The view from our balconies at Le Prieurie was magnificent, with the Bosson glacier spreading down the slope of Europe’s highest peak, Mont Blanc. But the vista was marred for me. In the corner above the railing lurked a spider the size of a manhole cover, swaying in its web.
Well, live and let live.
I bustled in and out of the room, coming and going. 
Every time I stepped out to check the view the evil Alpine arachnid was up there, staring down at me and jiggling a bit as if to dare me.
Finally I thought I saw him wink.
All right. A guy needs a broom in a situation like this. But no broom; nothing with a handle of any kind. Hm… Ah! There was a thick cellophane wrap from a fruit basket. I rolled it into a kind of club shape.
With a sweeping backhand I hurtled the deadly predator out into nothingness. Oops – or did I? Was he at this instant in the folds of my cellophane club, scrambling his way toward my wrist to sink his poisonous fangs into my tender American flesh?
I set my weapon on the railing. Poof!, a breath of wind sent it floating downward. As I watched over the railing, another breeze wafted it onto the balcony below me.
I retreated. Sorry, Room 509!
The Alps offered a few periods of clouds but mostly sun and mild conditions. Some of us relaxed with shopping and sightseeing in Chamonix, others hiked and took gondolas up nearby peaks (intrepid Kari Grieman in flip-flops). Those of us on day excursions toured a dairy (“lame-o” was the quote from one of our younger members) and the Castle Chillon on the banks of Lake Geneva, where the poet Byron was inspired to write "The Prisoner of Chillon." (Very cool, the consensus).
Everywhere were gold roosters on the steeple tops, brilliant red flowers in window boxes, and cows wearing bells the size of toasters. This last is only partly a tourist contrivance, guide Petra said. Some farmers still use the bells for the traditional purpose: to tell their stock from neighbors’, like American ranchers use brands.
As we emerged from the Castle Chillo to the lovely fall afternoon on Lake Geneva I asked Catherine Lynch, who’s traveling with her friend Lana Hurley, to name her favorite part of the trip so far.
She smiled. “I feel like a fat lady in a bakery who’s had too many sweets – I don’t which has been best. It’ll take me a while to digest all of this. I want to get home and look so many things up on the computer now. That’s a good thing about travel, isn’t it? It broadens your interests.”
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