Montreaux, 9 August 2013

Exterior of Chillon Castle built c12th Century

“All my life I have been a poor go-to-sleeper. People in trains, who lay their newspaper aside, fold their silly arms, and immediately, with an offensive familiarity of demeanour, start snoring, amaze me as much as the uninhibited chap who cozily defecates in the presence of a chatty tubber, or participates in huge demonstrations, or joins some union in order to dissolve in it. Sleep is the most moronic fraternity in the world, with the heaviest dues and the crudest rituals. It is a mental torture I find debasing. The strain and drain of composition often force me, alas, to swallow a strong pill that gives me an hour or two of frightful nightmares or even to accept the comic relief of a midday snooze, the way a senile rake might totter to the nearest euthanasium; but I simply cannot get used to the nightly betrayal of reason, humanity, genius. No matter how great my weariness, the wrench of parting with consciousness is unspeakably repulsive to me.” 
― Vladimir Nabokov, Speak, Memory

We are staying in same hotel where Vladimir Nabokov spent the last 16 years of his life. His suite of rooms, paid for by the proceeds of Lolita, was two floors above our own room. The photo depicts the very bed in which Nabokov struggled with his nightly tortures. And here is the desk at which he wrote his last novel, Ada or Ardour:

 Here is a short documentary, which includes footage of him sitting at the desk, walking around the hotel and reading the first lines of Lolita in Russian and English: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p3fsSL4Bw9w

We walked to Chillon Castle today and saw graffiti by Byron

 and the dungeon which inspired his poem, The Prisoner of Chillon. Francois Bonivard, a political prisoner of the Duke of Savoy, was chained to the pillar below for four of his six years of captivity (1532-1536). 

The castle is beautifully preserved and many of the rooms retain the original decoration of the medieval period. 

Chapel ceiling with remnants of medieval paintings of saints. 

Montreux has a micro-climate that suits warm-weather plants and the Promenade Fleuri, a walk from Montreux to Chillon, is lined with colourful flowers, a variety of trees and some eccentric sculptures. 

We spoke to only one man on our walk, a middle-aged Aussie who was desperate to find the statue of Freddie Mercury who also stayed in the hotel we are staying in but is remembered by a much bigger statue: