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.