I blink in a fog of incoming assignments and blurry hours correcting tenses of the tongue. Today’s light yet persistent rainfall from a white sky bored with monotonous winter finds me flailing to juggle compounding online tasks. Spring Break fades into the haze of the first frosty weeks of a year already marked with problematic confusion. I, better than my students, awkwardly find my rhythm swiveling between voice channels and downloads, disconnections and misunderstandings. Online teaching rips the mask off a frightening number of students who have always skated by on minimal effort and are now able to do nothing. An amorphous mass of students no longer attend, and the groups that arrive are riddled with connection issues and apathy. The pockets of students with “broken” microphones for oral expression classes are inescapable. The total and blatant indifference of some towards their education disheartens me to the core of my identity as a lover of learning but also allows me to cherish my interested and responsible students that much more.
So, with that brief account of my current and subpar experience of online teaching, I would like to share my sunny soft memories of my romantic weekend in Annecy.
After a Friday morning talking about psychology in layperson English, my partner and I pack the backpacks and snacks, bundle up in gloves and scarves and wind our way up Rue Battant to the station where our first train awaits us. Three trains, three additional hours, and many windswept and white miles later, we find ourselves hand in hand a short walk from a hotel-style studio. The streetlights create a glimmering orange in the snow crunching under our bootsteps between the city station and a quaint street cutting off downtown where we find our lofty hideout layered in pinks and greens. Due to the Lyonnais delay, the clock shows past midnight and I my fatigue. We munch and sleep while awaiting daylight’s relief.
A snowy Saturday arrives on the other side of the night in an awfully comfortable bed. The temperature of the icy wonderland falls scandalously below Celsius’ zero as we march the two-minute concrete path to the famous lake, our starting point in this French slice of Switzerland. The wind from an apparent artic forces our hands in gloves and many would be passerby inside under covers of feathers and heat. Just lakeside, we peer into the glass-like water. Alone in the snow of the final spirals of an eternal season, we take our time with pictures and observations while meandering to the Pont des Amours,found only a stroll away. The crowd of tourists, thinned by the tight biting air and grey overhead, impedes our lazy romantic wandering. Yet we cross the beaten trail as the dutiful tourists we are, catching the impressive scene made of lake and mountain in the iceblue of an impressionist, with a cozy canal behind and summerclear fresh water below. The bridge bleeds into a park named the Gardens of Europe still framed by the water and the promenade for the dozens of courageous wanderers like us.
Cutting away from the dreamy vistas of the city’s main attraction, we weave through the imposing artistic structures of the park to find the historic downtown chopped up by singing streams and pastel facades. Arriving in the old town from the lake will run you right to le Palais de l’Ile, an impressive stone structure from real fairytale times rising from the end of a miniscule “island” crafted by green streams. We take our shots, mostly silly selfies I don’t bother to check until later when I bemoan the closed eyes, wonky angles, and the fact my boyfriend can produce a grimaced smile. Houses from the 16th century form the alleys of streets that hatch the frozen tourist town, with titles and dates and professions all scribed in stone. We notice a back path that spins up and away from the city streets pocked with vendors of all things sweet and savory. L’Escalier du Chateau leads us along a picturesque yet slick way to the castle perched atop the town, which in non-Covid times would have invited us to explore contemporary art within its medieval walls. Tant pis.
We descend another snowy road lined with Easter-colored mismatched dwellings to meet the shops again on the other side. The window display of a bakery with pain au chocolats and meringues the size of footballs tempts us into its warm interior then into buying a bag full of sweetness. For a late lunch, I try my first ever raclette sandwich, a genius reimagination of one my favorite French dishes. The same melted cheese gets scrapped over ham and pickles then closed between sides of a baguette. The beauty of the town and the excitement of exploration had thus far muffled the cold felt in fingers and toes and ears, but eating our sandwiches outside in the dead of winter gives the chill a moment to creep into consciousness. With the 6pm curfew looming soon, we let the cold guide us back through the historic center, then the newer commercial blocks, all the way to our rented room. Later that night, in true birthday vacation fashion, we order pizza and wrap up our current series comfortably sprawled with not a worry in the world.
