The mountains called

I have a big fear of heights. Actually, it’s more, it’s a phobia – acrophobia, an ‘abnormal dread of being in a high place‘. It’s something I’ve lived with for as long as I remember. It doesn’t affect my day to day life, there are many phobias which are harder to contain. It does mean I have to plan meticulously if I am driving. Anywhere which may involve bridges, mountains, hairpin bends, sheer drops and the like need careful thought and a lot of scoping out. Thank goodness for Google Earth these days.

Twenty odd years ago when we were house hunting in France, we explored the Alpes Maritime region. We have a friend who lives there and it appealed to us both. It is a stunning, beautiful part of France with breathtaking scenery around every corner. But, after a disastrous drive where a wrong turn took us onto a dusty, thin, truly scary piste instead of climbing the narrow, steep road up to Rougon , we decided the region was not for us.

Paradoxically, I love mountain landscapes while at the same time finding their heights terrifying. During Covid when travelling was allowed, we took the campervan down to the Pyrenees. Michel, by his choice, doesn’t drive the campervan. But even if I had handed him the wheel, I am a nervous passenger at the best of times. So I planned, planned and replanned potential routes so that we stayed at the base of the mountains. There could be no spontaneity. It was the best we could do. And it was worth it. We enjoyed a taste of the mountains at a satisfyingly low level only an acrophobic would understand as an achievement.

Earlier this year we decided we will explore France further afield than we have managed to date. It’s a country which has everything. We want to experience more of it with the dogs. One of the places I have long wanted to visit is Lake Annecy. It stems from my love of outdoor swimming, which, after a few years hiatus, is undergoing a revival. More on that in a future blog, perhaps. From our home in the south-west, the lake, the third largest in France, and said to be Europe’s cleanest is almost 400 miles over in the east close to the Swiss border. Annecy lies in the Haute Savoie region which also boasts the highest summit in Western Europe, Mont Blanc. The potential for acrophobia intrusion became more real, the more I thought about our trip.

Thankfully after asking a few people who reassured me that accessing Lake Annecy was doable, even for those who hate mountain driving, we firmed up plans, booked Cosette into a cattery and set off. My route planning was thorough, it had to be. But, what we overlooked – we brought the trip forward due to a family issue – was the day we set off was a major holiday in France. As soon as we hit the motorway it seemed that most of France was also heading east. We abandoned trying to take a break after failing to find space in the first three motorway service stations on route.

By the time we stopped for the night, we were both mighty glad of all the planning and options a, b, c, d etc, etc, I had up my sleeve! We parked up in a blissfully empty, quiet spot – with mountain views and best of all, no phobic intrusions. I had managed to get us into the mountains without stress or drama. Mainly because the climbs were steady, not vertiginous. And thick, richly green, forest vegetation blocked the views. The roads were gently winding in the main, not tightly, narrow and contorted.

As it was a national holiday, Lake Annecy was too busy for us to stop and enjoy it. But we did drive all around it, loving the scenery, the setting and experience. Parking proved impossible in the van with height barriers in a lot of places and just too many people for us and the dogs to be around. So we moved back into the mountains and found an idyllic place for the night. One I had not planned, but which worked perfectly. With stunning 360 degree views, we woke up to sunrise over Mont Blanc. It truly was a magical landscape to savour. One this acrophobic felt particularly fortunate to enjoy in a state of peaceful contemplation.

Then it was back down the mountain for a swim in Lake Annecy’s lesser known neighbour, the larger, deeper Lac du Bourget. It was cold, refreshing and utterly beautiful. Access to the water wasn’t too easy for the dogs, so Michel stayed warm in the van, keeping them company, especially Albert Claude who thought I’d abandoned him.

We took the slow route home, venturing a little further into the mountains, finding a small vineyard for a night which also sold freshly harvested asparagus. Then it was back west, spending a couple of nights in the vast, volcanic landscape Auvergne. Another spectacular region, one we’ve visited on a few occasions and love every time. For the dogs, our van trips are opportunities to loaf around not doing much, with the thrill of new smells wherever we stop. I am sure they don’t care whether they’re on the move in the van in stunning new landscapes, or walking their familiar trails at home. But on the other hand, they do love the van food Michel cooks for us all.

So long as we’re all together, that, I am certain, is what matters most. To the dogs, and us.