Switzerland by coach in a day

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.

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Lyon – Painted walls and Secret Passages

Lyon is also known as the gastronomic capital of France, although, having eaten very well at stops along the way, and having spent time in Paris, I wonder about this claim.

so many delicacies to choose from

Our guide for the day, being from Lyon, stressed that her city, although the third largest one in France, is actually the second largest if you take in the whole metropolitan area.

Bottom right corner, note the projector

She led us from the river to a large building with famous characters, mainly from the region, painted on the outside walls at every level. The Lumiere brothers, who invented cinematography in Lyon, are featured, and an image of Paul Bocuse stands at street level in what could almost be a restaurant.

Because the city, even the old part, is so much larger than our other stops, we had to travel by bus through much of it, but then we stopped to walk through a few traboules (secret passages,) which have been used for centuries as short cuts through private dwellings and were useful during the German occupation for hiding people and goods.

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Ardeches Steam Train

Ardeche and Doux Gorges

Plants sprout from steep rock face

Ardeche steam train

Moored near Tournon, we decided to take the easy outing on the Monday holiday and travel by a vintage steam train up to the top of the hills. Stunning scenery – water rushing below us, greenery clinging to and sprouting from impossibly steep, impervious looking rocks, and the rock formations themselves, begging to be photographed. Several of our group caught bits of grit and smoke in their eyes, hair and any other body parts that happened to be in the way of our engines by-products.

The journey brought back memories of my trips to Kalgoorlie when I was four or five. My uncle was someone important (I never thought to ask what his role was) on a gold mine near Kalgoorlie. I travelled there with my grandparents and my mother, so it must have been during the war years, when dad was away in England. The flying cinders and the smell of the coal fired steam captured it all for me.

Avignon, Pont du Gard and Uzes

Le Pont D’Avignon

Pont d’Avignon was worth a photo or two, simply to say we’ve seen it. Avignon seen from the river, with its medieval walls surrounding the papal palace and the town

Vegies but such French panache

makes another pleasing photo, but otherwise the visit was not very impressive, except for the markets.

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Cruising the Rhone River–Arles and Van Gogh

CRUISING THE RHONE RIVER IN FRANCE

Arles and Van Gogh

Van Gogh painted irises while in Arles

Finding the rest of the group in the airport at Nice was an adventure as no-one stood near the information counter and the staff there new nothing of our arrangements, but Australians have that certain look (never mind the accents) so we found several other equally puzzled prospective AmaDagio travellers and eventually our very French guide arrived to collect us and bundle us onto the coach. The itinerary said it would take about an hour and a half, but in fact it was a three hour trip from Nice to Arles. We arrived as most of the passengers were about to go to the captain’s cocktails and safety talk. So, while the early arrivals displayed their finery while drinking champagne and nibbling dainty cocktails, I dashed into the lounge, disheveled and weary, tossed back a glass of bubbly and retreated as soon as possible to dress appropriately.

A sculpture of Van Gogh greets us on the path to the hospital

Next day we visited the hospital, St Paul de Mausole in St Remy, Provence, (still used for the mentally ill) where Van Gogh spent the end of his life. The chapel is quite austere, pretty much as it was when he went there in 1889. Copies of many of his paintings line the walls and particularly the staircase which climbs up to his tiny room.

Courtyard in the hospital

I was particularly taken with the internal courtyard. When I was at boarding school, at St Brigid’s in Lesmurdie, I liked to walk around that courtyard, but at the time didn’t realize its significance. I now suspect that it was supposed to be a place of quiet contemplation, which of course the nuns never got to enjoy with a bunch of noisy girls requiring constant discipline. Perhaps during our holidays they could walk around it, fingering rosary beads and concentrating on holy meditation.

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Caudebec-en-Caux

After our trip to Honfleur we ate dinner then walked around the town where our ship was moored at Caudebec-en-Caux.

The church was the largest building; stone carvings, many of them minus heads and crumbling, filled every niche in the external walls.

Most of the houses though, were elegant and well maintained. Water ran along a channel which was actually a drain, but, in true French style had been turned into a thing of beauty, with baskets of flowers and branches of weeping trees, decorating the stone walls.

On the way back to our ship we stopped to admire and photograph the cute garden figures in the window of the Corner Flower Shop.

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