Sunday springs like the season into view through the glass wall of window, sunny and inviting. Mount Veyrier can be seen like crystal in the sky now free of yesterday’s cloudy gray. Ready to take advantage of the friendlier weather during our second and last full day in town, we eat an early lunch in the luminous heat of the apartment before trekking out back towards the lake. Under the sun and in front of the sparkling body of water, the entire town has the same idea to profit from these hours of fair weather freedom. We follow the water away from town this time, towards the base of the pile of mountain peaks that overlook the sheltered city, weaving through cyclists, lovebirds, dogs, and every family in town.
We hadn’t really planned for any down and dirty mountain climbing but encouraged by the liveliness of the day and the suppression of all activities culture under Covid, we start up a rocky path that winds first through some heavenly back yards. Not even one hundred meters up those rocks become slick with melting ice and snowy mud, a nightmare of successive adrenalin rushes as we lose and find footing on the inclined ground. He’s in Vans and I boots, and together we are no match for the mountain trail carved for those with proper footwear, experience, and hiking sticks. Groups of all types pass us both ascending and descending with baffling agility and speed. A young boy on a mountain bike flies down the muddy mess of icy hairpin turns with ease, giving us seconds to pivot out of his path. At times the risk of slipping appears acutely when one side of the trail falls away with cliff-like steepness. After one too many jokes about missteps and perilous ends, we throw in the towel. A third of the way up did come with a nice view and a hearty workout. This will have to do in checking “winter hike” off our life lists.
Below again and in the thick of the Spring break crowds, we follow the lakeside promenade in reverse, basking in February rays. More people spill into the wide walkway every second, while I reflect on not ever seeing so many people congregated even during my time in Paris over these last holidays. Unfortunately, Annecy’s mask mandate only extends to the limits of downtown. Clearly, much of this human mass sees the mountains and thinks “I’m in nature, so no need to wear the mask”. The lack of the common sense it requires to don the mask in crowds astounds me. This time we continue past the old city and up towards the Basilica of the Visitation. Thankfully, this means we part from the circulating masses and follow sidewalks into more residential blocks until we race (I won) up a stone and stoic stairwell leading to the impressive church. We quickly walk the round inside before taking a moment to chirp about the weekend on a bench looking over the valleyed city.
More adorable side streets lathered in dusky sunset light lead us to our last pass through the old town’s pinks and greens and yellows. Charming pedestrian bridges guide us across the charming waterways. I imagine a summertime Annecy in full force, free of Covid, with lively restaurants, glowing nightlife, and unbreathable crowds enjoying human nature with such a gorgeous background. The nation’s curfew yanks us into reality and closes in by the minute as we meander back to our cute-as-a-button Airbnb, stopping only for our daily bakery visit. A night of cooking and chocolate cake awaits us as we enjoy our indoor time as well.
The next morning came sharp and dark in the form of a 7:00am train back to the grit of Spring semester work. Although traveling under covid and the curfew posed obvious challenges, I can say that this bit of travel put new life in my blood and air in my lungs. I’ve seen another gorgeous corner of France while enjoying a sweet and stress-free weekend.
Having just hit the two thirds mark of my last semester as an English lecturer, my short days weigh heavy with lesson planning for so many online eyes. Final oral presentations and written exams loom soon for my students and their grading for me. Summer plans reside like mirages in my happy brain space, shimmering slightly out of sight with each passing day without a word from the government and with the continuation days that end at 6pm. While the mental toll of these restrictions becomes more tangible with each week of no new encounters, little live language practice, and constant doom scrolling, I come back to the fact that I have about a month left hard work. After that, I’ll breathe and bask.
Be happy,
Emily
Experiencing the Francophone World 