Morzine, both sides now

Yesterday, I spent the better part of the day to the south and west of Morzine: I skied the trails and the run that's part of the larger Morzine-Les Gets ski area. You can ski from Morzine, you can ski from the opposite side (Les Gets). There are so many lifts and runs crisscrossing the mountains that it took me a long time to understand how it all hangs together. So the minute I learned to navigate that side, I changed course: today I went to the east, targeting the slopes between Morzine and Avoriaz.

Why the change? Because I read that the very best Nordic trails are high up toward Avoriaz. 

Yeah, Avoriaz is high up. From Avoriaz, you can take lifts as high as 2466 m (about 8100 ft). The town itself is not at all a coveted destination for me. I've been in these "high up" French places: when I was in college in New York, I chaired the college ski club (I was a newcomer to this country and I didn't realize that first of all, not many in New York wanted to join the newly formed (by me) ski club, and secondly, no one in the entire college wanted to be its president) and we picked (along with our partner university across the street) Val d'Isere for a ski trip. That one sits at over 3000 m. It remains my least favorite ski destination ever. It's really unattractive. All new in the worst way. Yuk. I sort of thought Avoriaz (also new, also high) would be the same.

Nonetheless, just before you get to Avoriaz, you hit some mighty fine Nordic trails. I mean, really superb Nordic trails. 26 kilometers of them.

Now, the French are not really into Nordic skiing. Sophia (part of the couple who owns this hotel) said that they did discover it during the pandemic, because everything else was closed down, but I think they lost it again when the lifts opened this year. Despite the encouragement, I see no more than a handful of skiers on the trails.

What encouragement? Well this: the local tourist office put out a booklet they titled the Guide Nordique. This is where I learn about the groomed trails in the area. In it I read Ski de Fond c'est un sport bon pour la forme! -- a sport that's really good for you! And more. They write (in translation) -- cross-country skiing is very safe; the accident rate is only 1 : 10,000 days of cross country skiing, compared with 1 : 100 days of downhill skiing. For this reason, cross-country skiing is perfect for anyone trying to get their strength back after illness, and moms-to-be. It's a proper work out! Your heart, circulation, breathing, flexibility and chest muscles are all involved. As proof of its effectiveness, the sport is preferred training by cyclists, marathon runners and triathletes. 

Despite the 1 : 100 accident rate, all the people hit the downhill trails and leave the Nordic ones empty. Empty for me!

But first, there's that hearty breakfast again. I'm no fool!

And I notice something that I'd forgotten: it's February 28 -- the day France's mask mandate expires for vaccinated people (except on trains and planes). Immediately, the staff and clients at the hotel stop wearing masks. You can't stay here (if you're an adult) without proof of vaccination, and by removing their masks, the staff demonstrates that they, too, are all vaccinated. I see a few child holdouts in the dining room, but for the most part, masks are gone. Tying masks to vaccines puts those who protest both masks and vaccines in an interesting dilemma. Now that they are maskless, they appear vaccinated. Bummer. They can't win. 

Of course, you have to recognize this as a policy directive. The intention is to get still more people vaccinated for the good of the country. Offering this plum (masks off!) does help. Nonetheless you and I know that Omicron does not particularly avoid the vaccinated. Most just don't get very sick with it. Me, I have to return to the US at the end of the week and I cant do that unless I test negative. (Imagine if we had such requirements for other illnesses: cant come back if you caught or cold! Not until it's gone! Who would ever travel...) So whereas everyone is ditching their mask nearly everywhere, I still put mine on in crowded indoor places. I look like I'm protesting something, only I'm lost as to what: the elimination of the mandate? Well so it goes. [Later, I do see that some shops choose to stay with masking: the pharmacy, the toy shop, the tourist office. You can see where I do business!]

Now, about my skiing: the Morzine-Avoriaz ski area works with a different ski pass. This is nothing short of exasperating. And expensive. Still, best trails are to my east now. I cannot pass them by. I buy a two day lift ticket to get up to Avoriaz.

