Lights out, camera on!

For a couple nights last week, the fog decided to invade Montreux right as the sun fell discreetly behind the mountains. And while I was out for a run one night after dark, I was kicking myself for not taking my camera with me--not that jogging with my camera hanging over my shoulder would be the smartest idea anyway. Well, lucky for me, the fog came back again, so along with my trusty Nikon companion, I went trekking in hopes of learning some new photo skills. Shooting at night: not the easiest task, though a slow shutter speed can have some really cool effects on the images taken.

So I went back to some spots that I mentally marked, set up my tripod, and took photo after photo while trying to keep my fingers from going numb. The good news is that I think I only freaked a couple people out with my camera and seemingly strange photo shoot spots. But along with my snowy white ski hat and pink fleece, I really couldn't have look that threatening.

Well then, here are some of my favorite shots from my evening walk. My next goal? Tackle a busy street so I can get streaks of light in both directions. Add some heavy fog and boom, you have the perfect setting for your next horror movie. Ooo! Or maybe I'll try a cemetery, you know, going for an Edgar Allan Poe effect. Ah, just so many options!

Date night

That's right. I went on a date last night. With whom? you ask. Myself. Ha! Yes, ladies and gents. I took myself out on a date to the grand opera house in Lausanne. The national Ukrainian ballet company was coming through for two nights only, and since I am a self-proclaimed ballet/classical music junkie, I could not pass up the opportunity. So, I got all dressed up to see Le Lac des Cynes also known as "Swan Lake". Tchaikocsky has been one of my favorite composers since I can remember (thank you Mom and Dad, The Nutcracker, and Mr. Gala), and "Swan Lake", one of my favorite pieces.

Needless to say, it was incredible. And I splurged on the seat, so I could not have been happier--especially since there was no giant 6'7'' man sitting in front of me. Sometimes I love the fact that everything in Europe--including the people--is smaller here. And the ballet? Well, the music is still playing through my head on repeat, along with twirling and leaping ballerinas dressed in glittering winter white tutus. Under the lights of the stage, the dancers looked luminous, like the surface of a lake under a full moon. It was truly magical and I felt like I was floating when I walked out of the theatre.

So, in celebration of Thanksgiving and my lovely night out, I'm including a short list of--appropriately--what I am thankful for this year. And in traditional fashion, if you'd like to share your list, don't hesitate to leave a comment below!

I am thankful for...

1. Friends and family. Always and forever number one. Miss you all like you wouldn't believe.

2. My adventure. Without even realizing it, I needed this time here and I am so thankful to have been given the opportunity to take this trip. And work of course :).

3. Internet. Because without it, oh I can't even think about it. Let's just say that I would be VERY homesick.

4. The patience of those I work with. Without them or their understanding, I would have no chance of ever learning this language--which I actually feel that I'm getting a grasp on!

5. College, and more specifically, USD. Four years ago, I would have laughed at the though of actually LOVING my college experience. But the time I had in San Diego prepared me for more than I ever imagined. And most importantly, I met some of the best people I know there. You know who you are.

I could go on and on about food, shelter, health and all those other things that I take for granted every day. So instead I will say that I am thankful for this life and the people I know in it. You all mean more to me that you could ever know. Sending all my love to you and wishing you the best Thanksgiving yet. Just remember, take a few extra bites in my honor. That way, figuratively at least, I was there with each and every one of you!

Peace, love, good health, turkey and pumpkin pie,

Mel

Twinkle lights, tinsel, and rosy cheeks . . . It must be Christmas!

I know that it still may be early to talk Christmas for those of you who are just about to gather around the family dinner table for turkey and cornbread stuffing and pumpkin pie. But since I won't be taking part in the traditional Thanksgiving meal this year (unless of course someone wants to airmail me a Thanksgiving feast by Thursday, which I in no way would object to), I believe I have a special right to start my Christmas season just a tad bit earlier. And with the help of the city of Montreux, this should be no problem at all. Christmas lights have been dangling over streets for about two weeks now, and almost every store window has an array of all things red, green, and gold to further convince everyone that the holiday season is indeed here.

