Novel

I recently visited France for the first time. We crossed over the Swiss-French border on the south shore of Lake Geneva in the binational town of St. Gingolph.

Dad took us on a walk—on French soil—along the shores of Lake Geneva.

I’m always up for walkies and investigating new places. I’m a mighty trooper.

Dad had picked St. Gingolph for our walkies because he wanted us to look up at Grammont, an imposing mountain overlooking the lakeside town. Last year, Dad hiked from St. Gingolph to the top of Grammont.

Here's a view from St. Gingolph looking up at Grammont:

Here’s a picture Dad took last year looking down at St. Gingolph from the top of Grammont:

The trail from St. Gingolph to Grammont runs through the mountain hamlet of Novel, spelled exactly like “novel” in English. Dad thought Mom would like that name. She did, and I did, too.

From St. Gingolph, we drove up a one-lane mountain road that wound round the mountainside to Novel.

The two hotels and the B&B in Novel were closed for the season, so we drove back down the one-lane mountain road. For once, I was glad to have an empty tummy.