I'm running a little behind with my blog posts, but everyone has to have a holiday now and again, n'est-ce pas? This year's vacation for me was a wonderfully relaxing week spent on the shores of the jaw-droppingly stunning Alpine Lake Annecy with eight lovely friends. Sound idyllic? Well it pretty much was, with one factor throwing a spanner in the works: RAIN. I'll spare you a boring paragraph where I pontificate about the disappointing climate of recent years and come over all dewy-eyed at the mere mention of the Summer of '76. The fact is, we were on holiday, it rained every day, we dealt with it. We were still on holiday after all, and, when in France in the rain, there is still wine to be quaffed, cheese to be gorged upon and bowling alleys to visit.....(yes, seriously).
I, for one, was not about to let the odd downpour of torrential rain get in the way of my enjoyment of "Europe's cleanest lake" and between all nine of us, we managed to get more than our money's worth; from early morning dips and taxi boat sightseeing to inebriated skinny dipping at 5 am.
On our final day, whilst we were humming and ahhing about how to maximise our enjoyment of the little bit of sunshine that had come our way, I received a call from fellow holidaymaker Roy: "I've hired a speed boat for three hours. I'm parked at our private beach. Bring sun cream and a snorkel". Music to my ears. I was on board before you could say Hello Sailor.
I've been on speed boats before but usually manned by some self-important jobsworth who takes great pleasure in chastising passengers for trailing their hands and feet in the water. This was our very own boat: Roy was the captain, we could go wherever we wanted and we had beer! And if we wanted more beer we could go ashore and damn well get some.
Having a boat to yourself opens up all kinds of possibilities of exploration. For fear of getting stranded, we didn't quite get close enough to the Roc de Chère to catch sight of any of the 560 species that warrant its status as a protected nature reserve. However, we did reach some of the parts that other boats can't reach and, on occasion, drifted close to some rather handsome properties that are not part of the taxi boat itinerary and served as a gentle reminder of how the other half live. By far the highlight of our little excursion was being able to stop in the middle of the lake and dive into the deepest, coolest part of the crystal clear emerald waters. Despite its "Europe's cleanest lake"' boasts, little marine life was visible when I donned snorkle and mask, but closer to the lake's edge, more professional-looking divers seemed to be reaping some reward.
The only shadow that was cast over proceedings was when we went ashore for more provisions and had the audacity to climb out of our little vessel onto our neighbour's jetty, giving us easy access to our lakeside garden, rather than having to wade. Our neighbour watched on disgusted, hands on hips and wagged his disapproving finger at the trespasssing scum of the earth that we were. It beggars belief that somebody who has the good fortune to spend their retirement years in this little slice of heaven can be so downright miserable and uncharitable.
Roy and Bri took it in turns to steer the boat and the looks on their faces betrayed the fact that, for that moment in time, they were making chase in From Russia With Love. Unfortunately the cans of beer bearing a Jamiroquai silhouette were no compensation for the absence of Martinis. When I took to the wheel, my lack of driving experience was only too apparent and the one-legged duck effect set in. A few circles later, I had almost got the hang of it but decided to leave it to the boys, preferring to sit on the helm, arms in the air, feet trailing in the water, pretending to be King of the World.
Would I try it again?: Next time, I'll make the cocktails.
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