I, personally, have no problem with this whatsoever because it all just gives me an excuse to start listening to Christmas music a few days earlier. And since this is the first frosty and bundled Christmas season I've had in four years--a little different than sunny San Diego, I'd say--I'm loving every moment of the pre-Christmas spirit in the chilly air and on the decked out streets.

This evening, while I was out strolling lakeside on the way back from the market, I inevitably walked through the beginnings of le Marché de Noel (Christmas Market) that begins this Thursday--perfectly enough on Thanksgiving day. Right now, the market is more like a skeleton of what it will be, but even that was fun to see. There is an entire Christmas village complete with Santa's Workshop and a BIG ferris wheel--so not what I expected considering that nearly everything is substantially smaller here. Most of the market is blocked off right now anyway, but I walked by many of the little wooden chalets that line the main street of town and on the opposite side up against the lake where vendors were decorating with tinsel, rich colored fabrics, pine cones, snowflakes, lights, wrapping paper and anything else shiny and glittery that screams, "Come and see how much Christmas spirit I have! Look! My tinsel is shimmers more than hers!!!"

And all of this under the spell of hot wine, warm Christmas sweets, and twinkling lights? It's a Christmas lover's paradise! And maybe by the time Christmas actually does arrive, I'll have made friends with some vendors, picking up my free cup of steaming hot wine after work every afternoon. Hey, a girl can dream, right?

And just because I like sharing, here are some happy Christmas photos to get you in the spirit too!

Thursday fruits and veggies market in Aix-en-Provence at Christmas time.

Canopy of lights at le Marché de Noel on the Cours Mirabeau in Aix-en-Provence where we frequented the vin chaud (hot wine) stand almost everyday.

The annual Grimsley Christmas Party and the loves of my life in traditional caroling attire (a.k.a. every item of clothing you brought and a bottle of peppermint schnapps in each pocket for warmth).

Spotted

Just having walked through the door from my evening run--my heart beating rapidly still-- I immediately sat down at my desk to share my most recent discovery with you.

I have a usual route that I take when I go running, though it changes slightly on occasion, taking a new staircase here or following some barely lit path to see where it ends up. Tonight, I was running along the train tracks when I passed a building on my right that stood slightly lower than the platform so I had a near bird's eye view of what was going on inside. Upon first glance, I saw referees in purple track suits with black whistles dangling from their necks and hands posed seriously on their hips while they focused intently on what was in front of them. So I figured, "Oh cute! It's a tiny indoor football (soccer) field where little kids play at night!" But when I stopped for a moment to get a better look, I realized that this was no little children's football league with juice boxes and oranges and trophies. No, instead of a baby soccer field, there were--from what I could see--three ping pong tables set up. And scattered on both sides of the tables were men over the age of 70 dressed in sunny sky blue polo shirts holding their paddles with confidence and staring intensely at their opponents over the five-inch net. "Gee whiz!" was all that kept running through my mind. I watched them play for a minute or two, checking out their moves and tricks with the tiny white ball. Not bad, guys. Not bad at all.

I'm just bummed that I'm not old enough to take part. Hmmm . . . Maybe I'll ask JP if he knows anything about this league. Perhaps he can persuade his peers to allow a 22-year-old to come play once or twice. I'll even offer to bring juice boxes and oranges and trophies if they let me in on the gig! But only if I get a shirt. Besides, I think that color blue would really bring out the color of my eyes.

A concert for one

Sundays in the hotel restaurant are usually pretty slow. Okay, let me rephrase that. They are painfully slow. Nearly all the hotel guests want to sleep in as late as possible and arrive for breakfast at 10am (the same time we usually start taking down the buffet)--though I don't blame them. If I had the option of staying in bed past 5:45 am, you could find me still wrapped in a cocoon of the feathery goodness that is my duvet, reading a book and sipping my second cup of coffee. But instead, Christiane and I take some chairs from the tables and sit upstairs chatting and reading while we periodically check our watches and wait. . . and wait . . . and wait.

