And fair enough. They’re beautiful.

High above the lake, tucked into the mountains, there’s a small Alpine village that doesn’t need to make a fuss — it’s just one of the best places around.

Thollon-les-Mémises.

If you’ve ever stood by the lakeside and found yourself looking up at the mountains, wondering what’s up there …this is it — and if you’re discovering Thollon for the first time, consider this a gentle introduction.

Still wondering whether it’s worth the detour — or what there actually is to do — the answer is more than you might think.

The view over Lake Geneva

There are views…and then there are views.

From Thollon, the whole of Lake Geneva opens out below you – wide, silvery, and constantly changing.  You can see right across to Switzerland — not just on a clear day, but every day — with Lausanne sitting quietly on the opposite shore and the boats tracing slow, deliberate paths across the water.

It’s one of those places where you find yourself stopping mid-sentence just to look.

And then stopping again five minutes later.

And again.

It’s a ski resort – and it depends when you go

Yes, Thollon is a ski resort.

But what it feels like depends entirely on when you’re there.

Come during the school holidays – Christmas, New Year, February – and it’s full-on. Car parks overflowing. Queues for the lifts. Children everywhere. That slightly frantic energy that builds up as everyone tries to make the most of their week in the mountains.

It can feel busy. Properly busy.

Then January arrives… and everything changes.

Suddenly it’s quieter. You recognise faces. There’s space again – on the slopes, in the cafés, even in the car park.

March sits somewhere in between. A bit more relaxed, but still with a sense of the season ticking along.

And then, right at the end, those last sunny weekends bring everyone back out again. One final burst -ending with a giant village party- before it all winds down again.

Same place. Completely different experiences.

If you’re after peace and quiet, avoid the school holidays. If you don’t mind a bit of chaos, you’ll fit right in.

It’s quite hard to beat.

Summer in Thollon has a life of its own

If winter belongs to the slopes, summer belongs to the lake.

And when the weather turns – properly warm, blue skies, that clear Alpine light – people head down. Not up.

The beaches along Lake Geneva fill quickly. Towels spread out early, children in and out of the water. It’s a different energy altogether.

Up in Thollon the lifts open again at the beginning of May, but this time for walkers. The mountain changes character completely — green replacing white, wildflowers appearing almost overnight along the paths

You can walk for hours here.

Sometimes properly, boots on, slightly out of breath.

Spend the morning up in the hills and be down by the water in the afternoon. It’s not about choosing between the mountains and the lake.

You get both.

The in-between seasons are when you really see it

This is the bit most people miss.

The weeks between winter and summer, when the snow retreats slowly up the mountain and the village seems to pause, take a breath, and reset.

Shops close for a while. The gondola stops. The carparks empty.

And suddenly you hear everything.

Water running everywhere as the snow melts. Birds you didn’t notice before. It’s quieter yes – but not in a sad way. More like the village is stretching after a long season and getting ready to begin again.

If you want to understand a place, come when nothing much is happening.

It’s just above Evian – but feels a world away

One of the nicest surprises about Thollon is how close it is to everything… and yet how separate it feels.

Evian is just down the road – lakeside cafés, boats coming and going, that slightly polished Riviera feel.

But a short drive up the mountain and you’re somewhere completely different.

Cooler air. Slower pace. Fewer people. Bigger views.

You can dip in and out of both worlds in a single day – morning coffee by the lake, afternoon up in the mountains, evening watching the light fade and the sunsets over the water.

It’s a very easy place to settle into.

So…is Thollon Worth Visiting?

If you’re looking for somewhere in the French Alps that combines mountain air, lake views and a slightly more understated kind of charm – then yes.

Very much so.

It doesn’t try too hard. It doesn’t need to. But it stays with you.

And once you’ve been, you tend to find yourself looking up at those mountains from the lakeside and thinking…

I know what’s up there.

The post 5 Things You Didn’t Know About Thollon-les-Mémises (above Lake Geneva) appeared first on Tales from the Balcony.

You hear it before you really see it.  From the balcony above the lake you can hear a soft sigh, as if the whole place is gently exhaling.

The first sign is the water.  Snowmelt is everywhere – running along the edges of the road, dripping from rooftops, trickling across pathways. Snow, which only weeks ago covered everything, begins its quiet retreat up the mountain.

