En route to the town of Martigny, we could only gawk at the view: snowy white mountains towering over vineyards and fields of mustard flowers (Dijon, as in the mustard, is just over the mountains in France). We stopped for lunch at Veytaux, a small town on the banks of the Lac Leman, the biggest inland body of water in Western Europe, otherwise known to unsuspecting tourists as Lake Geneva. Glad I got the locals to give me the downlow.

The weather was freaking awesome, by the way. So awesome that by the time lunch was over, my back was sunburned with odd cutout patterns from my dress. “You ‘ave the No Fear logo on your back,” chortled Julien. No Fear! Retro!

We also poked around the old town looking for ingredients for our raclette dinner. Nothing much to see, although I was tempted to break into song. “Little town, full of little people, waking up to say… Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour!“

Martigny is a small town with a big history. Hannibal, Caesar, Charlemagne and Napoleon all passed through to Italy via Martigny’s route to the Alps, known as the Great St Bernard Pass (Col. Grand-St Bernard in French). You guessed it: this is where those big, lovable St-Bernard dogs are from. So upon arriving at Martigny, we headed straight for the St Bernard Museum. Its upper floor is dedicated to chronicling these canines throughout history, but the ground floor out back is where you really want to be… with these adorable doggies!

Marlon has always been a big dog kind of guy, and he was in absolute heaven. Betraying my crazy cat lady instincts, I couldn’t resist squeeing myself. Especially when feeding time came.

This girl must have the best job in the town. As she called each of the nine joyously yapping, squirming pups by name and lifted each one over the fence to their feeding bowls, I could feel waves of jealousy radiating from my husband. “Sige nga, pati yung malaki buhatin mo,” Marlon murmured.

Cue wagging derrieres (wagging boddies actually), excited yips, a few fights over food bowls. *MELT* How can you not want one of these for Christmas?

Near the museum was the remains of a Roman amphitheater, where Marlon indulged his debating fantasies (he was a debater in high school and college) and pretended to be a great orator .

On the spur of the moment, we decided to visit the Fondation Pierre Gianadda, a museum that Julien’s dad had mentioned as being worth a look-see. In the late 70s, engineer (and obviously wealthy art patron) Leonard Gianadda found the ruins of an ancient Celtic temple on the plot of land he planned to build his house on. When his brother Pierre died in a car accident that same year, Leonard established a foundation and built a museum around the ruins to honor his beloved brother.

We came so close to not seeing it and I’m so glad we did. This small town’s museum can easily put museums in both the Philippines and Singapore to shame. Its collection of Roman artifacts and art by huge names such as Luce (my new favorite), Monet, Chagall, Degas, Picasso and more was simply amazing. There weren’t only huge names on the walls, but in the cultural calendar as well. Can you imagine one of the world’s greatest living divas performing in our National Museum or the Singapore Art Museum? I didn’t think so.

The antique car museum was equally impressive.

But what I loved most about the museum was the beautiful sculpture park out back.

We wandered around for nearly an hour, until closing time at six.

We were so lucky that day, to see these massive works displayed among trees, sunshine and blue skies.

Everywhere you look, you see the Alps. A breathtaking backdrop for such a collection.

The entwined lovers of The Kiss seemed to belong perfectly in this setting.

I can’t fully explain how wonderful that park was. I know everyone in our group was amazed too. We were all quiet on the way back to the car.

We drove onward, deeper into the Alps, watching the scenery change with every tight curve in the road and every last shifting ray of light. Soon we reached Bourg-St Pierre, and night fell.