After all chores are finished and we are clean and prepped for lunch, we move the party to the downstairs part of the restaurant and continue playing the waiting game there. And today while I was searching for something to do other than counting cracks on the floor or staring out the window and daydreaming about waves and sand and the dance floor at Comber, I made my way to the kitchen to polish silverware. Exhilarating, yes indeed.

The kitchen staff was still downstairs loitering on their third and fourth cigarettes, so the clanking of pots and pans, exchanging of vulgar jokes, and blaring hip hop music were not echoing off the white tiled walls like most days. Today there was almost an eerie calm in the air, as if anticipating the noise and chaos that would later ensue.

And that's when I heard the music. Piano notes sprung into the air and eagerly danced in through the side door that connects to le Grand Salle--the largest seminar room reserved for weddings and banquets and other elegant events. If there ever was a remake of "Beauty and the Beast," this room would be the perfect setting. Huge crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling that is artfully carved with swirls and painted with warm, creamy colors and gold.

I put down the knives and spoons I was holding and let the notes lure me in like sirens. At the far end of the room just against the windows that open to face the now charcoal-colored lake and sky was a grand black piano. The man playing sat alone in the nearly dark room, the only light coming from the cloud covered sky outside. As I listened to him play, I pictured his hands, fingers gliding across the keys patiently but with purpose and necessity, the silences and piano notes twisting around one another like professional ballroom dancers twirling in midair, their bodies indistinguishable but their harmony unmistakable.

He continued playing and I continued standing there, letting the music take me away to some far off place where the kitchen and hotel and thought of work was a distant and forgotten memory. And when the dance finally ended, the golden notes still lingered in my veins like tiny glowing fires keeping me warm for the rest of the day.

I went back to polishing forks and knives and spoons amidst the harsher sounds of the kitchen, but not without feeling a little lighter. Maybe it was not the most exciting or interesting of work days, no crazy clients or dropped plates, no new friends 50 years older than me or strange requests. But there was still something there to make it, hmmm . . . what's the word? Enchanting. And that it undoubtedly was.

The epic train ride, round two: En route to Chamonix

(Note: this post is very past due, but it is too good not to share, so enjoy! And hopefully you can learn a thing or two as well.)

Yes, when there is a round one, there must be a round two. And probably three and four in due time, so no worries. This life will never be boring. It can’t be, especially when you’re traveling. By train. In a foreign country.

Allow me to explain the trip to Chamonix in the first place. It’s no simple task, I assure you.

Step 1: Train from Montreux to Geneva. Easy enough.

Step 2: Find and get on Geneva metro/tram to get to Gare Geneve-eux-vives--or within walking distance of it.

Step 3: Pay attention to signs on metro/tram in order to know where Gare Geneve-eux-vives actually is. Walk/run to train station.

Step 4: Board train for St. Gervais Les bains Le Fayet at Geneve-eux-vives. (This is essentially the French train station for SNCF trains. Of course having French and Swiss trains in the same station would be much too complicated.)

Step 5: Get off at St. Gervais and find Mont Blanc Express Train to--you guessed it--Chamonix.

So that’s what we were dealing with in the first place. We should have known that this train ride would be memorable. Perhaps Marki’s words from the last train adventure, “Why can’t anything just be normal?” should have tipped us off. But no. We were naive and too excited about our final destination to think much about the joys of public transportation.

And now hopefully you’re starting to wonder. . . What happened? Given our recent train history, maybe you’re thinking that we took the wrong train? Ended up in Italy? Or got stranded in the middle of nowhere with no one and no phone reception?? No, no, and no. This is so much better than that.

Steps one through three went fairly smoothly--except for one small mistake with the metro. No biggie. But things got interesting on the train to St. Gervais. First, there was an issue with Marki’s ticket. Long story and I don’t have the patience to tell it here. All you need to know is that we sweet-talked the conductor and violà. We were good to go.

