THE ALPS

In French, the word haut (masculine) or haute (feminine) means “up” or “high.”  Applied to French geography, the word means north, as in Haute Normandie, the part of Normandy north of the Seine River, much as Americans refer to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan or upstate New York.   But in the case of Haute Savoie, “haute” also connotes the other sense of the word, for the region is indeed high – high in the French Alps.

Haute Savoie is one of France’s 94 administrative departments.  Located on France’s eastern frontier, just south of Lake Geneva, it abuts Switzerland and Italy.  The capital of the mountainous region is Annecy, and that’s where we headed after our driving tour of Burgundy.

The train route from Dijon to Annecy goes through Lyon, where we spent our first five weeks in France, so we laid over for a day to attend to a few matters.  Among other things, we visited a storage locker we’d rented in August, to switch around some summer and fall clothing.  If anyone else had been present in the large facility on a rainy Sunday morning, they would have been treated to the comical sight of piles of clothing lying among open suitcases and duffel bags on the floor of the corridor outside our locker.  Eventually things got sorted between travel luggage and stored luggage, and we proceeded on our way.

ANNECY

Annecy – two hours east of Lyon by train – is a smallish city at the northern end of beautiful Lake Annecy.  Its modern areas bespeak a bustling, well-managed, up-to-date town.  The city’s heart, though, and the source of its well-deserved reputation for charm, is vieux (old) Annecy, an area of narrow streets lined with shops and restaurants that appears to have remained unchanged for centuries.   Picturesque arcades shelter the storefronts along many of the cobblestone streets, and covered passageways provide shortcuts between streets.

Street scene in vieux Annecy.

Saint François de Sales Church and Square.

An outlet river runs from the lake through vieux Annecy, and, as part of an old and complex water-management system, a number of scenic canals also are tied into the river.  Pedestrian walkways border the river and the canals, connected by numerous small bridges.  Even in October window boxes and hanging baskets were filled with flowers everywhere we looked, and we could only imagine what the floral display must look like in summer.

One of several canals in vieux Annecy.

Palais de l'Ile, a former fortress.

Crystal-clear Lake Annecy is nestled between mountains on both sides, though they are not the dramatic, snow-capped peaks that begin farther east.  During the time we were in Annecy the forested slopes took on their fall colors, which, though more muted than North America’s vibrant reds and yellows, are nonetheless lovely.  The lakefront has parks, walking and bike paths, and numerous docking facilities for boats and kayaks.  Large tourist boats put out from Annecy for daytime and dusk cruises on the lake.

Crystal clear Lake Annecy.

Lakefront park, Annecy.

We’d rented a one-bedroom apartment in vieux Annecy that Becky found online.  Besides the bedroom and a full bath, the apartment had a combined sitting-and-eating area with a compact but serviceable corner kitchen.  It also had a large rear balcony with a table and chairs, ideal for summer renters but, we assumed, unusable in the fall; to our delight, though, we had a number of mild days when we lunched on the balcony and listened to the pleasant chatter rising from the outside tables of three restaurants facing the courtyard below.

After our go-go travels through northern France in September, we were happy to unpack our suitcases and have two-plus weeks at a less hurried pace.  We typically had relaxing mornings in the apartment working on various projects, and in the afternoons we’d venture out to explore the city, take walks, visit the thrice-weekly outdoor markets, and welcome opportunities to engage with people in our halting, but improving, French.  After a month of restaurant dinners, we were content to eat most of our meals in, though we sampled several local eateries for cook’s-nights-out.

At the marché (market): Cheese, anyone?

At the marché: Becky ponders her choices.

Annecy Highlights

One morning we caught a bus that took us about 15 kilometers down the east side of Lake Annecy to the village of Tailloires, where, at the local office de tourism, we obtained a map of hiking trails in the hills above town.  We climbed up to a dramatic waterfall, the Cascade d’Agnon, where we picnicked and eased our way along a spray-slickened path behind the cascade.  Unfortunately, the overcast day didn’t lend itself to good photos of Lake Annecy far below.   Descending by a different path, we took a wrong turn, but, as has happened so often during our time in France, two women hikers graciously got us back on track, and we got to say more than just, “Une baguette, s’il vous plait.”

