We’ve seen a fair bit of France over what is now four visits, never going over old ground. With a country as vast and varied as France, there is no need. The exception has been Paris, because it is Paris (even though it was substituted out late this time). For this trip the search for difference took us to Annecy in the French Alps.
Train stations seldom show off a city to advantage, delivering you, as they tend to, through industrial and graffitied rail corridors into itinerant-haunted, seedy concourses remote from a city’s beating heart. Annecy is not like that. Stepping off the bus from Geneva, directly outside the station, you are surrounded by the all the beauty and vibrancy of the old city. I won’t bore you with a gushing travelogue about the place (if you are into over-the-top, breathless, travel superlatives, try listening to Mike Yardley’s Saturday morning slot on Newstalk ZB, or read one of his articles. Just be sure to keep a bucket handy). However, I will make a few considered observations. Annecy has the highest concentration of cafés and restaurants we have seen, and the largest, best (and most crowded) market we have had the pleasure to wander.
The lake is Annecy’s raison d’etre, and the great serrated rim of the French Alps its crowning glory. We are lucky to see this kind of sublime composition every day in our adopted hometown of Wanaka, but the deep green of Lake Annecy, the opulence of the hillside chateaux, and the towering massifs of the Alps still managed to impress on a boat trip we took one afternoon.
Annecy is built around the Thiou River, which drains the Lake, and is graced by a procession of postcard-perfect bridges and canals. The sub-title of this post is a little tongue-in-cheek. Any town with a few waterways leaves itself open to some marketing genius calling it ‘Venice of the xyz.’ Come to think of it, my hometown of Mosgiel, already boasting a hillside sign to rival Hollywood’s is bounded by two waterways, the Silverstream to the north, and Owhiro Stream to the south. There is clearly a case for Mosgiel to be called the Venice of the Taieri Plain (while not wanting to usurp my favoured name for it, Mos-Vegas)
[Incidentally, my brother (hi Murray) as a pre-teen tried to launch a canal boat into Owhiro Stream using an ingenious system of levers. Only problem was, it turned out to be a two-tonne coal bin that blocked the waterway and took 5 rail workers and various heavy machinery a week to remove.]
Merely wandering was enough to enjoy this city, but we bought a pass to the castle Chateau d’Annecy and Palais de l’Ile. The castle is up a steep series of streets and apart from the usual interesting Medieval relics and artworks, was noteworthy for a couple of things. At the back of one grand hall is a stage with a piano for the public to use. As I was filing past the piano, which was in use, I was held up by several dallying visitors. At this point an attempt was made to push me to one side by a tourist at the side of the stage with an iPhone for a face. Evidently I was obstructing his view. He seemed to think that in filming some amateur murdering a version of chopsticks on a badly tuned piano, he was Martin Scorcese filming his latest musical biopic.
I got past the piano, leaped off the stage, marched towards the offender and eyeballed him close up. Eschewing language for the sake of clarity, I resorted to gestures to convey my message; that pushing is unacceptable, while placing a Fatwa on him and his bloodline for eternity. If you are having trouble envisaging the scene, picture the All Blacks’ haka Kapa o Pango complete with the now frowned-upon throat-slitting gesture at the end. Then double it.
There were also artistic secrets revealed. In the Amsterdam post I mentioned the Dutch master Vermeer’s signature technique of placing his subjects in front of windows, bathing them in soft light. As it happened, in the castle we stumbled upon two ‘lost Vermeers’ previously unknown to history. You can see his unmistakable compositional genius shining through in the images below.
The Palais de l’Ile is the pointy-fronted building that divides the river and features on most postcards of Annecy. The twelfth-century prison is more attractive from outside than in, but it was a prison, after all.
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