Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose

(Janis Joplin)

I've enjoyed my bike immensely. Last Saturday, Dasha (who pointed out that her name is not spelled the German way with a C) and I took the train to Lausanne and then biked to Montreux with a couple of stops in Clarens, and a difficult, uphill, brief detour through some vineyards. Here's the bike path we did (22.65 miles, 36.5 km).

They call it the Swiss Riviera and it's listed on UNESCO's most beautiful places in the world. But it's no Cinque Terre, let me tell you. Far too many cars and not enough wild. Regardless, it was a great GREAT bike ride.

We stopped in Vevey and considered going to the photo museum there (since we're both photographers) but the day was too nice to hide inside. We had gigantic pizzas instead and pushed on to Clarens to pilgrimage to Vladimir Nabokov's grave. Some old lady, who thought she was being nice and knew a thing or two, told us (after we had climbed a steep hill to get to the cemetery) that he was actually buried in Vevey and wasn't it funny how so many people made this confusion, driving up here in their cars and driving back. Ha. Ha. Not funny.

We biked down the hill and off to Montreux, which someone likened to Florida and I'd agree. Lots of palm trees, old people, and slow walkers. It's a south-facing city and so it's sunny hot and really steamy hot in the afternoon. The tourist office informed us that Nabokov was indeed buried back in Clarens, along with 22 other famous people. I cursed that old lady with my fist in the air. Curses!!! We stopped by monument to Freddy Mercury and paid tribute to him, as well as a weird mime dressed in a glittery gold sheet. (I've never understood the fascination with them.)

Then, we had a coffee across the street from the casino (which sold Lagerfeld men's suits - to give you context versus the casinos on reservations in Wisconsin) and, since we weren't going to bike the extra miles to the Chateau de Chillon, I read Byron's "The Prisoner of Chillon" to her there, in the middle of hot boiling sun and weird bar music in the background.

We biked back to Clarens, and up that damn hill to the cemetery. Crept inside the church, which was decked out in strange pastel-colored stained glass, and found no guide to find Nabokov. We started walking and passed the newer graves heading to a building in the center of the cemetery, thinking it might have maps. As we were walking, I thought, this is just like the moment when my sister and I were driving into Modena, Italy, and couldn't find the damn hotel, driving in circles around the city. And just when my sister and I were entering the old town and were frantically looking for street signs amid busy pedestrians, she spotted the street name and led us to the hotel. And, then, just like that, Dasha spotted Vladimir and Vera's grave. Huzzah.

I had a bit of mental connection and for the first time in my life, watered someone's grave.

We cruised down the hill from the cemetery and turned to the train station and trained it back to Geneva.

It was a great day.

(Photos forthcoming)