Our ninth day - 19 July 1997

Vivianne and Nikki approaching Chateau Chillon. We left Vich and the Couvren-Roux family by 9 AM, this time opting for the Swiss autoroute. We employed an elaborate ruse involving Christophe's Autoroute Suisse windshield sticker to ensure our smooth passage. Christine had arranged to meet her cousin, Philippe Perey, at Chillon at the far end of the lake. Arriving there somewhat in advance we waited at the rendezvous site, a café across from the Chateau. The café had been broken into the night before and as we waited, we watched the Swiss detectives, in their blue jeans and sports jackets work the crime scene. It reminded me of all the French "policier" movies I had seen where the police are definitely blue collar and rarely virtuous. Philippe showed up with his wife Antoinette and we set off for the chateau. Chateau Chillon was perhaps the best monument we visited on the trip. Its location was strategic in the extreme: it completely commanded the narrow defile between the lake and the towering cliffs to the east. See if you can find it in the publicité shown for the previous day . It had twisting underground passages that started in one part of the castle and surfaced in a completely different part: the effect we were always trying to achieve in the snow forts of our youth. It had a legend - the imprisonment of a bishop for four years for advocating the independence of Genève - which inspired poetry from Lord Byron. It had beautifully restored banquet halls and "donjon" towers.

Philippe and Antoinette at the Restaurant de la Gare, Caux. As we left Chillon, Philippe proposed lunch. We asked if we could walk to it and he laughed. Instead we drove our cars up an impressive set of switchbacks, and 3000 vertical feet later, we arrived at Caux. Our only alternative to vehicles would have been the cog railroad that rose from the lake through Caux to a ski area higher up. We took an outdoor table and as we waited for lunch the train arrived, the maître d'hôtel bought out the alpenhorn and blew a resounding welcome to the passengers. Nikki and I ordered some wonderful lamb chops and pommes de terre sautées: the swirl of tastes, sounds of the railroad, colors of the flowers against the somber hues of the lake and the clouds - "while we live, WE LIVE..."

Waiting for lunch at Caux. "We were playing this game where you had to show each other the right way and wrong way to rent a motorcycle. There was a toy motorcycle on a spring in the playground. Brigitte would get on the motorcycle and ask how much it cost: that was the right way. And then Brigitte would yell 'I'm taking this thing and there's nothing you can do about it!' Then she would hop on and make a lot of crashing noises: that was the wrong way. We also did the right and wrong ways to race frogs, since there was also a frog mounted on a spring in the playground. Vivi climbed onto the frog, and giving a distinguished look, said with a pronounced English accent, 'Go-ah, frrauggie'. She lightly tapped it on the behind and pretended to post on the frog. Nikki showed how to do it badly: she swaggered over to the frog and said 'I guess I'll ride this one.' She hopped onto the frog and with a hillbilly accent yelled, 'Go, froog!'. She started whapping it on the butt and wildly driving the frog back and forth until its nose hit the concrete. She then dove off the frog and pretended to be crawling out of a smoking heap of rubble. There was also a swing set. Nikki was sitting on the swing and Brigitte pretended to be an annoying little talking dog trying to take the swing away from Nikki. Then Dad came to say that lunch was ready..."

Nine little girls at the dinner table in Argentière. From Chillon we drove up the valley of the Rhône - an enormous deep glacial valley that is the heart of the Canton de Valois, the other French speaking part of Switzerland. Where the Rhône turned to the east we turned to the west first on the main route that led to the Col de St. Bernard and Italy, and then onto a regional highway that climbed over several lower passes and dropped into the valley at the foot of Mont Blanc. Christophe had invited us to join him and his family as well as another family known from their days in Lyon at a chalet in Argentière. Only Cordula and Hannah were there when we rolled up. Soon after Serge returned from a hike he had begun with Christophe but had opted to end early because of the weather. Christophe who had also taken several of his kids did not return until quite a bit later, when the weather had really deteriorated, causing Cordula no small concern. As the rain came down, we gathered all the progeny - nine girls from ages 2 to 14 - around the table for a warm supper.
The next day was beautiful. We rode the tramway and hiked to the Glacier d'Argentière...