The Magic of Maps....

I just casually browsed this from the map shelf as I passed by this morning.    I lived for a year in a Swiss village called Céligny.     So small it doesn't get onto the map - but if you can see the harbour of Coppet on the Lake and head a little north-west that's where it lies.

Céligny has two cemeteries.   A large airy one, and a dark little dank one down by the river.   Richard Burton is buried there.   And across the path, Alistair MacLean - who had written several novels, turned into screen plays starring Monsieur Richard as he was known in the village.   (Monsieur Richard drank in the other pub from us!)

Maps mean memories.   So here is just one.   In the winter, a group of us purchased a sledge and took the little mountain railway from Nyon up to St Cergue to go sledging - not greatly appreciated by the Ski Patrol.   It was an unforgettable moment to travel on the train - in the thick murky atmosphere that accompanied the temperature inversion hanging over the Lake for six weeks.   We were fed up of living in perpetual grey dampness.   As the train puffed up towards St Cergue and the Col de la  Givrine, it got darker and darker until - in one glorious moment - we burst into a world of sunshine, blue sky and sparkling fresh snow.