To my surprise there is indeed a young lady, kindly serving me breakfast the next morning. With some effort, I put on my grimmest face. "C'etait pas tres drole hier soir".
I can't help but grin as well, because a grin is all I get in response. Apparently, the manager of the hotel is well known for forgetting to announce the entry procedure.
Today's stage will be as expected - nature a rare thing, not like the past few weeks. Sometimes there is indeed too much civilization. Long rows of houses, rather boring, then again asphalt roads. But I was aware of that, my beloved mountains and hills and meadows are gone, replaced by plenty of modern world.
The travel guide says:
A promising morning through the vineyards and wine villages of the Vaudois La Côte and a shady afternoon along the Toblerone path on the Serine stream (former anti-tank barrier).
Since the original Panoramaweg takes a different route, from now on I will show my own ones.
Length: 19.35 km, Ascent | Descent: 530 m | 585 m, Hiking time: 6 h 11 min
The same forever - or maybe not?
The road leads in the direction of the lake, I cross another village and numerous ugly industrial buildings that make me walk faster. In a few days I have to endure these sights again and again.
But after half an hour the worst is behind me, a narrow path along wheat fields leads me straight into a forest, where after a short time I encounter the river Aubonne. This is more to my taste.
At first glance, everything looks exactly the same as yesterday - old gnarled trees leaning over the path, a green world to the right and left of the path, sometimes a brook, this time the Aubonne.
And yet it is different - and the same. I, too, am not the same as yesterday, and yet the same. The impressions are also different - and yet somehow the same. But that's the way it has to be. That's how life is. Everything is the same, and yet different. It reminds me that 99% of the thoughts you think during the course of a day are the same as all the days before. Kind of embarrassing.
The fragile human being
It is a permanent back and forth between forest and meadows and lake. The Aubonne has taken its own path to the lake, I choose another, but it too ends eventually on the shore.
Today the weather plays a minor role, clouds provide the lake a sickly gray, not exactly to my liking. There is no one to see, probably, since today is Monday, everyone is at work. Have fun!
I park my backpack and sit down on the shore. The hoarse cry of the seagulls is the only sound, perhaps accompanied every few seconds by the gentle lapping of the waves.
Over the last few days, I've noticed that I've been feeling a strange melancholy. My eyes are still on the surroundings, but in a kind of trance, as if an inner eye had taken control. It's like looking into the distance for a long time, unfocused, without blinking.
What does it mean? Is it the imminent end of the tour, or are there other reasons?
Of course, on such a long hike, you stumble across every issue sooner or later, even the unpleasant ones that normally prefer to remain silent. But it's inevitable, and I'm slowly realizing that in the last four weeks, some of the hidden feelings have come to light. I feel as if long-buried emotions and pain have forced their way to the surface. So many things that were thought or said or done. Or the other way round.
In these moments, you become aware of your own frailty.
The reader will forgive me if I don't dig deeper. Certain things must be left unsaid.
Rolle
After another excursion into nature I am welcomed by Rolle , a small town by the lake, beautifully located, as it will soon become clear.
Apparently, the townscape corresponds to a medieval pattern. There is only one main street, with houses located along it. There is a reformed parish church, whose bell tower dates back to the Middle Ages.
The Rolle Castle is located right on the lakeshore, I make a stop, read up on its history and am impressed. It looks like it might still withstand any threat today, however, I learn that it was burned down in the 16th Century by the Eidgenossen. So not quite as defiant as I expected.
A small island, the Ile de la Harpe, is just a stone's throw out on the lake, a ship on its way to the French side of the lake is just picking up speed.
The lake promenade is once again a feast for the eyes. The ordinary footbridge to the pier is decorated with red and purple and yellow flowers, a larger-than-life model of a bee, covered with flowers, stands in a flowerbed as if sipping the nectar.
You can't help but be happy.
Long road to Gland
Somehow a strange route today. It does not seem to be able to decide whether it should rather follow the lake or rather cross inland. After Rolle the path leads again into the green surroundings, seemingly endless paths leading towards the dark clouds, the sky hangs low and threatening. It would not surprise me if I am gifted with a wet greeting also this afternoon.
It's still early, if I keep going at this pace, I will hopefully be at the hotel before the expected thunderstorm. However, when I look at the sky, I get a little uncomfortable. Looking at the map more often now, I estimate the distance, calm down for the moment, only to immediately feel the unsettling feeling of an approaching thunderstorm again. If there's anything I hate, it's being exposed to a thunderstorm on a flat field.
After all, I am spared the rain until a few kilometers before the day's destination, only to be showered at the very end. The last kilometers lead along a busy road, not necessarily my preferred means of walking. Next to me the cars and trucks thunder past, I get the one or other mocking look.
But finally I arrive, I am already expected, what an honor, and I am led with measured steps to my chambers, for today, however, only in the form of a rather small room, but what more do I need.
A late night football thriller
Dinner at the Hotel Restaurant de la Plage is cancelled, the restaurant is closed today and I am screwed again. The establishment is located at the most beautiful location directly on the lake, but far away from any other restaurants or stores.
The landlady spots my disappointed expression and looks for a solution. She instructs her husband, a gentleman trés distingué in his prime, to drive me to a pizzeria not too far away.
And so, after a short drive, I end up at the aforementioned pizzeria, where I firstly get a great pizza and secondly a box seat in front of the TV. The related discussions about the soccer match soon turn me into a close friend of the staff.
At 21 o'clock, the decisive eight-final between France and Switzerland will take place. However, the faith in our national team has suffered greatly (and not even the good match against Turkey has been able to reduce my doubts). Against France, after all the reigning world champion, our team has no chance.
After the 1:3 all hope is gone, I have enough and go to sleep. However, a short time later I am awakened by strange noises from outside. But having become a bit curious, I turn on the TV again, oh, new result 3:3. Wow!
The match goes into overtime, but before the decisive penalty shootout I remember 2006 with a shudder and switch off again, only to be woken up a good ten minutes later by a few euphoric text messages. What nobody expected happened: Switzerland sent France home. And I poor fool missed most of it!
Matching Song: Lana Del Rey - Summertime Sadness
And here the way continues ... to Commugny
