As far as I can remember, I spent my first holiday in the Vosges, near Gerardmer, when I was 6-7 years, I think. The memories we keep of these moments are very vague: a great story house with a walled garden, a porch surrounded by a fence forged black, in a village jammed against a hill, the old stones and quiet environment. With my parents and my brother, we visit the corners of the region to explore waterfalls nestled in the woods. The air was fresh, the place breathed .
But these long-haul holiday, the only mountain with my parents, I have mostly the image of a particular moment when, with Mom, we went to the village along the paved streets damaged, to get to the source : a well equipped near an old wash house which was flowing clear water, fresh and clean. Locals enjoy the area to fill their cans and bottles. Even under the scorching sun, a halo of freshness invaded the space and we loved staying there, as timeless .
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