After the clear, bright ‘bluebird’ days of the ski season, the sky softens too. The flat greys of early Spring give way to blue again. Everything feels lighter – even if there’s still a chill in the air that catches you off guard.

And then, just as the days begin to hint at summer…everything pauses for a moment.

After Easter, when the last skiers have gone, the village seems to take a breath.The gondola closes briefly for maintenance before reopening at weekends in May.

Car parks empty. Even the bus to Evian stops its daily grind up and down the hill. Cafes and restaurants shut their doors for a while – terraces stacked neatly and waiting.

There’s an odd stillness.

It’s just…. quiet.

As things slow down you start to notice the little details – birdsong replaces the background hum of visitors.

Up on the Hucel, where the radio tower overlooks Lake Geneva, red kites circle lazily in the warming air before drifting out across the water.

The meadows and the pathways burst into flower – the fields carpeted with golden dandelions.

And the cats return.

Each field surrounding the village has its own silent guardian, sitting proudly at the centre of its little domain. It’s one of the little things that I love about Thollon.

A few second-home owners drift through, carefully avoiding school holidays. But, for the most part, the village feels as though it’s been left to itself.

And then, very quietly, life begins again,

Down by the lake in Evian, there’s a gentle stir of activity.

Not busy. Just purposeful.

Boats are opened up after winter – engines checked, chrome polished, bags carried back and forth along the pontoon. The same quiet rituals, every year. Fridges are stocked with a few essentials… and, of course, a bottle of wine.

This is France after all.

Along the waterfront, the promenades begin to bloom again.  In Evian, workmen  are out replanting the borders bringing colour back to the town.

And then there are the smaller details.

Birds nesting quietly in the backs of boats, undisturbed until the chicks have hatched. The lido being cleaned and prepared for the new season.

The old wooden trading vessel, the Savoie, one of the last of its kind on Lake Geneva, is made ready once again.  Her great double sails catching the fresh spring winds like echoes from another time.

Nothing dramatic. No grand reopening.  Just small signs, one after the other.

Spring in Thollon isn’t a showy season.

It doesn’t arrive with crowds or colour or noise, it comes quietly – in the sound of water, in that pause after Easter, in the gentle return of life along the lake.

And if you’re lucky enough to be there in that in-between moment, you begin to see it for what it really is –

Not the start of something,

But the quiet turning of the year.

The post Spring in Thollon: The Quiet Season Above Lake Geneva appeared first on Tales from the Balcony.

Twice a week the lakeside town transforms into a colourful maze of food stall, clothing rails and dangerously tempting goods.

I love a good French market.  For the congenitally curious like me, it’s paradise on earth.

But, here’s a cautionary tale  on how not to shop in a French market.

Have you ever done something so awful that you break into a cold sweat every time you think about it?

I’m not talking about a really heinous crime. Just one of those excruciatingly embarrassing moments when you wish the ground would open up.

If that was you, standing outside the makeshift changing room at last Friday’s outdoor market, I can only apologise, profusely.

Setting the scene

It was one of those glorious spring days. The sun was shining, birds chirruping away, blue sky and Simpsons clouds, you get the picture.

The perfect day for a trip to the colourful, assault on the senses, outdoor market in Evian.

Up in Thollon, Mr B rolls out the car. And off we charge down the mountain like a ball bearing in a pinball machine.

Since arriving here over a year ago, Mr B has become more ‘confident’, his word, driving down these twisty little mountain roads. Reckless would be a more accurate description.

Wild animals in the surrounding woods tremble at the sound of our garage door opening.

Market days in Évian-les-Bains

Our little market in Evian takes place twice a week, on Tuesday and Friday mornings. The Tuesday market is a fairly restrained affair but on Fridays, it’s the full potato.  Everything you want a market to be.

A riot of colourful handbags, handwoven baskets, and enough sunhats to build a raft with.  Flimsy dresses swing on hangers beneath the canopies, like the spinnakers of yachts on the nearby lake.

What you’ll find at a French outdoor market

As I weave from stand to stand, Mr B saunters behind, examining the ‘designer’ watches as if he were an expert on the Antiques Roadshow.

  I peruse the bowls of fat, succulent olives and buy aubergines the size of rugby balls, they must be a bargain, mustn’t they?