This time the line for the gondola is long. (That's what I get for going in the morning like everyone else.) A good ten minute wait. But it moves quickly and soon I'm scooting up with all the downhill skiers and their fatty misshapen skis. (Everyone these days skis with rounded fat tips. Soooo much less attractive than my slender Nordic long boards!)

At the top of the gondola lift, everyone moves en masse to the next lift and this one is a chair lift. Me in my Nordics, on a chairlift with all those rounded tips! Kind of funny.

And now I'm pretty high. With beautiful views of mountains that didn't really present themselves to me yesterday. (Am I on the border with Switzerland? I guess I am.)

All the good downhill skiing and the Nordic skiing is about a kilometer or two over the ridge and we all make our way together -- hikers (there are always a handful here that hike), Nordic skiers (well, just me), and downhillers. It's a light descent but it feels funny to be there, moving along with the pack.

And then they veer off toward their runs and lifts and I veer off to the Nordic trails. 

And these are in fact magnificent! With what you come to expect here: the mountain views. And Avoriaz in the distance.

I start off on the red (intermediate) just because it's what's there, but I quickly seek out the blues -- the easier ones. It's not that I can't handle any of them. They are all doable here because up high, the snow is really good. But they're hard! The level of difficulty will tell you how much climbing you're going to be doing. Even the blue ones are a lot of climbing. Here's why: I didn't realize it, but all roads do lead to Rome, aka Avoriaz. All the Nordic trail climb up to it. It's just that the blue ones are more circuitous and take longer to get there. Here's a view toward Avoriaz, as seen from the trail. I'm going to do that much climbing on skis? Whoa! The little booklet didn't say anything about that!

Still, it's far more doable than I would have thought. I guess I got my ski legs back. I did have one nasty fall on a turn and I had to take off my skis to get back up, but it just taught me to skip the classic tracks on turns and stay on the skating part, so that I can actually put on the brakes if I'm going too fast. (How do you stop or even slow down on a classic track? Anyone care to explain that one to me?)

(a superb local skier gets his workout on the blue trail... along with his dog)

 

 

And despite the uphill trend (believe it or not, they make you go down some and the up more, then down a little and up even more, etc.), I make it all the way to Avoriaz.

The ski runs up here are naked snow. We're getting ahead of the tree line. It's all inclines and lifts, and of course the monstrosities (hotels and condos I would guess; not many people actually live in Avoriaz).

(I am not inspired to take close up photos of Avoriaz. Well, I putz with one selfie on a timed release. No Avoriaz building in the background. Deliberately.)

 

 

It's past the noon hour and so I look around for a place to stop and snack. No problem! There are a handful. I pick La Folie Douce (Sweet Madness).

 

 

 

And here's where we are all carded (for the pass sanitaire). No vaccination? No entry, even though the dining is 90% outside.

The people who work here have figured out efficiencies to the max. True, this isn't a lingering crowd. People eat, people want to get back and ski. Still, the amount of people processed through the place is impressive. There is a cafeteria with the most friendly staff ever, helping you pick your cheese and salad (or burger -- they have those!) and blueberry tart baked on the premises! I'm becoming a real fan of these local blueberry tarts! And again I add a glass of wine, even though most people are drinking beer and Aperol Spritzs. And again I cant finish mine. Not because I am opposed to a nice glass of wine, but because wine dehydrates and I am already pretty dehydrated. (Why not carry water? Well, us women cant just pee off the trail. So I watch my intake during the day.)

The meal experience is very different than yesterday's, but still very, very pleasant. I am surrounded mostly by the French language and I like listening in on conversations. People are in great moods and did I mention the sunshine?! Oh, the sunshine! (I sit at a communal table facing the sun...)

It's amazing to me that for weeks the talk was all about rain and clouds and wet snow and clouds and here we are with none of it. Such incredible luck!

But it's a problem too. After I go in to "wash my hands" and come out again, my eyes are watering over. I cannot see. It is that bright up here!

Lucky me, they have a little gift area inside and the lovely young woman there sells strong sunglasses for idiots like me who do not bring their own. (I actually dont own a pair that's strong enough for this sun.) It's a good thing that I can put away my regular glasses for long distance eye sight. The sunglasses really save me for the rest of the day.

