getting out of dodge

That phrase has no business being up there on that title line.

We don't exactly live in Dodge, now do we?  You get the idea, though.  Having now done our fair share of strolling around the G, we decided to do what many of the people we meet do on Saturdays and Sundays - skip town. 

On Saturday, we were invited to lunch at Isabelle and Fabien's home...Ludo and Rafa and their strapping boys, William and Thibaud, were visiting for the weekend.  We recently discovered that the bus that stops just outside our door will take us to the station, so we easily hopped on a train to Versoix.  

Here we are, inconspicuously awaiting the train - blending in with the locals - as we are wont to do.

We had such a nice visit.  Boy, did it feel good to be in someone else's home, amongst friends, talking to people with whom we have history.  Isabelle and Fabien provided us with the special surprise treat of driving us back to Geneva in a boat.  Preoccupied with reconnecting with these dear people, I forgot to take my camera out until we got on that boat.  For shame!  We can't show you the rest of this handsome family now...another time. 

So, yeah, dodge...

*   *   *

Emboldened by our train finesse on Saturday, we ventured out a tad further on Sunday.  This time, Montreux was our destination.  If you're like me, you've heard of Montreux because of the mention of its famous festival on a jazz cd label.  Take a look at the map, and you'll see that the town is clear across the length of the Lac Léman; it took just over an hour to get there.  

At the Montreux station, we caught a peek at a vintage Golden Pass train waiting for passengers.  

Oh, we will take that Golden Pass, don't you worry.

We'd heard that Montreux was reputed for its healing powers, and five minutes on the boardwalk explained this rumor.  I swear, the Lac Léman was wetter, the sparkles at its surface were sparklier, and the surrounding Alps...their large, gentle silhouettes seemed strangely protective.  

We walked the promenade on the boardwalk for about 45 minutes until we reached the Château de Chillon, (literary types, this is the castle where Lord Byron was inspired to write The Prisoner of Chillon).  

While I'm no expert and certainly no historian, I've been to a few castles in my day, and I think Chillon may just be my favorite. As you can see, its architecture is rough and simple, but within its walls is essentially a sunny, cobblestoned village.  Thanks, in part, to the well-designed, layperson-accessible  museum element, it was easy to imagine the bustle of the life and the hard work that took place inside, which, I now realize, is what I want out of a castle experience.  

Rock sculptures we noticed on the return walk back to Montreux.

Every time we turn around in this country,
someone pulls out a new game or sport.  

Case in point.

We had to use ice cream to lure that kid's legs back to the station.
(Aunt Bunny, I love the purse you gave me! )

Feeling extremely confident in our transport abilities, we ended our weekend with a Sunday night tram ride.

Jude puts on a polite, appreciative expression for a tram musician.