Cascade d'Agnon in the hills above Tailloires.

Another highlight was learning that, quite by happenstance, we would be in Annecy for one of the major events on the regional calendar, an annual autumn festival celebrating traditional Savoyard folkways.  Called Retour des Alpages (roughly, “down from the highlands”), the Saturday event features booths and other displays of Savoyard food, crafts, and music in the morning, and, in the afternoon, a parade (défilé) of various groups and clubs, with farm animals herded through the streets as a grand finale.

After several wet days, everyone was relieved when Saturday dawned bright and clear.  We spent the morning meandering among the booths, sampling some food (including delicious cider that we watched being made on a hand-operated press), and watching performances of musicians and dancers in traditional dress.

Retour des Alpages: traditional harvest dance.

Unfortunately, at midday the clouds rolled back in, and by the time the défilé started, a steady rain was falling.  But the parade must go on, and a high-spirited, clapping throng lined the route (Becky had to take photos with her camera held above her head).  Many of the paraders waved with one hand while holding an umbrella with the other.  Finally came the animals, to the delight of the largely urban crowd: not just clusters, but droves of geese (that somehow managed to walk the entire parade route), sheep, goats, and – the pièce de résistance – cows wearing large clanging bells.  Finally it was over, and the crowd, soaked but happy, scattered in search of cover.  

The deep, rich tones of these mountain horns pleased the défilé crowd.

For these geese, the défilé was a long hike.

The défilé's tail end.

CHAMONIX

Having visited the gateway to the Alps, we were eager to see the real mountains.  So from Annecy we took a train that chugged steadily uphill to Chamonix, at the base of Mont Blanc, the tallest peak in Europe.  Becky, our resourceful scheduler, had managed to book a one-bedroom suite in a nice lodge at an off-season bargain rate.

Chamonix is virtually synonymous with French alpinisme.  It is famous for skiing – the first Winter Olympics were held there in 1924 – and as a gathering place for world-class climbers who want to scale Mont Blanc and other pinnacles in the area.  It’s a pleasant town, spread along both banks of the Arve River in a narrow valley with towering peaks on each side.  It seems as though every third store on its two main streets is an outdoor clothing and/or equipment shop, and you wonder how they all survive.  We enjoyed browsing in the shops, but we have rendered ourselves impervious to impulse buying, as our luggage couldn’t accommodate a single new item bulkier than a T-shirt or an oven mitt.

The mountains finally became visible from Chamonix.

Statue honoring Alpine pioneers.

Unfortunately, the first four days of our six-day visit were overcast with intermittent rain, and we caught only occasional glimpses of the mountains through the low clouds.  We didn’t let that deter us from poking around the village and taking two enjoyable hikes, but the conditions weren’t what we’d come for.

But on day 5 the front moved through, and the mountaintops gleamed in brilliant morning sunshine above a river-hugging mist that soon lifted.  We donned our warmest clothes and walked to the téléphérique (gondola) that would carry us to a thin-air overlook of Mont Blanc and the surrounding peaks.  In the summer and winter high seasons, long lines wait for the gondola, and reservations are recommended.  But we walked directly to the ticket window, plopped down our 100 euros (wince), and stepped onto a waiting car.  As we ascended, Chamonix got tinier and the cloudless sky turned a deeper blue.

A téléphérique car ascending toward the Aiguille du Midi.

After switching gondolas at a platform that is a popular trailhead for hikers, we rode up to the Aiguille du Midi.  As the name implies (aiguille means “needle”), the site is a narrow summit on which, in an impressive feat of engineering, a large facility has been built, with a restaurant and a cafeteria, a small museum, and numerous outdoor decks affording breathtaking views of the mountains.  (We were glad to have dressed warmly, as the outside temperature was in negative digits centigrade.)  For an hour we moved from one deck to another, obsessively snapping photos – if you’ve taken a photo of a gorgeous mountain and take three steps to your left, you need another picture from this new angle, right? – and watching some climbers and skiers.

