Annecy's lake and canals

 

Lac d’Annecy, France’s third largest lake, is 14+ kilometers of sea-glass aqua, emerald crystal, opalescent blue topaz, clear sea-green water. It is said to be the purest water in Europe. A glacial lake, Lac d’Annecy is fed by five alpine rivers and an underground (at 82 meters depth) spring. Paul Cézanne’s 1896 painting of the lake, called simply Le Lac Bleu, is a mélange of blues. This painting’s angular, static feel might not have inspired me to go to Annecy, but soon after I saw Google’s flowing, soaring photos of Lac d’Annecy, I had my plane and train tickets.

At planning time, I did not realize I would not be able to have this vertiginous view; it is reserved for golden eagles and paragliders. No matter. I enjoyed the lake’s blues from boat and land level. At the time, I did not realize ten villages, not just Annecy, bordered the lake. No matter. Annecy charmed me. At the time, I did not realize Annecy would be mobbed by tourists. If Annecy is so popular, why is there no direct transportation to it? No matter. Some rail and bus routes do stop there.

Despite my naïveté about this Haute-Savoie destination, I found Centre Historique d’Annecy picturesque. Stone bridges arch across canals. Blue, red, and yellow flowers cascade from rails along canals. Swans glide and mallards paddle translucent green canal waters. Canals are lined with restaurant awnings and tables. Every restaurant seat in Annecy has a pleasing view. And because so many tourists linger by the canals, your café seat is perfect for people-watching. Being a flâneur (or in my case, flâneuse) is a very French pastime. With no ambitious agenda for my week here, I enjoyed relaxing for a time every day in such scenic surroundings. Here are some photos.*

*The most vibrant photos here were edited by my husband Robert.

Franglais Mélanges

Cultures blend, especially in this global economy. France has been notably protective of its culture and language, so although I saw nowhere near a blurring of American and French on my recent visit there, I did see more blending than I have on previous France visits. For example:

This month, when I revisited Montpellier’s famous Place de la Comédie, I was delighted to see historic Le Café Riche. This café dates to 1893; its website describes it as “indétrônable depuis des décennies,” basically undethronable for decades. Next door are perpetually inelegant, unenthronable McDonalds and a Foot Locker. On the edge of the café’s terrace filled with world-watching flâneurs stands a guitarist busking with a Scott Joplin rag.

Later, when I became a people-watching flâneur at a different café’s sidewalk table on rue de l’Université, I was amused to see delivery scooters buzz by with Pizza Hut crates mounted on their back fenders. Across the impossibly narrow street was another café whose name reflects a linguistic and culinary culture mashup: My Wraps, with the suggestion to Composez, Roulez, Dégustez—put it together, roll it up, savor it. I presume the pigeon poop on the sign would not be rolled in your wrap.

The following week in highly touristic Annecy, I noted other French-English blends, such as this café Une Autre Histoire, or Another Story, with the English tag line, food & good time.

In terms of the people I encountered in France … Though Montpellier residents spoke only French to me, and Lyon folks gladly spoke perfect French or English, Annecy residents were a mixed language bag. Hotel and some restaurant staff made agreements with me that I could practice my French with them if they could practice their English with me. Many, however, stuck with French even though I’m fairly certain they understood English. Lastly, I spotted this awning across from the French café that deserves credit for offering a English and French versions of its menu. We’ll overlook the fact that they translated chicken giblets as magret de canard—fillet of duck breast.