Now allow me to set the scene: Marki and I are sitting on the deserted end of the third train car, chatting, reading, picnicing, and taking in the scenery of this tiny corner of France. At one of the many stops we made on the way to St. Gervais, a young woman got on and made her way to our end of the car where she proceeded to stand in the hallway talking on her phone mindlessly and staring out the window. Just after her, a young man came down to our end of the car as well but he was, well, slightly strange. He had a limp in his walk and seemed to have some sort of mental disability--or at least I’d like to assume the later considering his consequent actions.

He stopped right next to Marki and I and stood there, staring at us for at least a minute while we were in the middle of a conversation. We continued talking--or Marki did--and I did the best I could to hold back fits of laughter. (Yeah, I’m one of those people that often laughs in the most inconvenient and uncomfortable situations, a quality I’m not proud of since it usually makes the situation even more unbearable.) Eventually--thank GOD--the boy decided to sit down and abandon the conversation he had awkwardly invited himself into. My back was turned toward him, but Marki still had a clear view and was keeping an eye on the little creeper while we tried to figure out what the hell he was doing.

All of a sudden, Marki gasped. Her face quickly turned to one of shock and disgust, followed by several ‘Oh my god’s in rapid succession.

“What’s wrong? What happened?!?!” I asked, too scared to turn around and survey the scene for myself.

“Oh. My. God. Holy shit.”

And that’s when I figured out what this young man was doing--although I was really hoping that I might be wrong. Can you guess? And yes, you can let your mind go there, if that’s what you’re thinking. While staring down the girl talking on her phone at the end of the train car, the guy stuck his hand down his pants and, well, you can fill in the rest.

Without much hesitation, Marki and I grabbed our things and were practically running to the opposite end of the car where there were more people--thankfully none of whom where jacking-off to keep themselves busy. Marki went in search for the train conductor to try and explain the situation... “Monsieur, il y a un homme malade et un peu bizarre qui regarde une fille et...” One problem. I never learned the term for ‘masturbate’ in my French class. Damn vocab lists. Whatever happened to learning useful things in college?

And to make the situation even better, the ticket man was nowhere to be seen. That’s when we figured out that the man who checked our tickets when we first boarded the train was the same man who was now driving the train. Not very good planning. I mean, what the hell are you supposed to do if there is an emergency? What if someone has a heart attack? Or there is a robbery? Or a young man decides to masturbate in broad daylight? What are you supposed to do then?

Thankfully, Mr. Creeper I-can’t-keep-my-hand-out-of-my-pants-for-five-minutes left the train a couple stops later, though I still felt violated for the rest of the train ride. Yes, I am aware that sex is less taboo in Europe--all you have to do is watch tv, pick up a newspaper, or look at the next billboard--but masturbating on a train? Really?

So the next time you find yourself traveling by rail in Europe, remember to keep some Purell handy. And never expect the ride to be just normal. Nope, it doesn’t work that way. However, if it’s an adventure you want, that you will get! Bon voyage!

Hand ball!

For those of you who do not follow world soccer news as a second job, allow me to enlighten you on the latest scandal. And as much as I love soccer myself, I am only hyper aware of this game and the details thanks to my friends in the kitchen--90% of them being French themselves. They take this stuff seriously. Like superbowl status.

Now, this past Wednesday, France and Ireland played to win a qualification to the World Cup in South Africa next year. Ireland had to score at least two goals and win the match in order to qualify, while a win for France by any number of goals would give them the spot. And the final score? Zero to one, France. But, there's a catch. While French player T. Henry was going for the ball just outside the goal post, his hand conveniently smacked the ball (keeping it from going out of bounce) in route to his foot, which allowed for a near perfect assist to William Gallas who then headed the ball right into the net. Whoosh. Goaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal!!! Yeah, but a cheap shot. And in addition the the blatant hand ball issue (watch it for yourself on youtube--there's no denying it, as T. Henry says so himself), several are claiming that France was offsides. No, a replay will not occur, so the final score and France's dreams of World Cup glory will remain unchanged, though not without leaving the French with a murky and not-so-sweet victory that still has people riled up all around the world. And to make the scandal even more exciting--I mean, outrageous--authorities have begun an immense investigation to 32 matches that were supposedly fixed and 17 people have already been arrested. No wonder why the refs didn't do much about the hand ball issue they saw in the Ireland vs. France game.

