Un Tour on the Tournette

Even Parisians, who live in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, need a break from their lovely environs, historic monuments, and seeming gourmandism. One can perceive a marked hush in the months of July and August during which the French go on vacation, often to the Riveria, the Côte d’Azur, or the Alps which offer completely different aesthetic and feel. Fortunately for me, a trip to Annecy has revealed a refreshing face of France as well as myself that I could have never seen in Paris. Annecy’s mountain air is as fresh as Parisian air is tainted with cigarette smoke. The Annecy landscape is as open as the streets of Paris are narrow. At night the town of Annecy sleeps under a blanket of stars while Paris stays awake and illuminated with its glamorous nightlife. Annecy showcases the grandeur of Mother Nature in its landscape while Paris reveals years of human ingenuity and history in its cityscape. The Lac d’Annecy is what you see in postcards and on wallpapers for desktop computers. Bluish mountains line the horizon, standing over the lake which is always sprinkled with sailboats and swimmers—a perfect harmony between land and water. Dirt paths shaded by trees follow the perimeter of the lake, affording bikers and runners a breathtaking view. Sunbathers lazily catch the sun on the green grass while other play soccer. I have to admit that I’m not a particularly active person (thus fitting nicely into the American stereotype), but Annecy has a way of drawing out the energy required for the active lifestyle. I was asked to bring sneakers on my trip, but alas I only had my converses (an attempt to be in keeping with French footwear and again, a testament of the extent of my athleticism). Little did I know that I was to climb la Tournette, a mountain 2351 meters high in the east side of Lac d’Annecy with névés, or snowfields, and regions of rocky ascent. My friend, his family, and I were off at six in the morning, ready to conquer la Tournette. The path started off fairly level and increasingly became steeper, kind of like a perpetual stairmaster in the gym. Of course, this was much more enjoyable—having the rocks crunch beneath my feet, the pitter patter of pebbles falling down the slopes, the incredible feeling of seeing the town shrink every time you look back, and the indescribable oneness with nature. Each crevice on the mountain was carved by water, wind, and earth, posed as a potential foot hole or grip for the climb. It was a test of perseverance, a journey with an end that seemed unreachable. After climbing past patches of snow, a carcass of a mountain goat, rocky ledges into which there were no paths, and parachutists who used to the wind to take them to the skies, we reached the summit which was marked by a simple iron cross, a fitting representation of the conquest. Its structure is basic, just like the nature of mountain hike in which you simply put one foot in front the other. The cross stands strong like the determination of the climber, and it stands proudly before the blue sky, one of the few manmade objects in this landscape. While the structure itself is simple, its placement on the summit against the blue sky with Mont Blanc in the distance and birds flying below is an entirely extraordinary and humbling sight, paralleling the amazing feat of conquering a mountain as well as the humility that comes with it. The descent took about two hours, and by the end of it all my legs felt a bit less shaky than jell-O. But I assure you, I would not change the experience for the world even if it took my legs three days to fully recover. Bring your sunglasses, water, snacks, climbing shoes (don’t bring converses!), a light jacket, and a friend to la Tournette. That’s all you need for the experience of a lifetime.