lac léman

When Saturday morning rolled around, on a wild leap of spontaneity, my roommate and I decided to lather on sunblock, pack our purses, and hop on the train to Lausanne.

Coincidentally, this is the same route my family and friends will be taking when they attend my wedding. So this trip was more for research's sake than anything else. Really.

First, I bought a chocolate-flavored macaron from the train station as a little road snack. Then I gobbled it up before I even boarded the train. Oh well.

The train ride took about forty minutes. My roommate and I sat facing each other with a little table between us. After quelling the thrill of watching the Swiss countryside pass by, I rested my head against the window and napped.

At the station, we grabbed a tourist map, located ourselves, and then strolled down several blocks to the port.

I really like Lausanne. I learned later that it's considered the "San Francisco of Switzerland." Apparently the town struck a familiar cord in me.

Its buildings are characteristically French, with the wooden shutters and elaborate metal balconies and little flowers spilling out of planters. But the "San Francisco" aspect of the town is the giant hills that give you glances of the sprawling body of water.

We refer to it as Lake Geneva, but the French speakers pay tribute to the water's Roman history, when it was once called Lac Lemannus.

 

At the port, we bought our ferry tickets and boarded the boat. It's a fairly impressive looking boat, with a  1ier (first) and 2ieme (second) class restaurant. We spent the first thirty minutes of the ride snapping photos of the gorgeous blues and greens: water, Alps, sky, trees, vineyards. Some sailboats got in the way, so I took a few shots of those also.

 

On a side note, is anybody else with me when I say that all pedal boats should come with a little slide installed in the back? Right?

 

The ferry ride started to get a bit long, and we were growing ravenous, so we ordered hot dogs from the 2ieme restaurant. Ketchup-smothered weiners in French bread. It was a weird combination that I rather enjoyed. 

 

And suddenly, because time really speeds up after you've eaten a proper meal, we arrived at  Château de Chillon. 

 

It looked an awful lot like a Disney castle. Sure enough, when we took a tour of the castle, we found a gaggle of shrieking 5-year-old girls wearing princess dresses. In the courtyard, there was even a little birthday party table, cake, gifts, and balloons, et al. 

Yeah. Okay. I grew up attending birthday parties at Chuck E. Cheese and Laser Quest. The Swiss send their precious darlings to the neighborhood castle. 

Despite its fairy tale-esque facade, the tour was basically a lesson in the history of witchcraft and witch hunting in the medieval times. Sort of dark. But I did learn the root of the phrase "kissing ass." An accused who confessed to witchcraft was called "the one who kissed the arse of the devil." And medieval paintings depict demons with two faces: one on la tête and one on le derièrre. How are they supposed to even...never mind.

The next ferry wouldn't arrive for another hour and a half, so we hopped on a bus and backtracked to Montreaux, another cute little port town, and wandered around for a bit. We got ice cream. If you find yourself in Switzerland, you really ought to try the Swiss chocolate-flavored ice cream. It's amazing.

  

The day ended with grand plans to go on another unplanned, spur of the moment adventure the following day. Reality: we woke up late and spent the day at the coffee shop reading for Monday's class. Ah, well. Next weekend, then.