I spent my Christmas again this year in the Vaud region of Switzerland, running away from the noise of my work and the fears of my new reality after a life-changing medical experience. Returning to Saint Sulpice, I found that in addition to the care, love and attention of good friends, the nearby lake too has restorative properties. Lake Geneva, referred to locally as Lac Leman, is a vast expanse of water. It makes up part of the Rhône River, for which I’m particularly grateful, because those waters pass into France and quench the thirst of the thirsty hills in southern France (where some of my favorite wines are grown) before it (the Rhône) rolls into the Mediterranean.
But getting back to the Lake. It is a work of natural art, an expresser of moods and a giver of visual games depending on your vantage point. For me though, this year, it represented therapy; a respite from the worries of the (home) office and global concerns about whether 2022 would finally be the year the world moves past Covid life. I love the Lake especially because each morning the weather above it provides a different view: would we see France and its Alps, or would they be blanketed in lake-generated clouds and fog? Or would the sun dazzle us with how it reflected off the purple-gray mountains and their snow-crested peaks, offering incredible combinations of cerulean, azure, bronze or amethyst with its shadows and reflections. The morning view of the Lake tends to set your mood for the day.
And then there is Leman’s healing force. No wonder so many über fit Swiss folk choose the lakeside as the route for their daily runs or regular walks with their canine companions. Cozy footpaths intermingle with asphalt pavements to offer endless opportunities for the locals to see the Lake’s beauty from manifold angles. This of course gives my friends, once I’m armed with my smartphone camera and ambling along the Lake, cause for dread of my afternoon Instagram/FB posts, where I share for maybe the 9,000th time a slightly different shot of Leman: both its mood and robing for the day.
It was these daily photo sessions, my late morning promenades Ouchy-way or my walks with Jean, Izzi and Poppy that helped me feel a bit safer in my post-surgery world. And more confident in my ability to recuperate and to move forward with life. Each courteous bonjour and each playful chastising of Izzi when speaking to her in Czech made me slightly more certain that I was getting better and reminded me to be thankful for the health I had regained. It was all these faces and moods of Lac Leman that showed me each day would be different: some sunny, some overcast, some full of bluster, but all of them survivable.
So I took to the Lake with gusto; usually a bit wobbly at first, wondering if my goals of 10K steps were perhaps a bit too ambitious. But as the waters set the tempo and empty benches along the shores invited me for a bit of rest, I learned to trust myself and work to the rhythm of Leman. The Lake is a constant. She is in no rush. She takes contentment in knowing she nourishes the lives of so many towns and villages on her shores and provides both travel routes and entertainment for the people who cross or play in her; from tourists and locals looking to make their way over to Évian-les-Bains (home of the well known spring water) or for the local ferry captains, fishermen, paddle boarders and/or windsurfers to whom the Lake offers both work and play.
From mid-December to mid-January, I had the good fortune to stay with great friends living near the Lake and take advantage of their overly-generous hospitality, and I downed all the medicine that Leman had to offer. I would soak in her sunshine, let her wind whip my hair and chill my face, listen to her stories told in the waves lapping on the shore, and watch her moods change as the clouds and light came and went. I am grateful for the Lake and knowing she is always there for me should I need to abuse her of the curative powers of her ample calm and spiritual nourishment.
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