Viewing platforms at Aiguille du Midi.

Mont Blanc, at 15, 781 feet, is the highest peak in the Alps. 

These spires attract some of the world's best climbers.

We then visited the museum, which features amazing videos of climbers, skiers and paragliders engaged in extreme Alpine sports, and had lunch in the cafeteria before descending to Chamonix.  We exited the gondola into an afternoon so warm that people were sitting at outdoor tables at restaurants and cafés, and we started peeling off layers as fast as we could.

Our apartment overlooked a large field, which, we learned, is a convenient landing zone for paragliders.  These appeared along with the sunshine, and over the last two days of our visit we watched at least 20 'chutists descend gracefully past our balcony.

A paraglider's soft landing.

The good weather held for our last day, and we took a long hike on a trail that runs along the north slope of the valley several hundred meters above the river.  We ate lunch at a table outside a small chalet that offers food and drink for hikers, tilting our faces toward the glorious sun.  A fitting climax for our time in the Alps.

At the Chalet la Floria on our last day, a table with a view.

The next morning we boarded a train headed downhill, thinking ahead to our next stop, in a region called Dordogne.

           

  

BURGUNDY AND THE MIDDLE AGES

Traveling through Bourgogne (Burgundy) is to be transported, as by a time machine, back to the Middle Ages.  While all of France is replete with the cathedrals, abbeys, fortresses and castles that are the stone legacies of the centuries between 1000 and 1500, Burgundy is notably rich in these memorials not only of a bygone time, but also of a bygone worldview.

In addition, Burgundy’s rural landscape is beautiful.  To quote from our trusty Fodor’s, “Passed over by revolutions, left unscarred by world wars, and relatively inaccessible thanks to circuitous country roads, the region still reflects the lovely pastoral prosperity it enjoyed [in medieval times].”

Burgundy landscape viewed from the hilltop town of Vézelay.

Dijon

We took a train from Strasbourg southwest to Dijon, effectively the capital of Burgundy.  (Dijon is also renowned for mustard, though the hand-made variety on which the city’s fame was built is becoming increasingly rare.)  At the heart of the city is the magnificent Place de la Liberation, bounded on one side by the Palais des Ducs (Dukes’ Palace).  For more than a century, 1364-1477, Burgundy was ruled by a succession of four dukes, who were essentially kings and who fought to maintain Burgundy’s ancient sovereignty and independence from France.  Only upon the death of the last in this line did Burgundy become part of France.  (If you’ve mastered Rubik’s Cube, you should tackle understanding Burgundian succession starting in the 11th century.)

The elegant Palais des Ducs was the seat of ducal power throughout that pivotal century.  Today it houses Dijon’s Fine Arts Museum, in one of whose wings are displayed the richly ornamented tombs of two of the dukes – Philip the Bold and his son, John the Fearless (why don’t we have names like that anymore?) – together with a large collection of medieval art and objects related to the dynasty.

Palais des Ducs, Dijon.

Tomb of Duke Philip the Bold and his wife, Museum of Fine Arts.

Detail from the pedestal of the Duke's tomb.

To see the other highlights of Dijon, we followed the “Owl’s Trail,” a walking route through the city that connects numbered points of interest by means of bronze arrows embedded in sidewalks and emblazoned with an owl (the symbol of Dijon), together with a corresponding pamphlet.  Though the commentary in the pamphlet was pitched at the level of a sixth-grader, we still found the self-guided tour enjoyable and informative.

Notre Dame Church, Dijon.

Close-up of gargoyles on the facade of Notre-Dame church.

View of the rear of Notre-Dame church from a medieval Dijon street.

Jardin Darcy, Dijon.

Several days later, we would follow a similar trail through the city of Auxerre, in that case named after “Cadet Roussel,” an 18th-century town official and beloved eccentric, which was accompanied by a better guidebook.

We found Dijon to be a lovely and interesting city, and we understand why it is said to be a favorite of many visitors to France.