I’m talked into a kilo of roast potatoes along with my roast chicken by the good-looking young man on the chicken stand. Well, he did wink at me as he put the chicken in its seep-proof bag. Neither of us eats potatoes.

Each time I come home with 2 slices of ham so thick you could cobble a street with them.

Every week we have the same conversation, ‘No, we’re not adopting a beehive for the balcony from the woman at the honey stall’ …

but I’m working on that.

What embarrassing incident?

Anyway, I’ve been trying to deflect you from asking ‘what embarrassing incident?’ Here’s a little lesson on how not to shop in a French market.

It all began when I spotted a bargain hanging on the rail of the slightly dodgy dresses and blingy trousers stall.

Fed up with the countryside uniform of t-shirt and jeans I thought I might jazz up my wardrobe a bit.

The dressing room disaster

‘You’re not buying that without trying it on, are you?’ Said the voice of reason over my shoulder. ‘Yes, yes, this way Madame, I have a changing room here for you’, steering me through the jungle of coat hangers, over 3 empty cardboard boxes, and behind 2 very flimsy floral curtains.

Somewhat reluctant to strip down to my undies in the middle of the outdoor market, I rashly decided to slip the dress on over the jeans and t-shirt. Top plan!

What could possibly go wrong?

Five minutes of deep inhaling, lots of shimmying, and I get it on.

It looks like a burst sausage skin, and so off it comes……. well, no, in fact, it’s jammed tight at around shoulder height.

By this time, I’ve got my arms over my head like a drowning man, and somehow the whole thing has twisted around and I’m breathing through the zip hole.

Subtle alterations

‘Mais dis donc……qu’est qu’elle fait la’ ?  comes the murmur from the small crowd gathering outside the curtain.

‘Ca va?’ enquires the increasingly impatient stall owner.

I break into a cold sweat convinced I’m going to pass out at any moment.  Nothing else for it, I’m going to have to open the curtain and ask him to cut me out of this straight jacket.

Then suddenly I remember reading about Harry Houdini.

His trick to escape from a padlocked trunk while bound in chains was to breathe out deeply and simultaneously relax all of your muscles.

At this point, I’ll try anything.

Miraculously it worked, and centimetre by centimetre I worked the dress off, accompanied by the sound of groaning stitches and creaking seams.

A fashion triumph

I emerged from behind the curtain like Eric Morecombe on Sunday Night at the London Palladium.

Before the stallholder had time to admire the minor alterations I’d so carefully made, I stuffed the dress in my bag.

With a big broad smile I beamed, ‘why yes, it’s just perfect.’

20 euros later and I’m now the proud owner of an eye-catching pink and orange floral dress with strategically placed air vents.

The moral of this story is, don’t be tempted to buy your clothes in the outdoor market…..oh, hang on…..what’s this…

The post How Not to Shop in a French Market in Evian-les-Bains appeared first on Tales from the Balcony.

My husband’s Scottish, and has always hankered for a light drizzle, a distant misty peak, and a good peat bog. It’s taken him n….. years to persuade me to venture higher than 50 metres altitude.

An Intro to the ‘high life’

At first we started with a package holiday ski trip to Austria.

Hated it! Cold, wet, hard work, and spent the whole week in a sweaty vest and salopettes (think shiny dungarees with embarrassingly placed braces). Fortunately, I then moved on to the portable duvet and flowerpot hat, much more sofisticated (sic).

The only highlight was the Après-Ski; watching middle-aged people in similar cringe-worthy outfits attempting to dance in ski boots after knocking back a litre of schnapps each!

Slow down, you move too fast

But….. let’s fast forward another trillion years. It pains me to say it, but he was right all along, again. Life is better in the mountains. Everything moves at a different pace.

It’s taken me a while to get used it, but I’m getting there. Can you believe that almost everywhere in France closes for 2 hours at lunchtime?

By the time I get my act together, do a few star jumps, pound away on the pc for an hour and get a brush through my hair, all the shops are shut. They have slightly erratic reopening times too. Last year I stood outside the bank waiting for it to reopen at 2pm, yes even the banks… at 2.30 pm an amused shop assistant came out to tell me that they’re all closed on Mondays. What??

In the real world

Of course, it’s not all a rural idyll. Life’s hard for many people living in mountainous areas. The economy is mainly agriculturally based with additional income from tourism.