After lunch, I'm thinking the return will be easy. Mostly downhill now, no?

No. Tricky people! The return trail goes down a lot, up a little, down a lot, up a little. You are always working here!

But with such wonderful views to coax you along!

(Morzine down below...)

(the trail: up and down, and down and up, and down again...)

(chairlifts, mountains...)

(Risk of avalanche up here today? 2/5. It's never 0.)

(note the crazy guy up in the air...)

When I reach the chair lift that is to take me down to the gondola, the attendant encourages me to ski down using the hiker's path. I challenge that, reminding him I am on cross country skis that do not have great stopping power. And that path has to be downhill. Still, he encourages me to try it. Now how can you try something without the alternative of changing your mind? I don't want to risk it, especially since we are now at the level of icy snow. I opt for the chair. And so I make things a bit complicated for him because he has to explain to me that I have to carry my skis on a chair lift going down. On my lap. Poles too. Still, everyone is patient, everyone is kind. I'm the only skier on the chair lift, but down I go, and looking over my shoulder at the path, I am SO glad I chose this option.

As you move from the chairlift to the gondola (remember, I still have to take that back to town, but at this afternoon hour, it's pretty empty), you pass a little outdoor cafe. And you see a handful of people enjoying a break, faces toward the sun. And you think to yourself -- hey! I want to do that!

(cappucino, with a view and with plenty of sunshine)

In Morzine again I have a few tasks: return the downhill skis so that I wont be tempted to do that again. I'll stay with the Nordic with the lower accident rate! 

(Morzine, downtown...)

 

And I chat to Sophia a little. I learn that her husband (grandson of the original owners of Le Samoyede) is also the chef here. Well now, I see that they have really put this place on the map with his cooking skills. Even the Michelin people are looking up with admiration. I do ask her if she ever skis. Of course she doesn't. Way too busy until the end of the season. Maybe then, if there's still snow up there.

And I think to myself -- if you inherit a hotel from your parents, do you then look for a spouse who agrees to manage the hotel? They work as a marvelous team! They've improved this place, added great food and reached for a whole new client base. It's theirs together now. May they always remain in love with their idea. And each other.

(my room at their hotel, with afternoon sunshine)

One more little thing: I go out to pick up some sun screen. I know this will absolutely bring me bad luck and there will therefore be no more sun, but still, I need it just in case.

And then there's dinner. Did I miscount, or did they just add a sixth course? All excellent. Today, I'll show off the amuse bouche no.1 and the appetizer.

Amazingly beautiful day. But I should have gotten the sun screen earlier. My face looks like a tomato. Of the pink variety.

Good night from the beautiful little town of Morzine, wishing an end to the tragic attack on the people of Ukraine. 

With love...

Morzine details

Is there anything more winter beautiful than the first rays of sunlight licking the tops of snow covered mountains?

(from my room)

Big impact mountains, small stuff. Which plays a greater role in my week here in Morzine? (As I mentioned in my previous post, Morzine is in a river valley of the highest French Alps.) It's like choosing between wild blueberries and a delicious five course meal (as served to me here, at Le Samoyede upon my arrival last night). Both create forceful memories. But ultimately, for me at least, real beauty resides in the smallest of details.

Breakfast at the hotel Le Samoyede can be hefty or it can be light. There's a menu, or you can just fill your plate from the buffet. That is a recent return to something resembling normality. Hotels had to scratch buffet servings during the height of the pandemic. But here, in Morzine, it wasn't just about canceling the buffet. The pandemic brought the whole place to a standstill. Everything shut down. My hotel closed in mid-March of 2020 and stayed closed until a year and half later. Thanks to vaccination mandates, it could return to doing business this past December. I know there are those in France who objected to Macron's heavy handedness with the mandates, but places like this one benefited hugely: by giving only the vaccinated access to hotels, restaurants, ski lifts, etc., all could open up and get going again, even during the greatest Omicron surge. Now people are more loosey goosey with masks, but there is still the vaccination mandate in place and the hotel insists on masks in public spaces, though in a polite way and without penalty if you choose to be hostile to keeping others safe. Many many customers are return guests. This may affect the higher than average compliance with masking. You dont want to flaunt your ridiculousness when Sophia (who co-owns the Samayede along with Alexandre; they are the third generation to run this place) is there greeting you and Alex looks over from the office to say hello.