And why do I care? Well, when you work with people who take soccer--or football--this seriously, you would too. Even the Swiss chef (who you'd assume to be neutral like his country) made sure to express his distaste by drawing a fantastic mural on the kitchen's white board with a few choice words included. And of course, everyone has an opinion and feels entitled to express theirs. As long as I don't get caught in a kitchen fight of food or pots or knifes, I'm good.

Home Sweet Home

And no I'm not talking about my little room in Switzerland, though I have come to adore my nook in this hotel. No, instead I'm referring to my visit to Germany and, more specifically, Omi's house. It never fails. The moment I walk through the front door, the smell immediately brings back memories of past visits with mom in springtime, the Euro-summer with Chels, and a feeling of pure relaxation that can only really be described by a heavy and happy sigh. Ahhhh. The feeling of home.

And every time I leave Omi's house, I try to hang on to that smell for as long as possible, keeping at least one item of clothing tucked away in a safe place so that when I pull it out again weeks later, that scent still lingers and summons the memories and feelings of utter contentment all over again.

So to say that I had a great time in Germany would be an understatement. I ate Omi soup, ratatouille, pancakes, and melt-in-your-mouth, almost-to-good-to-be-true chocolate that Omi left on my pillow at night since she knows that I love to have one small piece of chocolate in the morning, a habit I don't really care to break. And obviously, the company made everything that much better. A big family dinner with the cousins and aunt and step-uncle, wine and stories, and of course, conversation infused with German, English, and French that ends up becoming very confusing and absolutely hilarious.

For now, I end here. But don't you worry, I will post some photos and tell you more tomorrow. I'm still trying to catch up on the sleep that I didn't get last night or on the train ride back. So more soon!

Happy weekend everyone!

17.11.09

Ah, the weekend! I am officially finished with the work week and am taking a short vacay to, drum roll please! . . . Omi's house in Germany! My train departs for Stuttgart in about an hour, so I have to get all my things together (including a backpack full of dirty laundry). Oooo, I cannot wait! And the first thing she asked when I told her I was coming?

"What would you like to eat??"

Yes, she knows me too well. So, for the next two and a half days, I will have the pleasure of indulging in homemade soups (an Omi trademark item), pretzels (the Germans seriously know how to make these like you've never tasted before), and pancakes with maple syrup (my very special request). Like I said, I cannot wait. Home at last, or something very close to it.

I will try to write while I'm away, but if I'm too busy chowing down on pancakes and watching German soap operas with Omi, I wish you all a very happy Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday!

Much love! Bussi bussi! (Kiss Kiss! As they say in German)

Mel

Word of the week: November 9th-15th

Okay, I think I skipped a week there, but please, bear with me! I rarely know what day it is since my "weekend" is always changing. Actually, this is the only way I really keep track of the days in the first place. Ha. So, the word of this week is...

Tac

*Pronunciation: just as it looks, like the english tack you stick in the wall to hold up photos or the like.

*Meaning: Now this one is tough to describe. My best attempt? It's more like a sound affect or something you say while you're doing something. Allow me to provide a scenario... You are setting an elaborate table and and placing knives and forks and spoons and glasses tediously in their places. Often people will say to themselves, "Tac...tac...tac..." when putting things in order, as if saying, "Boom...boom...boom," but with less force. Does that help?