Our Route and the Terrain

After two days in Dijon, we rented a car for our tour of the region.  As in Brittany and Normandy, we took suggestions from Fodor’s and the DK guidebook, “Back Roads of France,” to map out a five-day itinerary that took us to six cities via lightly traveled roads through Burgundy’s scenic landscape.  Our route took us north to Troyes (pronounced like the French word for three, trois), west to Sens, southeast to Auxerre, south to hilltop Vézelay (with an eastward detour to see the Fontenay Abbey near Montbard),  southeast to Autun, east to Beaune, and northeast back to Dijon to complete the loop.

Our 17th century hotel (with sloping floor), Troyes.

15th century clock tower, Auxerre.

Between the cities we drove through a rolling terrain of fields, pastures and woodlands, and occasionally, as between Vézelay and Autun, over stouter hill ranges.  To our surprise (being city folk), we saw many farmers on large tractors pulling tillers across vast fields; we assume this autumn plowing facilitates the soil’s absorption of fall rains and winter snowmelt.  Though we saw fewer cows than in Normandy’s dairyland, we saw many pure white Charolais beef cattle.  (French restaurant menus often note that their dishes are made from French Charolais beef; we’re not sure if this is just a point of national pride, or if it arises from concerns about supplements in American beef.)

Burgundy village and fields on the road from Vézelay to Autun.

As the days and miles passed, we were surprised not to have seen any of the fabled Burgundy vineyards.  Then, on the next-to-last day, as we approached Beaune from Autun, we suddenly saw vineyards occupying every available square meter of soil and climbing the hills on both sides of the valley (we even saw a small graveyard with grape vines growing right up to the surrounding wall on all four sides).  Plump grapes could be seen on many vines, nearly ready for the late-October harvest.  Yup, we’re in Burgundy all right.  

Vineyard west of Beaune.

Grapes nearing harvest time.

Cathedrals and Churches Galore

The towns we visited are favored by guidebooks primarily because they feature particularly notable examples of the Middle Ages’ penchant for erecting monumental and stunningly beautiful places of worship.  The main architectural styles reflected in the cathedrals, basilicas and churches that dot the region are Romanesque (pre-10th to 13th centuries) and Gothic (13th to 15th centuries); however, because many of the edifices were built and improved over generations, they often incorporate elements of both styles, and sometimes creative blendings of styles.

Such blending produces a magical result in the Romanesque St. Madeleine Church in Troyes, to which was added in the 16th century an exquisite rood screen that separates the choir (the area around the altar, reserved for clergy) from the nave (where the laity sit).  According to one source, the screen is one of only six that survive in France, many others having been destroyed during the French Revolution.  The church also includes rare colored statues, with remarkably subtle flesh and garment tones.

Gothic rood screen added tot he Romanesque St. Madeleine Church, Troyes.

Detail of rood screen, which separates the clergy from the laity.

A rare colored sculpture of Jesus, St. Madeleine church.

In Burgundy, the purest Romanesque church we visited is the St. Madeleine Basilica, perched on a hilltop in Vézelay.  In the 11th and 12th centuries, pilgrims from all over Europe flocked to the basilica, which was believed to house the bones of Mary Magdelene, but when the claim was disproved, the pilgrim trade slackened.

The Romanesque St. Marie Madeleine Basilica, Vezelay.

Detail of Romanesque frieze (note elongated figures).

Another Romanesque highlight was the 11th  century crypt that lies beneath the later St. Étienne Cathedral in Auxerre.  Besides being a carefully preserved example of Romanesque architecture with its characteristic arches and columns, the crypt has extraordinary 900-year-old ceiling frescoes, including a painting of Christ on a white horse, as described in the Book of Revelation.

11th century Romanesque crypt beneath a later Gothic cathedral, Auxerre.

The crypt features 900 year-old frescoes on the ceiling, including this one of Jesus.