I remembered my last ski trip to the Alps five years ago: I did not eat a good breakfast. I suffered. Today, I'm mindful. In addition to the fruits, juices, yogurts, croissants and homemade cake, I boil myself a European egg. (Sorry to call it European, but I really don't know anyone who eats a soft boiled egg in a cup in the U.S., whereas here they are ubiquitous.) I'd go for their omlette, but I'm still feeling a tad piggish after lapping up the last saucy crumb last night at dinner.

And then comes the moment of decision. What should I do: investigate on foot? Should I take the gondola up and ski back down to town? Should I look for the cross country trails up above?

I opt for the last one. Downhill skiing may be a bit of a brazen way to start the holiday. And though they do have a blue run down (blue in downhill parlance is the gentlest), I'm not sure how blue it really is. The French are sportif. I've gotten clobbered by their rating system on hikes where a gentle climb turned out to be what I regard as intermediate, and their black (challenging) trail turned out to be nearly impossible. Besides, I do want to poke around up there, on the crest of the hills that sweep down into Morzine. What better way than on cross country skis!

I take the gondola up.

I was a tiny bit worried how I would deal with packed gondolas (such as I have known in Italian ski destinations), but it turns out that the ride isn't long and there are only 5 - 6 in each car (out of which half plus me wear masks). It is pretty amazing how many skiing options there are in this area. As a result, none of the lifts appear to be crowded. I waited 1 minute to hop onto a gondola. And on the top? Oh the views!

(Looking down to Morzine: by now, most of the snow down there has melted)

(feeling the closeness of the mountains...)

I had a little booklet which sketched out the cross country trails. It is quite unfortunate that when you begin where I begin (coming up from Morzine), the first segment is labeled "difficult," the second, linked to it, is called "intermediate," and only the third is labeled "easy." Well yes, it's not level up there in the mountains. There are gong to be lots of ups and downs.

But the snow is pretty slick and I do not have metal edges (they're not allowed in many US Nordic skiing places). And importantly, I haven't found my ski legs yet! (I'm not going to mention my knee which resides in a brace to keep it stable. That one's on me!)

And so early on, I try to hop from classic to the skate trail on a downhill run and I lose control. Down I go. I had such confidence in my ability to handle anything out there that I dangled by good BIG camera around my neck. It could have gone in the pack. It did not go in the pack. Down it went too. Good thing it's basically water tight! And I nearly went off trail into some very steep territory at another point. Those were my two fiascoes. Otherwise, I managed!

(good views everywhere!)

I pulled up to the end point (or the beginning, if you were coming at it from another village) and there I saw this cafe bar with swing chairs and did I tell you that it is a brilliant day? I should have brought sun screen!

I purchased a farmstead apricot juice and sat down in what I have to regard as one of the better reasons to ski: so that you can find your spot in the sun and exhale afterwards!

Unfortunately, I noticed that I was now at a lower elevation than when I started. What goes down must now go up. But, I had my ski legs back and it was a fine run, progressing now from easy to difficile.

It was close to 1 pm when I reached the gondola station. Here, I decide to lean the skis against someone's fence and go out along the path for pietons to explore the area up high on foot. There are a number of trails and every once in a while you'll see a hiker, but in general, hikers and cross country skiers are a rare breed in this area. It really is all about downhill.

As I walked along the ridge line...

I feel the mountains are walking along the side of me. Keeping this solo traveler company. Protective rather than threatening (they just lifted the avalanche warnings the day before I arrived, so I don't give snow slides another thought).

But I wondered which was Mt. Blanc. So I ask a passing French person.

The rest of my time up here is a lesson in happenstance and serendipity. I thought how much of our life is governed by chance! If I lost control and went down a ravine while skiing, that would have been bad luck (or a bad skiing decision or both). If I happen to meet a helpful French man who couldn't tell me which mountain was Mt Blanc, but who did tell me that if I walked five more minutes, I'd come to a restaurant that cooked locally and they surely would be able to answer my question. And by the way, it is rumored that they had good food.

