A vacation that ended too soon
I have never seen powder pink mountains.
It is 9 p.m., local Geneva time. The sun is only about to set, casting a soft wash of pinks and purples over the majestic and beautiful Swiss alps. We are in the patio of La Reserve Hotel, before a view so pretty I only thought it could exist in storybooks. The place is packed ---- the ladies are well-dressed, the gentleman sassy and smart. We drink Aperrol, peach iced tea, rose’. The rolls are warm and perfectly delicious, the butter fat and decadent. We have ordered summer soup and foie gras that is so delicious, but we are too stuffed to finish it. The dimsum lunch we had earlier was still in our stomachs, undisgested even by the long walk we took in the village right after. A boat had taken us from the hotel to the village. We went in and out of shops, the prettiest delis, and we ended having coffee al fresco. But the menu was tempting so we ended up ordering dried meats and salad and even a burger, all of which we shared among the four of us ---- Richard, myself, Juliana, Marilen. It was the most scenic boat ride I have ever been on. Pretty, everything was just so pretty.
And so here we are back in the hotel and at a table beside us a lady is being served her meal, little pockets of something that look so fancy they can pass off as presents. She is in a beautiful sundress, chambray. Everything is so perfect, all seems right in the world, just for this one moment in time. We are laughing about many things, many real stories that have happened in our lives through the years. Over at another table someone is celebrating her birthday. She is in a short white dress, beautiful, mid-age, fit. She is with an elderly couple, three children with golden hair and sparklers in their hands. They hold it over a small but very pretty cake as they sing the birthday song. Right beside us is a small table of two very well-dressed gentlemen. One is in baby blue pants and a crisp white shirt, the monogram stitched in an unusual place, near the third button. It is done in very light gray thread. It looks nice, if a bit odd. The other gentleman is in a pin-striped sports jacket, navy pants. Hardly anyone is in black --- all the colors I use for my coloring books, all 48 of them, they are represented here. I look out to the sprawling garden and I see a beautiful tree. Earlier, we had photos taken there. It is one of those that should be in the movies, a backdrop to two people falling in love, witness to their promise of forever. I’m thinking that if I had a tree that big, that lovely, in our backyard I could spread out a blanket and curl up with a good book, Juliana and Richard by my side.
In our room are two mini loaves of orange cake, a handwritten note from hotel management, a big beautiful bottle of wine. Even water tastes more lovely in this part of the world --- softer, gentler. I pack my bags. In the morning a long road trip stretched out before us.
Seventeen years ago we were doing the exact same thing, driving up to Crans Montana. We were newlyweds, it was sometime in September. I had today to right what I felt I did wrong back then. See, I was so jet-lagged I slept through the entire car ride. Richard would wake me up gently from time to time to point out beautiful sights and I would wake up to take them in but Would go right back to sleep. This time around was different. I take in all the beauty of the flowers, the sunflower fields (I want to have something like that one day!). I saw the apple trees! Apricot trees! Lavander fields. Vineyards. Stretches of those. And then the alps, with its glaciers, looking back at me like they were mountains of rough diamonds. Oh, God is really the best architect. And Switzerland is one of his many masterpieces.
We walked every day. We sat on benches, ate ice cream. We had crepes, indulged in raclette dinners, took soda, walked a golf course so gorgeous I wanted to take up golf. The famous Montblanc and Matterhorn mountains were not just something that could be enjoyed in a beautiful photo, they were real, I could see them with my naked eyes. I had many Fräulein Maria moments, I was always happy, and I wanted so very much to burst out in song — the hiiiiiiiiiilllllllllls are alive ...
Once, we went up a 16-room hotel at Chetzeron, almost 7,000 feet above sea level. We rode a Land Rover. It felt very James Bond going up there, a convoy of Land Rovers driven by good-looking men in smart suits. Omega always stages kthe best events, with sharp attention to beautiful detail. From that standpoint, the Alpine peaks are breathtaking and it is an experience all at once beautiful and authentic. There we ate burgers and pizza and green pasta, drank wine and champagne, watched an evening presentation of songs and dances. There were thick red blankets to huddle in and keep us warm. In the bar was a framed photograph of the man who developed the place. While it was being transformed into the hotel that it is now (it used to be a ski lift terminal, we were told), he died suddenly of a heart attack. He never saw his dream become a reality. For a moment, I feel sad about it all. His children run it now, the lady behind the bar tells me.
We headed home a few days after that, but not before Oliver and his son Magnus, an adorable 14-year-old boy with gold hair and blue eyes, took us out for a lovely raclette dinner in Chateau de Villa. There were 5 courses, all featuring cheese from different regions. We dined outdoors. I was quite sad it was our last night there.
I come home feeling the vacation was much too short (five days only!) but refreshed just the same. I hope it does not take 17 years before we find ourselves back there again — a very happy place, a throwback to our honeymoon, powder pink mountains at sunset, beautiful lakes, pretty flowering windows, raclette cheese and all.