As for Gothic churches, with their soaring towers and stately buttresses, it would be cavalier to say they’re a dime-a-dozen in France, but that’s not far from the truth.  We’d already seen on this trip spectacular Gothic cathedrals in Rouen, Paris, Reims and Strasbourg.  Perhaps that made the lovely Gothic cathedrals and churches we saw in Troyes, Sens, and Auxerre somewhat less special (yes, we’re concerned about becoming jaded), but, for all their similarities, each of these edifices has unique features that make them worth visiting.  Whatever one’s religious beliefs, you can’t help but be moved by the ethereal beauty of these structures’ heaven-stretching vaults and glorious stained-glass windows, as well as by the palpable sense of reverence that pervades them (at least, when devoid of tourist groups).

The Gothic Cathedral of Saint-Etienne, Auxerre. 

Joan of Arc stained glass window, Auxerre cathedral.

Seeing these magnificent edifices in such profusion – many cities in Europe, including smaller ones like Auxerre, have multiple Romanesque and Gothic churches, the lesser ones only slightly less awe-inspiring than the great cathedrals – can’t help but make one ask, what religious, social, economic, artistic and technological factors lay behind this eruption of church building over half a millennium?  What compelled European societies in the Middle Ages to commit an enormous portion of their financial and manpower resources to this collective undertaking?  Many historians have studied these questions, including the great American historian Henry Adams in his Chartres and Mont St.-Michel, and no doubt there are many plausible explanations.  At the end of the day, though, the thought-forces of the Middle Ages may simply be incomprehensible to the modern mind.

Interior of Gothic cathedral, Sens.

A stained glass window (including Good Samaritan story), Sens cathedral.

Two Other Medieval Gems

Besides the cathedrals and churches, we saw two other noteworthy medieval institutions.  Outside Montbard, we visited Fontenay Abbey, founded by the Cistercian Order in 1118.  According to a visitors’ guide, “The Cistercians wished to reform monastic life, and to fully apply the rules of St. Benedict (5th century), which prescribed a life of poverty, lived in self-sufficiency and solitude.”  Hard physical labor was central to the order’s way of life, and besides farm work, the monks engaged in mining and the production of iron tools.  The abbey flourished into the 15th century, when the order declined.  The 10-building complex includes a church, the monks’ dormitory, and a forge with an innovative hydraulic hammer powered by a waterwheel.  In 1906 a wealthy banker and art collector from Lyon purchased the property, which had been turned into a paper mill, and restored the abbey to its present pristine condition.    

Monk's passageway, Fontenay Abbey.

12th century church, Fontenay Abbey.

Part of the Fontenay Abbey complex.

In Beaune, we saw the Hôtel-Dieu (also called the Hospices de Beaune), an impressive structure built around a lovely courtyard, built as a hospital to dispense free care to the poor.  The hospital was founded in 1443 by Nicolas Roland, chancellor to the Duke of Burgundy, and his wife, Guigone de Salins, who continued to direct the hospital after her husband’s death.  The endowed hospital provided care for more than 500 years, until a modern replacement was built in 1971.  A huge altarpiece for the hospital’s chapel, tapestries, and other artworks commissioned by the founders are also on display in what is now a museum.   

Courtyard of the15th century Hôtel Dieu, Beaune.

A Note on Restoration

Everywhere we’ve traveled in France, legacy buildings are being cleaned, repaired and restored.  We don’t know if this is an ongoing effort or the result of a recent policy development.  Whatever the cause, it’s heartening to witness this work in progress.  (It must be said, though, that many a desirable photograph has been spoiled by the presence of scaffolding.)

Restoration of France’s great buildings is not a new phenomenon, though, as we discovered when we kept bumping into the name of Eugène Viollet-le-Duc in guidebooks.  Viollet-le-Duc (1814-1879) was a French architect who, starting in the 1830s, was commissioned to restore a remarkable list of famous medieval structures, including Notre Dame cathedral in Paris, the St. Madeleine basilica in Vézelay, the Hôtel-Dieu in Beaune, and the fortified city of Carcassone, among many others.  Evidently Viollet-le-Duc is controversial in conservation circles, as he was an interpreter and embellisher of great buildings, and not a strict restorer, but it’s recognized that many famous structures would have been lost without his efforts.    

Church in Nancy showing results of a multi-year cleaning project.

We dropped off our rental car at the train station in Dijon and boarded a train for the next phase of our journey, in the French Alps.