Many villages and hamlets are completely isolated in the winter. Internet connection is poor and power blackouts still happen when heavy snow brings the cables down.  Children are often bussed for miles to go to school and many villages have no doctor or medical facilities.

Village Life in Thollon

Here in Thollon we’re incredibly lucky. Our village of around 750 permanent residents, although sitting at over 1000 metres, benefits from 2 tiny supermarkets, a doctor, and a vibrant primary school. In the tourist seasons we even have a cinema. You can see more about Thollon here, and read my regular blog on life in this wonderful corner of France, Letters from Thollon

Winter and Summer

In the winter, the snow plough clears the roads daily and the postmen battle their way here through all kinds of weather.

The 16 ski lifts that cover the Mémises, serving 50 km of ski-runs, ensure that in normal times the village buzzes with activity from the end of December till the end of March.

Turn around twice and the village is full of summer visitors.  Many are decked out in hiking gear that’s been in the cupboard under the stairs since 1910, or failing that, new fuschia pink ‘should be stretchy’ but ‘already bagging at the knees’ outfits (yes, that’s me) that would give any meandering Marmotte a heart attack.

Life IS better in the Mountains

Of course, I’m super happy that this year, with the ski lifts closed, I don’t have to do the compulsory throwing yourself downhill on two planks of wood with the Scottish fanatic.  It means there’s more time to appreciate the incredible scenery, adapt to a different pace of life, and soak up the peace and tranquillity of mountains and lake.

Postscript 2020/21

While it’s all very well writing a light-hearted piece designed to entertain and amuse, I’d like to say that I’m deeply aware of the impact that the pandemic is having on the livelihoods of those reliant on tourism here in the mountains. Like much of the world, things here are very tough for many, many people at the moment.  My writing may sound flippant but at its heart is the desire to keep this little corner of the Haute Savoie, France, uppermost in your minds.

Come and explore for yourselves, when we can all travel again easily. You’ll be very welcome

The post Life is Better in the Mountains appeared first on Tales from the Balcony.

Nestled in the foothills of the Alps, our little village of Thollon is ideally placed for exploring the romantic shores of Lake Geneva and the rugged mountains that surround it.

This little gem of a museum is almost on our doorstep, in Les Gets, and is well worth a visit. On the way, you can admire the stunning scenery and stop at one of the little cafes or restaurants that dot the roadside.

Musical Marvels

If you’re traveling from the lakeside, take the ‘Route des Grandes Alpes’ and head through spectacular mountain scenery to Les Gets for a visit to the Museum of Mechanical Music. Small museums and landscape gardens were amongst the first businesses allowed to reopen after the pandemic in France. Most are run by volunteers and struggled to survive without visitor income.

This ultra-modern museum, housed in one of the oldest buildings in Les Gets, is home to a collection of over 800 musical marvels. It’s the largest collection in Europe.  Every form of honky-tonk piano, ghost accordion, and phantom violin is represented and all are in full working order.

Ever wondered who the mother of the Wurlitzer was?  Well, she’s here, in the form of giant circular metal discs pierced at strategic points, playing lively polkas and whirling waltzes to turn of the century pleasure seekers. From jazz to alpine melodies, from tiny delicate musical boxes to giant, colourful fairground organs they’re all here and the best thing is….. you get to hear them all.

My favourite?  It has to be the huge Belgian dancehall extravaganza.  This incredible organ was built in the 1950s in Antwerp. It’s painted in ice-cream colours with neon lighting, and it’s fronted by two Belgian saxophones, alongside mechanical accordions, trumpets, drums, and percussion. It’s a Saturday night at the ‘bal populaire’ kind of beast that could certainly tell a story or two.

On the next visit

When we visited, only half of the museum was open to visitors.  We weren’t able to see the collection of the earliest gramophones or visit the ‘Salle des Machines Parlantes’ with the first reproduction of the human voice. I would also have loved to see the automatons from the shop windows of the Faubourg St Honoré in Paris with their fairy story and Jules Verne themes. Still, that’s a good reason for a second visit sometime in the future!

Current opening times: Check the website for opening hours
Entrance fee: Adult 9 Euros, Child 5 Euros

Full details at www. http://www.musicmecalesgets.org/

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