And at the Vaffieu they did point out Mt. Blanc. I asked if I could sit down for lunch, but they said all tables were reserved, but I could buy food at the window over there, and take a tray to any of the easy chairs sprawled out on their snow covered meadow.

So first, Mt. Blanc, because I promised I'd point it out to you.

Then the lunch. In line and all around me, I hear French and British and some German. But mostly French. And no Russian. This makes me feel happy. The mountains in western Europe seemed to me to be too often dominated by rich Russians who come to ski because it is to many a mark of personal success if you ski the Alps. Perhaps freezing their assets helped keep them home. Or they don't like places that have only small chalets and no glitzy trappings (Morzine) but they can still be found in the Zermatts and St Moritzs and the more posh places. You cannot equate every Russian with Putin's politics, just like you couldn't equate Poles with Poland's politics or Americans with American politics. Nonetheless, given the degree of support Putin appears to have for his craziness in his own country, I'm feeling a little furious at any and all who stand by this total antihero.

So lunch. I ordered a tartine chevre (so, a grilled open faced toasted sandwich with goat cheese; the cheese is sprinkled with sun dried tomatoes and walnuts and drizzled with a generous spoonful of local honey). And a glass of Savoyard wine. [I love Savoyard white wine and can only get two types back home because it's rather obscure, so you will see me drinking only that on this trip; last night I had a beautiful bottle called Les Alpes. Can it be more evocative?! And yes, at the hotel they let you open a bottle and carry it through to other nights you're here, which I love, because ordering by the glass interrupts the flow of the meal.] And a fizzy water of course. I was darn thirsty by now. And here are two pieces of magnificence: they had a home made wild blueberry tart. And I found a chair and I pulled it up so that I could face the sun and look at Mt Blanc. 

It is a lunch I'm not likely to ever forget.

A small child came up to me -- oh, maybe two years old. Probably a boy but at this age who can tell. He looked at me. And looked at me. And said nothing. So I spoke to him. I tried French. He did not respond. I tried several other languages. Nothing. It was this little one:

I couldn't imagine what he wanted. Maybe the whipped cream at the side of the tart! I would have shared, but he had a crusty nose. Probably from skiing, but still. In the end his parents called him back (in French). But his steady gaze stayed with me. Maybe he's conveying a French hello to my grandkids. It was very spiritual! Eh, too much sun and perhaps the impact of that Savoyard wine (which I could not finish, but not because it wasn't heavenly).

This then was my serendipitous moment. By chance, perfection.

I should mention children in another context: skiing. I happen to walk along what is a bunny hill. Kids go up on a moving sidewalk and they learn to ski on a very gentle incline. Little children.

I mean some were really little. French families will leave their little ones with a ski school and go off to ski with other adults. I'm sure this happens in the US as well, but I found it really enchanting how many young people there are on the slopes. Very very young people.

Skiing is, though, in France, like in the United States, a "white" sport, which means that it remains one reserved for the privileged. I do feel a little unsettled in these places where mountains are ripped bare and machines spray them with snow as needed and engines chug people up so they can ski down in their expensive gear, in outrageously beautiful ski clothing (that's especially true in France), flashing expensive ski passes, all in the company of others doing the same. It's one reason that I hesitate before each ski trip that I take. Bad enough that I go to Europe as often as I do. Worse, every once in a while I come here to ski. But, I'm getting old, and these kinds of trips to mountains I have loved since childhood will be rare, and Europe is that home that I can't get out of my blood completely. Nonetheless, I have to say this -- I wish more people had access to winter sports. Not only a select few.

And now, down to Morzine for a short break.

 

 

In the afternoon, I went up the gondola again. 

In life, often when you make a mistake, you tend to compound your errors rather than retreating and doing better. I feel I compounded my errors with that afternoon escapade.

It began with my decision to try my rented downhill skis. Today. Because what, I didn't do a full amount of skiing in the morning?! I suppose I felt I got my ski legs back and I could push myself to the challenge of downhill. Besides, the weather is gorgeous. Seize it!

