I love crossing borders by train. The changing scenery, the rapid shifting of languages, stations with unfamiliar local names; its an experience in itself. Therefore it was obvious that I would get into Switzerland by train from Paris. Alas, I fall asleep and miss the transformation only to wake up in time for catching my connecting train from Basel to Lucerne, where I am to meet a dear friend for an exciting week in the Swiss Alps. A drastic change from the historic and vivacious Paris, I am welcomed into Switzerland amidst nature’s ubiquitous presence.
If the heart asks me where I would want to be again, in a flutter I would answer – Chamonix. The vistas overlooking the Mt Blanc would release the floodgates of artistic excellence of even a pedestrian poet. Such is the grandeur of the Alps that as they traverse through the lengths of Austria and Switzerland and make their way into France, they seem to have run through their crests and troughs, but, just as the proverbial candle flame, they seem to have reserved their best for the last – in the hearts of Chamonix.