Our summer holiday this year took us about five hours northeast to the French Alps in the Haute-Savoie region. The fact that I can drive for several hours and go from sheer heat to the coolness of the mountains is not lost on this Florida girl. A five hour drive north from my hometown of Miami would have taken us as far as Saint Augustine, still in Florida and still with high-humidity. In our compact all-electric Peugeot, we decided it was as good a time as any to test drive for long distance travel, and get acquainted with the habit of recharging it on the road.
So on Saturday July 31st, we got up at 5:00 a.m. to quickly pack up the car and scrambled to leave before the traffic got awful from all the “juilletistes” returning home and all the “aoûtiens” leaving. France has a clear division on when to embark on holidays. There is a group that prefers to take their time off in July and the secondary group aim for August. Unbeknownst to us when we selected our vacation plans, we were hitting the road on the worst day of the year for traffic congestion, or as the French refer to it “the jam of crisscrossing.” Think of it like driving on the I-95 corridor over Thanksgiving, particularly around the Washington D.C, beltway segment, frustratingly inching your way back home.
The roadways of France are well-maintained with high toll fees to subsidize them. There are rest stops along the major routes, where you will find McDonalds, Subways, Starbucks and rows of vending machines dispensing espresso drinks for caffeine starve travelers, similar to the U.S. The outside areas are furnished with well-equipped playgrounds and shaded picnic areas for families to take a break. It was at one of these, we slid into a high-kilowatt station to recharge our car for 45 minutes before moving onward. As we made our way to our destination, the landscapes of sunflower covered fields of Provence gradually transformed to the dense greenery of the mountainsides. There are many villages and larger villes along the route, but we decided to stop at the picturesque Aix les Bains, situated next to the Lac du Bourget. Our brief encounter in this historic thermal spa town had us stretch our legs and snack on fresh bread and cheese bought at a local foumagerie. The streets were busy with French sophisticates strolling about, the cafes packed with those enjoying their dejeuner, and in the backdrop was a gorgeous lake.
The winding roadways continued until we stopped at our first stay, an AirBnB in St. Jorioz, a town located on the southern west side of Lac d’Annecy. Chalets are scattered about in the residential area, with restaurants serving Savoyard cuisine and bike rentals dotting the main throughways encircling the lake. It was difficult to find an AirBnB on such short notice. The French plan for their vacations well in advance as it is the highlight of their summer. They rent chalets for weeks, book cabins at family-friendly camping sites for a month, embark on ferry rides for stays at the beach entrenched island of Corsica, and head on to Biarritz on the Atlantic coast for rest and relaxation. With Covid still in the air, the different mandates for each EU country makes navigation rather complicated so for the second year in a row, the French mainly stuck around, thus creating a high demand for rentals.
As Randy and I are not the cocktail-sipping, poolside-laying kind of folks, we decided that the best way to experience our holiday was to commune with nature and take in the cultural offerings. Annecy was our first stop in our holiday extravaganza. Known as the Venice of the Alps, Annecy and its surrounding communities are set around a glorious blue lake as its centerpiece and with the mountains encasing it. Never had I bore witness to a sight of such majesty and in that moment, I came closer to loving living in France.
Our first full day in Lac d’Annecy had us renting velos with me opting for the cruiser bike. For the majority of our 25-mile trek around the lake, the bike path was neatly defined. There were points that were under construction and you simply were riding on the side of the street with cars breezing by. The scenery was astounding as one followed the curvature of the lake. When we got to Mont Veyrier on the east side of Lac d’Annecy, there was no way around the steep upclimb. On my old-lady cruiser bike, without perineum protection, I was already painfully sore. I watched the savvy outfitted cyclists ride on their aeronautical bicycles, breezing by me and my entourage. When it all became too much and my legs could no longer push the pedal down to continue on the elevation, I got off the velo, barely able to walk upright, and continued on this way up for the rest of the incline. After whirling our way on the decline, we stopped for lunch for a well-deserved rest at a scenic cafe by the water.
I had no inkling that this peaceful bike ride was 40 kilometers long and none of us were well-outfitted for this hours-long trek. The path takes you straight into the bustle of Annecy, filled with other vacationers so we speeded ahead. At this point, my bum was completely numb, but the remainder of the ride was paved flat pathways, and I was ready to return this bike pronto to the rental shop. During the home stretch, Randy feeling playful, decided to grab hold of my bike as a way to animate my expressionless face subdued from pain and too much time on one contraption. Somehow, this maneuver caused an unexpected consequence. I ended up swirling to the side of the pathway hitting the wooden curb, then tumbling over the bike, with the weight of one side of my body causing me to curl up like a hedgehog and roll down on the side until the small of my back abruptly stopped at a bark of a tree. Luckily, I had a helmet on and a jacket which helped cushion the fall. Randy rushed next to me to ask if I could move, and I slowly made my way to standing, pulling out the minuscule thorns from a vine that my hands landed on. I was jostled, disheveled and ended up with a few scratches and bruises on my knees. What upset me the most was my beige-hued Adidas were now streaked with black oil marks, almost impossible to remove. Randy felt awful about the accident but all I could say was that “I’m okay, let’s just finish up and ditch these bikes.” Randy put the chain that loosened from the fall back on and slowly, we made our way back to the shop, me with more soreness than ever. At the drop-off, we told the shop owners that we completed the loop and somehow I picked up that they seemed surprised by this revelation. Randy and I decided to leave out the details about the accident and walked back to our nearby AirBnB.
