moments I’ve spent amongst a (albeit smallish) crowd of people. The bains des paquis, on Lake Geneva’s rive droite, is usually quite lovely but this morning it was more tranquil than ever. We had promised that one day we’d see the sun come up over the lake. Now here we were.

At first the lights of Geneva and the moon were still visible on the left bank.

The dark before the light: the moon is top right

But soon the sun began to rise and swimmers took to the lake.

Swimmers in Lake Geneva, early morning (sunrise)

After an hour or so, the sun had risen completely and set that dazzling column of light in the still water.

Sunrise over Lake Geneva

The concerts take place most weekends during the summer; there’s no doubt we will be back next year. Like Le Tour de France, and the various beer and cheese fêtes, these concerts will remind us of the long sunny days we’ve spent here.

My wife Jennie recently told me a anecdote about a stint working as a waitress in Canada, a period in which she made ends meet whilst she studied. In the restaurant, there used to be a box passed around into which the patrons could drop their tip, hidden from the rest of the group. One tip would reappear with wearying familiarity and that tip would be a scrap of paper upon which was written: don’t eat the yellow snow.

No doubt suffering from l’esprit de l’escalier I suggested that my tip would be a perhaps more serious, even pompous one: ‘stop being offended’. I think, like irony and innocence (which are another matter), that being offended has become a real blight on the relationships in our everyday and cultural life and at its worst threatens one of humanity’s greatest achievements, free speech. Or rather, as the writer Philip Pullman reminds us with his pithy, eloquent and beautifully pitched response, you don’t have the right to live without taking offence:

Just as we have the right to publish our thoughts and feelings – and we do, now that we blog, and Tweet and share so keenly – we are equally subject to those thoughts and feelings being criticised, from which offence might arise. We show our strength through our reaction to criticism, where it falls on the right side of a law that embraces free speech.

On Saturday, me and Jennie followed the war memorial walk at the Glières plateau in Haute-Savoie, about thirty minutes from home. Unlike our previous walk to Le Grand Piton, it offered no summit, no grand views from the mountains which we couldn’t see at the beginning, and barely a place to rest and eat lunch. Rather, we followed a linked series of paths that were significant during the French resistance counter-attack during the latter stages of the Second World War. We started at the war monument.

After an hour or so of walking over the stone roads and passing the re-built infirmary and so on we found ourselves in the walk proper. We began the descent, eventually finding our way into a wood where the trees offered some shelter from the heat.

When you’re on a descent and know you’ll end up where you started, you can safely assume that every step you take down you’ll need to take up on the return, albeit in a difference place. Only on the second half you’re tired and so the ascent feels worse. When we’d walked for about and hour and a half on the way down, we knew we had some walking to do to get back. What’s worse was that it was getting late-ish: although we still had plenty of time, we needed to move quickly without too many breaks – so I started recording ‘on the run’.

I don’t know enough about the events in January 1944 to do justice to it in a retelling (you can learn more here). But we did walk through the sentier de l’attaque, the path taken by the massed German troops towards the plateau where the French Maquis were waiting. As I traced the path taken by the advancing soldiers I tried to immerse myself in their thoughts and feelings, and imagine how it must have been for them and for the French fighters they were about to face.

Despite the great interest in the local area,the walk itself suffered from several issues which made it less enjoyable than it might have been. It seems churlish now to complain – the views, were, after all, quite spectacular and the walk well signposted and challenging – and it has piqued my interest in local history, especially during the war. But sometimes when you finish you feel elated – here, we simply felt relieved.

I’m not sure we’ll take this walk again, but this doesn’t detract from the memories and respect for all the men who fought here, and the courage of the Maquis facing such terrible odds. I took some photos, too – you can find them here.

Walking guide details
This was walk Number 26 in Janette Norton’s Walking in the Haute Savoie: Book 2, South (Between Annecy and Chamonix) ISBN: 978-1852844110. It is described as a difficult / medium walk and took us about 6 hours.

I can see the mountain Le Grand Piton from my desk, every day as I work and now as I write. In the short time we’ve been here, I’ve wanted to walk it, having seen it so often. This weekend, we did.

Like many good walks, it started with a drive to a car park by a church. We left the car in Beaumont, about ten minutes away from home, and started up the steepish path, clearly able to see the tower at the top which was our destination.

And so the walk began. It was very good weather, with a bit of a breeze to keep cool. The directions from our guidebook were very easy to follow and there were very few people around. About an hour or so away, we stopped for a break, where we could see up close and personal what we’d only looked upon from a distance usually.

Two paths diverged in the wood and we, we took the one… with the red rock (it had a big splog of paint on it), which meant we were on the right track. It was the more difficult option of the two according to the guidebook, but it had better views.

The low-resolution, ham-fisted video doesn’t really do this justice, nor does it capture the scale of the view before us – and the peace in which we found ourselves, so distant from the teeming life below. Still – onwards and upwards – we’re not at the top yet. Shortly after, we reached a high spot, which I thought then was the top, and which offered views of the pre-Alps all around.

And now to the best bit of every walk we do – lunch. We had packed lunch as is normal, and we planned to eat when we arrived at the summit. I wondered if Jennie had found a good spot?

And that’s where this story ends. Now, as I write, I’m looking at Le Grand Piton, the very mountain we climbed, and it feels good to imagine myself at its summit, looking down over Geneva, and France, and our home, even this office.

A coda

I realise that posting these videos is more or less like showing someone your holiday snaps or home videos. Sorry about that. But despite my explanation, I can hear you ask: why did I climb the mountain? For that, we need to turn to William Shatner and in doing so, I hope rescue this post from mediocrity. Happy viewing, climbers. (Thanks to Andrew for the video recommendation).

On Friday morning before the day started I had a coffee with Jennie, in the roof garden to the World Health Organisation’s building in Geneva where she works. It was a lovely sunny day and unusually clear, so there are some good views around Geneva and the surrounding mountains.

I planned on taking some photos, but ended up doing some impromptu video instead. The quality isn’t great – it’s taken with an Ixus 80 pocket camera – but I think it does the job. Next time I’ll take the Canon XM2 up there and the tripod – but there’s no replacement for my terrible narration and faltering voice. That we’ll just have to put up with.