*Where I learned it: I think this word (or more often series of repeated words) actually dates back to my first French class at USD with Sophie Halvin. I don't remember if she told us that French-speaking people use this "sound effect" (if you will) or if I just heard her use it on occasion. But nevertheless, I fell in love with the sound of it, especially because most people here don't even realize that they are speaking when it comes out of their mouths, as if the words are synched with movement.

*Additional notes: Trust me, it's fun to say. And I've adopted the succession of words and use it every chance I get. Place a spoon, "Tac!" And the knife and fork, "Tac, tac!" And the cup, saucer, spoon, sugar, cream, and chocolate? Okay, you get the picture.

Practice this one at home next time you throw a nice dinner party. It will go along nicely with your Switzerland-inspired penis-shaped napkins.

"Tac!"

Be my guest and take a seat!

I'm not exactly sure why, but I find benches to be indisputably romantic especially when surrounded by crunchy autumn leaves like cornflakes and the clanging of church bells announcing the time for all to hear. Yes, I am a self-proclaimed hopeless romantic by nature, so maybe that has something to do with it. Or maybe I've just seen too many movies or read too many books with lovers cuddling on benches, reading, or simply sitting together and enjoying each others' company. There's just something so comforting and inviting about a sunlight drenched bench, as if it has been waiting there just for you to take a quiet moment by yourself or with the one you love.

"The sun is life's most beautiful decorator."

I remember when Omi said this two weeks ago while walking around Gruyères together, admiring the little village bathed in afternoon sunlight. And right now her words are the only ones that come to my head as I try to think of how to tell you about my day. Allow me to backtrack just a moment...

When I arrived here in August, I started a "Swiss List" of things I would like to do during my time (duh) in Switzerland--things that I consider so important that a list only seems necessary. Walking around Lavaux with my camera has been at the top of my list for a while now, but I've been waiting patiently for the ideal fall day when the sun comes out to play decorator on the already golden and fiery autumn colors of the trees and grape vines. Now, I bet you're wondering ... What is "Lavaux" anyway? Well my fine readers, it is the name of the wine making region on Lake Léman between Vevey and Lausanne. But more than just wine land, Lavaux has been named a UNESCO World Heritage site because the vines and consequent vineyards, which are hundreds and hundreds of years old, and, in most cases, have belonged to the same families for centuries, are built up along the steep lakeside, stone walls separating the vines that can only be harvested by hand. Talk about dedication! The vineyards are then dotted with houses and villages that revolve largely if not almost entirely around the business of wine making. Just add the lake and freshly snow covered French Alps as a backdrop and it's no surprise that this place has gained so much international attention in recent decades. It's a fairly dramatic setting to say the least.

And today was my perfect fall day, a miracle of a day, actually. So, along with a picnic lunch, extra layers of clothing for the cold, and my fully charged camera, I took the train to Cully and started climbing the first walking path I found wedged between the wine terraces and stone walls that hold up years of history. I won't go on and on about how beautiful and spectacular and (place your favorite overused adjective here please) it all was because neither I nor the pictures can do the day justice. But I will say that when I was trying to tell my mom about my afternoon with the vines and failing miserably with vagueness and sputtering "Oh my god!"s, tears--and obviously happy ones--came to my eyes. Corny? Yes. But true? Also a yes. And even now as I write, I can't help but get the chills over and over again. That's how incredible it was.

So to share the day with you more vividly, I will obviously include some photos. Note that the only adjustments I made to them was the brightness--and only on a couple. No enhanced colors at all. I thought you should know that this really is what the vines look like, though I would give the sun a little credit for adding that extra special golden glow. So, without further ado, I present to you my walk through Lavaux. Enjoy!

Did I ever mention that wild white swans are often seen along the shore of the lake? Umm, yeah. See for yourself.

Jumping photo! I even managed to take one by myself. And yes, I am very proud.

Speechless.

And one last thing, if you haven't already, I sincerely recommend clicking on some of the landscape photos to see them blown up. You can see the details in the vines and the jagged snow peaked mountains even better.

So... Now would you like to come and visit??

