Lake Geneva and surrounds
From Lyon to Basel
The morning of May 28 saw us up early as our packed cases had to be outside the cabins by 6.30am. I felt excited to be starting on the next stage of our holiday, but sad to leave the very friendly staff and happy memories made on AmaDagio.
David and I had become quite attached to our cabin and I wondered if the next one would feel as homely.Returning there after breakfast, I checked all the cupboards again to make sure we hadn’t left anything.‘I hope the internet works on the next one,’ I muttered, shoving the last of many cords into my hand luggage. David patted the bed in a proprietarial fashion; he appreciated its comfort and hoped that AmaCello’s would be as good.
Gunther was coming with us, which gave some continuity to the program. He had warned us two days earlier, that it would not be a good idea to pressure him on departure day as problems were bound to arise, despite his very detailed planning. He was Belgian, not German as his name suggested, and he stressed this fact, but his ability to organize all our trips, to be on hand and at his desk seemingly from dawn till late at night, was the kind of Germanic trait for which most of us were grateful.
Knowing that my back would not cope well with sitting for six hours on a bus, I reserved the back seat before everyone else got on, so that I could lie down. We had large, well sprung tourist coaches, but this gave me extra protection and meant that I reached Basel feeling fine; and I offered to swap seats for a while with anyone else needing a lie down. I think I dozed off a couple of times, but managed to see much of the countryside and if I snored it couldn’t have been louder than a few of the guys.
Heidi could yodel from the mountains
The scenery was so much like I had imagined it to be, that I almost expected a Heidi, with long, straw-coloured plaits, to yodel from the fir covered mountains.Everything about the land and the properties was neat and well maintained; vines grew up the hillsides from
Vines growing beside the lake.
Lake Geneva in perfectly straight lines, or in rows that were parallel to the lake, but aligned with Swiss precision.
Swiss village – steeply pitched roofs and shuttered windows
The houses, too, looked exactly as I expected, with steeply pitched roofs and the smaller, shuttered windows that are common in children’s picture books.
Brown and white or black and white cows, fat and contented looking, munched on grass so green it had to produce incredibly rich milk and delicious meat. I knew, without question, when we crossed from France to Switzerland.
Lake Geneva itself, with snow-capped mountains on the far side, an almost clear blue sky above and villages and farms fitting snugly into the sides of the hills below us, was picture perfect.
I’m not a great
postcard perfect,Lake Geneva and snow capped mountains
photographer but I captured what I regard as the ideal postcard image. This was partly thanks to the co-operation of my neighbor who was sitting in front of me, gazing at the same scene with his forehead against the glass. The bus kept swaying and in a few seconds that shot would be gone, so I perched my camera on top of his head. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ I hastily asked, clicking furiously before he had a chance to move or object. He didn’t speak or move until I took the camera away and thanked him. I hope he reads this tale and sees the gorgeous photo he helped me to capture.
After that the journey seemed to lose its magic. We stopped for lunch, dropped off in a large car park and advised by our guide that anything in that village was expensive, so we’d better just buy a roll and eat it I don’t know where. David and I ignored the man, in fact I told him that if I could pay for the cruise I could probably afford lunch if he would please suggest a nice place, but he was no help.
Down a side street we found a hotel where locals sat on stools at high bars outside, eating lunch, drinking beer and generally enjoying the ambience. They wore light summery clothes but to us the air felt cold, so we sought a friendly, English speaking waitress who led us to a table inside, gave us menus and water and generally helped us to have an enjoyable lunch – no more expensive than most of the places like it in France.
Fish are caught in the lakes in this part of the world, so I had their version of fish soup –more like casserole than soup, but tasty and filling. We have found that if an eatery is popular with the locals and they’re obviously having a good time, then generally, a good meal (not the touristy kind) can be expected.
Swiss wheat crop
Gunther joined our group on the bus after lunch, so I was able to ask him about the paddocks of dark green cereal crops which puzzled me. Uniformly only about 350 mm high, but dense and the colour of fir trees, he assured me that it was wheat—not at all like Australian wheat or even any of the crops I’ve seen in England and France.
Once we left the area around Lake Geneva the country became more urbanized and although we continued to travel through mountains the scenery no longer begged to be captured on camera. Several long tunnels made me feel tense and claustrophobic, especially as the lories drove fast and close to us.
We made one more stop which was at a regular place for tourist buses. It was high above yet another picturesque valley, and filled with nothing but the sort of kitsch designed to grab those desperate to take home a bit of Switzerland—bottle openers, fridge magnets, caps decorated with cows or Swiss chalets, and made in China. There was also a large display of Swiss musical clocks with outrageous price tags. Despite my hearty lunch I wandered over to the food and drinks counter, prepared to be tempted, but with coca cola, re-heated pastries and cakes with the sort of plastic icing that could have been on display for several weeks, I walked out in disgust, not even stopping to photograph the view. It obviously wasn’t made in China, but I suspected that the cows and sheds were not genuine farm material.
We were supposed to arrive at our ship in Basel by about 4pm in time to get ready for the Captain’s welcome speech and cocktails but it was about 6pm by the time we and our cases arrived at our new cabins. Everyone was tired, so the welcoming affair didn’t go down too well. The new ship’s cruise officer, a short, flustered female in her forties, greeted us with forced smiles and proceeded to tell us that we would all compare this second ship, AmaCello and its crew, unfavourably with the AmaDagio. Mumbles from our companions confirmed that they too found it a strange and off-putting reception; one that sadly, turned out to be true.