I have never seen powder pink mountains.
It is 9 p.m., local Geneva time. The sun is only about to set, casting a soft wash of pinks and purples over the majestic and beautiful Swiss alps. We are in the patio of La Reserve Hotel, before a view so pretty I only thought it could exist in storybooks. The place is packed —- the ladies are well-dressed, the gentleman sassy and smart. We drink Aperrol, peach iced tea, rose’. The rolls are warm and perfectly delicious, the butter fat and decadent. We have ordered summer soup and foie gras that is so delicious, but we are too stuffed to finish it. The dimsum lunch we had earlier was still in our stomachs, undisgested even by the long walk we took in the village right after. A boat had taken us from the hotel to the village. We went in and out of shops, the prettiest delis, and we ended having coffee al fresco. But the menu was tempting so we ended up ordering dried meats and salad and even a burger, all of which we shared among the four of us —- Richard, myself, Juliana, Marilen. It was the most scenic boat ride I have ever been on. Pretty, everything was just so pretty.