09.11.09

After receiving my SECOND mix CD from Shananigans during work today, I could not wait to finish my shift, run up to my room, and listen to the song selection. I'm obsessed. Yes, a premature obsession that only grew with each song and listen. Ah, music for my soul!

So to test out the new mix, I grabbed my freshly loaded iPod and went for a run despite the near freezing temperature and snow weather warning. And about five minutes after I found my happy pace, the rain started to fall. I almost turned back, but really, what harm can there be in getting caught in nighttime drizzle? And I bet you're now expecting some great story about how it started pouring and I got soaked and lost and confused and everything was a total mess. But nope, not this time. The droplets continued to fall lightly, painting the tar beneath my feet a darker shade of black. And I kept running, feeling the cold air in my lungs and the raindrops on my face.

And you know those moments when a song starts playing and paired with your thoughts and actions it somehow saturates your entire being? Your awareness of self and life and the moment fuse together, leaving you with an almost altered sense of reality. Or maybe, what you feel is so pure and so real, suddenly untainted by the excess that rules our minds at any given moment, that we barely know what to do with ourselves. Alive. That's what you feel. Completely alive. You are and in that tiny isolated moment, you and the stars and the universe make utter and complete sense.

The song I was listening to doesn't even matter. This time, it just served as the force to get me to that magical place. Perhaps I'll call it "temporary enlightenment." And now, back in my room, I listen to the rain still falling outside and linger on the evening's quiet festivities. Usually, it is the simplest things that bring us joy. A red holiday Starbucks cup. A ten minute conversation with a loved one. A card with a giraffe on the cover. Or maybe, just maybe, we have that joy with us all the time. And occasionally, at the most unexpected moments, it reveals itself to us. We let everything go but ourselves and life shows us how beautiful it always is, even when we think we're too busy to look at it.

Photo taken at St. Victoire near Aix-en-Provence during my semester abroad. Alyssa on the left and me and the right. If this doesn't scream joy and hope and life, I don't know what does.

Les goublets rouges

Hope. Wish. Love. Bright. Joy. Peace.

These are the words written on my red holiday Starbucks cup. Ah, I'm such a sucker for advertising especially when it comes to all-things Christmas. And the red holiday Starbucks cup does it for me every year. Especially here with the cold, biting weather, snow covered mountains and Christmas lights and decorations that are being added to the streets every day. No, the lights aren't lit yet, but I can only imagine what the twinkling streets and alleys will do for my already cozy Christmas spirit. Oh, and I forgot to mention... The city of Montreux has begun the construction for the annual Marché de Noel which begins on November 26th. And I'm not kidding when I say construction. There is wooden house built for four already standing on the lakeshore walk and the log home next door should be complete in a few more days. And that's not counting the small village of chalets gathered under the large pavilion in the centre of town. These people take Christmas seriously and I like it.

So in light of the approaching holiday season I wish you all hope, happy wishes, warm and fuzzy love, brightness, joy and peace.

Besitos, bisous, bussi bussi,

Mel

And I quote:

Twenty minutes after my last post, I received the following email (and I copy it exactly as it is, parentheses and all):

Hello Mélanie, tu vas toujours bien?

Je te souhaite une bonne nuit et te donne un baiser (I wish you good night and kiss you)

Tu es si belle (you are so pretty), Mélanie

A bientôt (see you soon)

Jean-Pierre

Yup, I think we've just reached BFF status.

Un nouvel ami

I made a new friend today. His name is Jean-Pierre and I estimate his age to be around 65 or 70. He has glasses, wears argyle sweaters, and sits at the same table in le Brasserie for at least an hour with his Suduko and a cup of coffee--deux sucres. I've been wanting to crack him for a while now. He comes in every day but is the silent type, not giving much of a smile or saying anything else but his order, though always politely. And he tips, so I took an instant liking to him.