We keep all our ski equipment in the ski room downstairs and I began there: I tried to get the boots on. They weren't easy to put on in the store. They were impossible to put on today. Maybe my feet swelled. Maybe they stiffened up over night. I really struggled. Only my pig headedness made me continue.

Walking in boots and carrying your downhill boards is not easy. I'm used to light cross country skis. These downhill guys are heavy! On the upside, the gondolas were running almost empty. It was 4 p.m. Everyone who wanted to be up there to reach some lifts and runs higher up was already up there skiing. 

There is one blue run (easiest) going all the way down the mountain back to Morzine and I chose that one. (So basically I'm skiing down from where the sun first touched the little summit out my window this morning.) Perhaps that was the dumbest of all my dumb things. It runs through a forest, so it's shaded (goodbye pretty sunshine) and in the afternoon, the light isn't superb. You can barely see the icy patches. And there were icy patches!

Not to be completely down on this downhill adventure -- I mean, the views were very pretty! 

But halfway through it, I knew I was skiing on man-made snow. Brittle, icy, slick. I only fell once, but I am old enough that getting up from a twisted position and with skis still attached can be a challenge. Especially since I have a pretty useless knee for getting up purposes (on the upside, the knee brace is working very well! I can ski without issues!).  

It took me nearly 90 minutes to get down, though I did pause to do a selfie (timed release)!

But skiing down, I realized that the joy was pretty much gone. I'll try it again, in one of those sunny spots up the range, but these are my last days of down-hilling. I just like Nordic skiing so much better! The quiet, the pace, which can be gentle if you are in a gentle mood, the beauty of it all -- it beats downhill on all counts.

 

I stomped back to the store where I rented the downhills and the very genial guy there, Bastian, said he would work on my boots so I suppose I will pick them up maybe later in the week and maybe use them again. But I can almost promise you that my runs here over Nordic trails will be far far more beautiful and exhilarating than anything I may do on the downhill pistes. 

 

Evening. I chat with Ed and pick up farmette gossip. A skunk attacked the coop. Coop withstood the aggressor's shenanigans. We're thinking of adding another chicken to the bunch. There's one available that we like. Should he pick it up? Easy for me to say yes. I wont be there to work on the integration of the newbie. He baked cookies for himself. That kind of stuff.

And then it was time for dinner and predictably it was delicious. Tartare this and duck that and the cheeses and dessert.

Such a full day! Wonderfully full, with stellar moments and, too, some necessary reckoning about what I still love (Nordic) and what I'm nearly ready to abandon (down hill). 

Sleep in the mountains is always special. Particularly in the winter, when you look out and you can't tell if that's a twinkling mountain light or perhaps a star. Somewhere up there you'll find the chamois (sort of a cross between a goat and an antelope), mouflon (wild sheep), lynx, wild boar -- the French Alps are full of all of them, waiting for the first signs of spring. And at lower elevations, cows and goats are giving us their special milk for the incredible cheeses from the region: Reblechon, Tomme de Savoie, Chevre. Mountain cheeses, all of them.

For now, good night, sleep well, with fewer worries and a good amount of hope for a brilliant tomorrow.

Morzine!

I am in Morzine, France. You haven't heard of it? I'm not surprised.

Morzine is a village of less than 3000. It's located in the Haute Savoie department of France. If you speak French you'll notice the "haute." That means high. I am, in fact, in the French Alps.

Why oh why would anyone travel this long and this far to visit Morzine? Oh my goodness, why wouldn't you? Morzine is a traditional French market town, spreading over a river gorge at an altitude of 1000 m (3300 ft).  It is surrounded by forested mountains, flanked by the jagged peaks of France's highest Alps. I'll point out Mont Blanc when I next have a chance. And Morzine attracts skiers.

It's not that I wanted necessarily to downhill ski. I have with me my Nordic skis and boots because they do have cross country trails here. It's the first thing that made me perk up and look more closely at this place. But there were other considerations: it's not a modern place in that it doesn't have concrete slabs standing in for hotels, it's not crazily overrun by daredevil skiers (though it doesn't lack skiers -- of mixed abilities I'm told), and here's something important for me: it's not too far from a major airport. Geneva International is 90 minutes by car.

