Swiss spa weekend

Juan’s new flat at Yverdon-les-Bain is palatial – the living room windows opening onto a south-facing balcony with a view of the Jura on one side and a park on the other; a separate bedroom; and a spacious kitchen. Spotless after a recent remodelling, but retaining the charm of 50s-era doors and cupboards (more storage space than at Vaulnaveys!), it’s situated in a quiet side street. Hopefully Juan will now sleep undisturbed by the buses that woke him early in his previous pad. Most exciting of all, the flat is right next to the thermal spa, wither to (Juan's suggestion!) we adjourned – after the wife had made her mark, repositioning furniture and kitchen items. The home-making instinct is alive and well.

just an internet-connection and an IKEA Poang chair short of a picnic...

view from balcony towards the Jura

My experience of spas is limited (have I even been before?) but what struck me about Yverdon was the inclusiveness – everyone was there: canoodling couples, families, coachloads (who had difficulty understanding “Silence” in the hammam), girly groups, boysy groups. And it seemed a big complex – two outdoor pools and a first-floor relaxation area with hammams, saunas (hard men only in the eyeball-melting 90° heat), a Japanese-style hot tub and an outdoor Jacuzzi with views to the hills. What a luxury to indulge for several hours then walk the 100m back to Juan’s flat, crinkle-skinned, slightly dehydrated and well chilled.

The inclement weather and lack of maps ruled out walking. Instead, we toured around the Jura east of St Croix. Near the Creux du Van we discovered a partly restored hotel-restaurant specializing in trout.

It looked to be the venue of choice for Sunday lunch, the vast concrete-floored “Salle des Fêtes” full of sixty-somethings; the adjacent river alternating between man-made, trout-friendly pools and wild, boulder-strewn cascades. All dripping with moss – the area gets 1.6m of rain per year. We stomped a short way to get a few lungfuls of air:

Driving down towards Lac Neuchâtel Juan poo pooed my suggestion of going to Neuchâtel city – “it’s just blocks of flats sandwiched between the lake and the industrial zone, a Scalectrix of motorways and railway”. But I had a vibe (I know of a shiatsu practitioner and a qi gong teacher in the area). This is the reality:

"The word of God is more efficient and penetrating than a double-edged sword." Scary stuff.

So an interesting, if peculiar, weekend. Strange for Juan because CH, in his mind, is only where he works. So what were we doing there, together? The weekend was somewhat troubling for me because of one thought tending to lead to another: Will Juan come home to France so readily? With more space, will I spend more time in CH? Is there a better way of living as a married couple than the current one? Could I work in CH and commute back to France to run workshops? Or both of us commute to CH together? Where would we live? What about the shiatsu retraining that would be needed? Would I give it up? Could we afford a garden? Would being a "Swiss housewife" eat my soul away? Could I ever get excited about the place...

For the record, forget sleepy Yverdon, Neuchâtel is where it is at: