Morning mist on the lake
The world outside my window has disappeared. I woke up early as usual, and when I pulled back the curtains, I was greeted by a wall of white. Annecy is shrouded in fog this morning, transforming the familiar landscape I've come to know over the past few days into something mysterious and new.
It's 9:40 now, and I've been up since 6:30. I couldn't resist the pull of that ethereal landscape, so I ventured out shortly after 7:00 for a morning walk along the lake. The experience was surreal. The water was perfectly still, creating a mirror effect where the fog met the surface. The mountains that normally dominate the horizon were completely hidden, as if someone had erased them overnight.
I walked along the promenade, passing only a few dedicated joggers and an elderly man walking his tiny dog. There's something about fog that makes people speak in hushed tones. Or perhaps it was just the early hour. Either way, the quiet was a welcome companion.
By 8:15, I found myself at a café near the Jardins de l'Europe, ordering my morning coffee. The owner smiled in recognition—it seems I've become something of a regular during my brief stay. I sat by the window, watching the fog shift and swirl outside while nursing my espresso. The warmth of the cup between my hands was particularly welcome in the cool morning air.
I've been thinking about my departure later today. The train to Lyon leaves at 10:15, which means I should head to the station around 9:50. My bags are already packed, sitting neatly by the door of my guesthouse room. I've grown fond of Annecy in these few days—its canals, its history, its rhythm. Yesterday's boat tour around the lake gave me a perfect farewell to this place, seeing the surrounding villages and mountains from the water.
There's a certain melancholy in leaving a place just as you're getting comfortable. I've checked off most of what I wanted to do here: walking the canals, visiting the Château d'Annecy museum, cycling around the lake, trying the local cheese specialties (that Reblochon was a revelation!), and exploring the medieval buildings in the old town. The boat cruise yesterday completed my list. Yet I still feel like I could spend another week here easily.
But that's the nature of this journey, isn't it? Moving on before a place becomes too familiar. Keeping the wonder alive. I've found that 3-4 days seems to be my sweet spot for most locations—enough time to go beyond surface-level tourism but not so long that I start establishing routines.
The fog is starting to lift now, revealing glimpses of the buildings across the lake. According to the forecast I checked earlier, it should clear by mid-morning, giving way to partly cloudy skies. Lyon awaits me with its own stories and secrets.
As I sit here typing this final post from Annecy, I'm struck by how quickly 43 days have passed. Almost 10% of my journey complete already. The initial nervousness I felt in Amsterdam has given way to a comfortable rhythm of exploration and reflection. I'm no longer counting the days since I left home, but rather savoring each one as it comes.
Time to finish my coffee and head to the station. The next chapter awaits.
457 days remaining