After two nights in Saint Jorioz which included a savory visit to a Mexican restaurant run by French-Venezuelans, we collected our things for our next stop in Annecy. This hotel was adequate by European standards, but I had difficulty locating a room that would accommodate all four of us. I did not get the room that was pictured on their website, and after a discussion with the manager, knowing that I was not going to get anywhere with them on the mix-up, I left it as is so my irritation did not damper our holiday mood. So off we went to explore the “Venice of the Alps,” Annecy — a town of canals and waterways and mountain views from every angle. The old town of Annecy has retained its medieval aesthetics and as with much of France, the old blended with the new. Walking around the crowded streets, over the pedestrian bridges emblazoned with colorful floral planters, it resembled a dreamscape. Annecy became part of France in 1860, after an annexation treaty with the Counts of Savoy. The city’s cultural identity is more of a fusion between Switzerland and Italy than quintessential French, and the displays of public art throughout its streets gives it a modern touch.
Annecy was crowded and people generally wore masks during this Delta-variant Covid surge but with one unvaccinated person in our family, my 9-year-old, we felt we had to be extra careful maneuvering as tourists. After half a day of exploring the old town, Randy planned a two-hour hike to a nearby mountaintop. Barely recuperated from our 40 kilometer lakeside bike ride from the day before and my “hedgehog-roll” accident, I did not want to protest another physical challenge on my 47-year-old body. I cannot recall the name of the trail loop we did, but under two hours you climb up to 1000 feet, indicating that the hike was all ascent and then descent. Labeled as moderately difficult, my sons complained the whole way upwards as the boulders and rocky terrain created for a slippery footing in spots and the use of hands were sometimes necessary to gain traction and balance. What I am describing here is not a clear smooth pathway of brisk walking, but a few more vertical degrees would have you using a rope to harness yourself up. I’ve done these hikes before, and even if the payoff is some striking view on top of the world, I persevere because I know it will end. After all is done with, I will be proud of the pain and sweat it took to complete the hike even if I am turtle-mode slow, happier when it is over with and happiest after I shower and feel anew. I am unsure why I afflict such psychological drama on myself during these challenges, but some part has to do with showing your children that even when things seem hard, you can push through ahead. We concluded that day by enjoying the Savoyard fondue cuisine at Le Freti in the old town center, making our excursion with nature even more worthwhile.
Our nights in the Annecy hotel proved that it was too centrally located to make for restful sleep. We left the windows open to let a cool breeze into our tightly contained hotel room, but we also let in all the noises from those wandering the streets intoxicated all-night, then only to be woken up by cleaning vehicles early in the morning. We endured as if it was only for 2-nights, plus we were anticipating a visit to a truly European spa in the afternoon in the famed Les Thermes de Saint Gervais Mont-Blanc, baths pumped by naturally hot spring waters from the mountains.
During our initial planning of vacation, Randy and I wanted to stay at Baden-Baden in Germany, a celebrated health resort town that is home to one of Europe’s most famous spas, The Friedrichsbad and the more family-friendly Caracalla Spa. After updating our holiday timeline because of Covid, I decided to take a detour en route to Chamonix Mont-Blanc to another thermal spa town in Saint Gervais, just 20-minutes away. For over 200 years, Les Thermes de Saint Gervais have given way to the well-health seekers in pursuit of the high-mineral, 35 Celsius-degree waters that claim to benefit skin ailments and inflammatory illnesses. Set among the scenery of mountains and a flowing river, the old-world-aesthetic of this elegant European facility provided an instant rejuvenation upon first glance. Classically palatial-looking on the outside, its welcome reception was contemporary stark-white and polished.
I booked a family session, designated time slots of 2-hours reserved for parents and their children ages 3 – 13. We coached our sons into taking this time to bring in calmness to their minds and control their voice volume. I noticed other parents quietly telling their well-behaved children to hush as well as if to take full advantage of the wellness experience. Without a doubt, standing among these well-heeled parents, I know we were the only Americans here. We were ushered into gender specific changing rooms, given plush-robes and were provided instructions on how the facility worked, which included no children in the saunas or steam baths. My husband and son changed into the approved spa attire, body-skimming shorts since no boardshorts or American-style trunks are allowed. It is mandatory that one showers themselves before entering the main spa area. Les Thermes de Saint Gervais has both indoor and outdoor pools, several steam rooms inside and out, and relaxation and rest area with a series of lounges and places to sip herbal tea.
Randy, Miles, Theo and I wandered about each uniquely-designed chamber, floating in the mineral-dense waters. We moved from section to section, continuously disrobing, unmasking and slipping in and out of our flip-flops. The spa was fully booked and we did our best to avoid the crowded areas, but its resemblance was not too far off from the hordes of people gathered in jacuzzi pools on a Carribean-bound cruise ship, except less boisterous and lots more children. I came to wonder if this is a way how European parents initiate their children into civilized, socially-accepted behaviors, like how they are trained to eat properly at the dinner table? The children appear mild-mannered, the parents cool and collected, and the enjoyment of the spa was done without the sound of hurrying footsteps or shrieking, like one would find at a hotel pool. Randy would later amusingly comment that I disrupted the serenity of the steam room when I poked my head in to ask him, “If it was my turn now?” after spending some moments quietly meditating in the presence of a few others. After we traded places, I plopped myself down to only get the sound of trapped air bubbles from my bottom loudly bursting with an audible whoopee-cushion “pop”, only to further interrupt the tranquility. I topped the moment off with a loud Cuban-American laugh obviously poking fun at myself over this insanely inappropriate moment.
Here is where I conclude Part I of my Journey into the French Alps. Part II is all about Chamonix-Mont-Blanc: how I survived an 11-mile trail, braved a panic-attack on a crowded tramway that proved to be the slowest moving train I have ever ridden, was serenaded at 3 a.m. by a group of inebriated Frenchmen, and how we joined up with another expat American family with four boys (yes, six boys – all in one place).
Jusqu’à la prochaine fois, portez-vous bien!
wonderlifeofmom 
Loved it Grace!
LikeLike