Alpine Panorama Trail - A path for dreamers

It's nearing the end.

Sometimes I think I can spot Geneva in the distance, but of course that's not possible. After all, there are still four tough stages and many kilometers ahead, today to Etoy, a small inland village.

But what the heck, today's tour also promises a lot:

Without the slightest incline and yet with a wonderful view of the Savoy Alps, you walk from the Lausanne port of Ouchy along a wide lakeside path to the old town of Morges with its imposing castle and the former war port of the Bernese.

Life at the lake

While I am walking leisurely along the lake - until Morges everything remains flat, no inclines - I am watching life at the lake. It's Sunday, the weather feels bad-tempered, but the shores are populated, moms and dads with strollers, old people promenading hand in hand along the path, joggers, bikers, swimmers in the lake and in the pool, but not a single hiker. But for the first time ever, a strange idea occurs, unexpected and surprising.

I guess I might be living here.

It is not only the lake, the Lavaux, the mild air, the atmosphere, no, it is above all the people who welcome me with friendliness and warmth and charm. Not this sometimes dull, grave, reserved behavior of the German Swiss, pointing to their ancestry. Mountain people, peasants, suspicious of everything foreign, of the authorities, of everything unknown to them. A breed of people that for centuries knew only survival and nothing else.

I don't want to blame them, I'm one of them myself, but if you know them better (which can take a time), they are quite pleasant (not always).

But back to the trail.

Sometimes the trail leads through the middle of a public swimming pool, but the pools are empty on this gloomy day, only a few undaunted people dare to jump into the cold water.

The sky is not kind to me (and to all the others) today, dark clouds move silently over the equally gray water, but after the past days of heat, the cool shade and the pleasant warmth feel good.

The path once again leads along the shore, the noise behind me fades away, I am all alone, only a few rowboats out on the lake apparently trying to break the local records. A girl, sitting in front, sets the tone, the muscular men give their best.

Alone

I am alone on the road, as mostly on this hike. I spend an estimated 80-90 % of the time in my own bubble, undisturbed by the noise of the world, senses open and receptive to everything. I see, I hear, I smell, I feel.

If I'm not mistaken, episode 5 of “Queen's Gambit” contains the sentence that goes with it: “The strongest person is the one who is not afraid to be alone.”

By the way, one of the best Netflix series ever. Definitely take a look. Here is my absolute favorite scene at the end, when she meets the old chess players in a Moscow park after winning the world championship:

Hape Kerkeling looked for enlightenment on the pilgrimage to Santiago, or at least a few answers to pressing questions. Whether he found them, I do not know, but I think that this aspect has played an important part in the huge success of his book.

I am not looking for enlightenment, but should something along these lines happen, I am certainly receptive to it.

The long hours through pouring rain, far and wide no living being except the occasional cow on the meadow, or under the scorching sun, while all around a world full of beauty unfolding, provide me with something like enlightenment. Just today, a few days before the end, I feel emotions that remind me that I have been given something very precious.

When I tell people about the hike and my experiences, the first question is usually "Alone?" In most cases, the answer is followed by an uncomprehending "I see", accompanied by question marks hiding behind furrowed brows.

It's not the questions asked, it's the unasked questions.

A path for dreamers

How many times do I have to repeat how much I like these ways? How connected I feel with everything surrounding me?

Sometimes the path follows the lake again, with a single leap I could jump into the water, then again it branches off, shrubs and dense bushes lean over the path. Once, twice, depending on my mood, I sit down somewhere, usually by the water, stare out at the light blue expanse, follow the movements of the clouds, they have become my friends.

Morges

After just under four hours I arrive in Morges according to the travelguide today's destination.

The Savoyard town with its wide waterfront, the war port built by the Bernese (1691-96) and the castle, which now houses a military museum, has a lot to offer.

But it's always the same problem on this hike: not enough time to take a break occasionally, to put a stop to the permanent forward momentum for a while. This is especially true today. I'm sure Morges would be worth a stop, but well ....

The path leads for a while through spacious parks, ancient trees standing motionless in rows, an army of mute soldiers, tree tops piercing the sky like spears.

But then, for today the last kilometers along the lake. Afterwards, I'll head inland, where a room in Etoy awaits me. Once again I follow the paths through dense woods, very close to the water, trees stretching towards the waves, it seems that they want to be close to each other.

LeBoiron

A creek, Le Boiron, leads into the forest after the village of Tolochenaz. It now heads north, away from the lake, towards Etoy, today's destination. That the path along the stream is called "Sentier de la Truite", trout creek, seems self-explanatory. However, in view of the dirty brown water, I can't imagine that there are still many trout here.

But the path is fantastic. Only a few hikers, more likely Sunday strollers, are lost in the forest, you greet each other "Bonjour Monsieur", "Bonjour Madame" and go your own way.

It has become damp, the wet trees and bushes bear witness to the downpours of the past few days, the path is at times boggy and difficult to walk on, but this is nothing new to me.

Although the inhabited areas as well as the highway are close, one feels in another world. The only sounds are the murmur of the creek, the soft swaying of the trees in the wind, sometimes the longing call of a lonely bird in the branches.

Sometimes I wish the road would never end.

Etoy - and a closed hotel

After a few kilometers, the original panoramic path branches off again back to the lake, but for me, an alternative route applies, which should lead me to Etoy. I cross the highway - the noisy world has caught up with me again - and then follow a seemingly endless path along wheat fields and greenhouses.

And indeed, shortly before Etoy it starts to rain, I take refuge in the supposed protection of a greenhouse, but after a short time the rain subsides, the few drops do not bother me.

And then I arrive in Etoy, a small, inconspicuous village that I would definitely not have visited if I had found a room elsewhere.

The Auberge Communale "Chez Yann" looks quite respectable from afar, but also very deserted and closed. I don't really find it funny that the most expensive hotel on the way plays a Sunday prank on me.

Across the street, at least a small store is open, the young people are extremely friendly and considerate and help me solve this dumb problem. After some futile calls to the hotel manager (who lives somewhere outside), I actually get the guy on the phone, am probably a bit gruff in tone, but at least he tells me the secret of how to open the gate to Sesame.

Well, I have a room, there's a run-down shower that I'll have to patch up first, a tiny TV where I'd like to watch football later, and no restaurant in the whole town where I might eat my hard-earned dinner. So I do some shopping in the store and then rather sulkily adjourn to my room, swearing that for once I will give a very negative review of this hopeless establishment.

 

Matching Song:   Bishop Briggs - The Way I do

And here the journey continues ... to Gland on Lake Geneva