Ohhhh, let's roll back then to my travels. I left you in Madison on Friday. I had just picked up Snowdrop at school, taken her home and then headed out for the airport. I did all that. No problem. On time departure to Detroit. (I must note that it was possibly the only on time departure on Delta today so I am grateful.)

Next, a rather long flight to Paris, but not too long. The winds are strong and favorable for us: they turn what is normally an eight hour flight into one that's just six and a half. 

 (no Paris this time - except from the air)

And then there's the rather short flight to Geneva. Just fifty minutes! 

 (landing...)

 

 

So now I know that Geneva is to Paris, as Detroit is to Madison (as the crow flies). You never can tell when that useless piece of information might come in handy! I took a taxi from Geneva to Morzine. Now that was a bit of a nightmare.

Geneva International was packed. People climbing over people to retrieve luggage, to find their ride, probably to get to their Alpine destination. My driver said the British flights were all delayed and everyone came at once and the drivers were all going nuts trying to find their people. And now he decides to bypass the exodus and go through Geneva proper. That was a mistake! Geneva proper was hosting an anti-Russian invasion demonstration and so traffic crawled. 

It was nearly evening when I arrived in Morzine.

I'm staying at a family run hotel that's typical of the area -- le Samoyede (by the way, that name also belongs to a white furred Siberian herding dog), a chalet, not too large, not too small. I wanted it to be in the center of the village and it is that. I couldn't count on great skiing weather so walking around the sprawling village had to be an attractive option as well. It is definitely in the center of the Morzine universe. 

(every French town has a.... merry-go-round)

There isn't a lot of snow at this level, but we are in a basin of the high Alps and so if you go up in one of the many gondolas or lifts, you'll get to snow that's many feet deep. But it isn't an easy ski in - ski out situation. That kind of snow disappeared early in February. Like in southern Wisconsin!

I dumped my bag and skis at the hotel and went out to talk to the Tourist Office people about... well, everything! Cross country skiing, down hill skiing, walking, bla bla bla. Since this is Saturday and many, many people come for a week-long stay on Saturdays and of those, many come to the Tourist Office to buy lift tickets and passes, you could say that I held up the line. I did my research ahead of time, but you still need more on the spot information!

And I bought a lift pass. It seems ridiculous to buy a lift pass just to go cross country skiing. I mean, the beauty of Nordic trails is that they don't require such nonsense. Go out, put on skis, move. I suppose for that I should have gone to northern Norway and followed the trails of all those cross country skiing giants, but one must never look back and say "I should maybe have gone there, or there, or there." In travel, you must take each place as you find it and learn its greatest charms and quirky characteristics. 

 

 

 

 

 

Of course, once I had the lift pass, I decided there's no way I'm going going to spend money on a pass and not ski from top to bottom, so I borrowed some downhill skis and boots as well. Yes daughters, I also borrowed a helmet. Size large, cause big heads run in the family.

My cozy room is wonderfully knotty pine and it has a super puffy quilt and is all together very agreeable. The staff is wonderful -- all as described, all as expected. What I did not expect was for the food to be this good. I know it's France, but still. I booked the half board rate on the theory that it's at least going to be fresh and honest. It's more than that. So I will eat a lot. (Today's dinner had veggi veloutee, gravlox and fennel salad, a beautiful tenderloin with bernaise and rosti potatoes, and cheeses...

And a three prong dessert, because one just wont do.

The dining crowd here is 90% French and 10% pale British.The waiter was shocked that I traveled this far... How little he knows me!

I'm here for a week. As almost always these days, I'm traveling alone. There is so much to see, to do, to photograph. You'll hear from me soon. Right now, it's time to exhale and try hard to sleep through some part of the night. I'm used to this. First nights in Europe are never restful. How do airline people do it?!!

Outside, the stars are out, the moon shines brightly over a landscape covered with snow. Up above me. I cannot wait to explore tomorrow.

Bonne nuit!