Yvoire

July 2000
Yvoire, as I said before, was described by Karen Brown as almost too quaint to be real, and much as I hate to agree with her, if I’m honest, I must. I’ve seen many a floriforous village on this trip, but so far, this one takes the cake. It is a tiny walled medieval town perched out on the tip of a jut into Lake Geneva--called Lac Le Man by many who live on its shores. In my indulgent mentality, I took her recommendation and splurged on a room in Hotel du Port with a terrace directly over a picturesque dock which serves as grand central for a host of large Swiss, French, and even Italian ferries with different shapes, sizes and horns which carry tourists to and from ports on the lake.

I sit in my room with my feet up to type, as I am now, or out on the terrace five feet away, to soak up the beauty of the setting sun illuminating patchwork landscapes through cloudy skies across a wide expanse to the other side of the lake. I watch the people arrive and depart in swarms throughout the day. In front of me is the harbor home for many sailboats of different sizes and colors. On the other side is a small harbor with littler colorful boats and yet more stunning flowers to incorporate into photos. This place competes with Roussion in Provence for the film sucker town of Europe. So much so that for the first time on this trip, I actually wanted to change my plans and stay an extra night. But alas, can’t do. I imagine the place has been booked for a long time in anticipation of July 14, when fireworks will no doubt fill the skies over the lake to celebrate France’s Bastille Day.

It is now Thursday morning, and of course, the sun is out as I have to leave. But my cynicism over bad luck with weather is tempered by the opportunity to observe my impatience--the fear of missing out on something--and my greed for superlative experience, which can work together to blind me to the beauty of a given moment. Now I must pack and head on.

Bye for now.

Love, Karen