I must have been extra smiley or chatty today, I'm not exactly sure. But I finally succeeded! He cracked! All it took was a smile and "Comment ça va aujourd'hui, Monsieur?" We chatted for a little while, exchanging the usual and somewhat boring getting-to-know-you-superficially questions. But it was an honest and simple exchange that made my day. And you know what's even better? He came in again tonight. Twice in one day. Okay, so maybe he just really likes our coffee and free newspapers and café music (which sucks, by the way), but I like to think that he came back for some company and another conversation, no matter how brief it may have been. And before he got up to leave, he asked for my email and I his, and he addressed me using "tu" instead of "vous"--he actually pointed this out to make sure I knew that we had suddenly crossed over into friendly and informal territory. That did it. So don't worry family and friends, I may not have any boyfriend that will make me want to stay in Switzerland forever, but JP--that's what I'm going to start calling him if he goes for it--is definitely my new man friend who I'm sure will have some great stories to share.

I love it when people you'd think would be quiet and timid come around to surprise you. They serve as a good reminder to never judge too quickly or make assumptions. You could be missing out on someone really special. And it is amazing what a short exchange of words or even glances can do. Just as JP--he'll tell you.

03.11.09

The clouds came by yesterday and left behind a little surprise on the French Alps... Snow! And a lot of it! It was one of those misty mornings when the mountains across the lake disappear completely and the water takes on a rough, charcoal, and ominously ocean-like appearance. And when I got off work in the afternoon, the clouds had gathered around the mountains as if having some very important meeting way up there, perhaps discussing and planning out their winter schedule for the next several months. And only once I decided to go for a walk later that night did I notice that the curtain of clouds had retreated completely, leaving the mountains standing tall and dignified with snowy peaks and valleys so bright that you could see them shining through the darkness and reflecting on the lake's relaxed and calm surface.

Switzerland, I think I may be falling in love with you.

Ah, the sweet smells of fall! Fire places burning, roasted chesnuts, and ... weed?

I can't help but stare dreamily at the burnt red colored mountains reflecting on the lake, my feet hitting the pavement and feeling lighter from the mere beauty of the autumn moment. I take a deep, crisp, and gratifying inhale. Wait a minute... I know that smell. Then I notice the woman just in front of me, sitting on the lakeside stone wall, a small pipe cupped protectively in her hands. Marijuana. That is definitely weed. Or hash. Or whatever you want to call it. It just seems so out of place in this moment that I actually start laughing.

But hell, I don't blame her! Watching the sun set the sky alight with reds and oranges and corals against the indigo mountains and the rising moon with a little herb has got to be--as most stoners would say--fucking sweeeeeeeet. I suppose that's one way of taking in nature's beauty. Then again, my new habit of running at sunset is giving me the best high I could ask for.

So I keep running, leaving Mary Jane and her friend on the stone wall. The occasion crunch of leaves under my feet interrupts the songs playing through my earphones. I mentally sigh at the energy pumping through my veins and allow my breath to launch me forward. God, it feels good to be here. Right here. Right now. Just like this.

Hiking. In the French Alps. With a view of Mont Blanc.

Once we arrived in Chamonix, we gave ourselves about 0.5879 seconds to get settled before venturing out on a hike. Our first intended trail wasn't quite successful thanks to lots of red tape, several signs displayed "Sentier fermé pour travaux" (Trail closed for work), and the inability to find much of a walking path in the first place. So much the waterfall and views of Mont Blanc our hotel receptionist told us about. However... After a quick stop at the tourist office, we walked out with a new map and destination. "Just walk up," she said. That we did. And the views were stunning. Obviously, this is one of those situations when the pictures do no justice to the afternoon. I will say that the two and a half hours we spent hiking stand out as the best time I had during the entire trip. Yes, it was cold--very cold--especially when the sun fell behind the mountains, but watching our breath escape into the air as we climbed up the mountain just added to the already majestic experience.

Mont Blanc is behind us on the right where the photo is white. Hmmm... I wonder why? Snow perhaps??

Looking down onto the village of Chamonix.

Honestly, no words.

Future vacation home? I wouldn't mind. You know, if you made me house sit once in a while.