Each spring the shores of Lake Geneva resonate to the sounds of the Cully jazz festival, held in a small winegrowers’ village
I was here for the jazz taking place far, far below, towards Lausanne; I hadn’t planned to climb a mountain through three-metre snowdrifts. But my new friend, Bernard, had laid the bait: “You really have to get all the way up to the summit deck: the view is incredible.”
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