Tuesday

Some of you may be inching toward retirement. Possibly you may be curious what that stage of your life will look like. Here's a sample day, from the perspective of two average old-ish people:

Morning. Ed and I are lost in our thoughts in bed at sunrise. I'm trying to estimate when I should get going with my farmette chores. He's probably thinking about his machine design. We say, almost simultaneously, "I have an 8:30 appointment." His is a dental one, mine is a regular old doc. I suggest we eat breakfast after all that. He is agreeable.

He tells me -- look out there, isn't that a perfect photo? It is. I take it. It's not perfect. It's not even good. But, so long as I am dangling my camera around my neck (yes, always the heavy one! oh! you think that's why I have a sore neck sometimes? now there's an idea!), I may as well go out to feed the animals. No jacket, wet hair. Brrr! And slippery still! And oh that knee! Time to put on the brace once more!

Back inside, he's off, I'm off, I'm back, he's back. Would you like oatmeal? Yes! One cat comes in, another goes out. This happens over and over again. You cannot sit still with these monsters pestering you to open the door for them.

I have my next appointment then. I timed grocery delivery for just after, except they deliver the bags early. He's on a Zoom meeting with his machine design. I unpack the perishables and then go off. I see that there is no way in hell that I can now make my 10:30, so I call them to apologize. I will be ten minutes late! 

No you wont, she tells me. Your appointment is at 11:30. 

Damn. I wrote it in incorrectly. Or she wrote it in incorrectly. I'm not going to probe into that. I spin the car around and go home. And then set out again.

Just before I go off (again), I notice  a big stain on the ceiling of the art room. Ed, his back and knee not withstanding, climbs up on the roof (in my absence) and finds... actually not a whole lot, since the roof is still iced over. We put it off for another inspection later.

Snowdrop has a different schedule today: I pick her up earlier, at her doc's appointment. No problem! I can bring her to the farmhouse earlier! 

We'll have more time to read. 

And then I set myself up to do her hair for ballet. Off we go!

I dare dash out during her class to do some errands in the neighborhood. What the heck. Live dangerously! And after class I take her home.

Evening. I pull into our super muddy driveway (I mean, you could not possibly believe how deep and squishy the mud is! Ed promises he will fix it come real springtime) and I come in, relieved that I have leftover soup from Saturday's prep for supper. All I need to add is a salad.

Day is done! So, you think you can handle that? Sure you can! And if I can offer a suggestion: bookmark your days with a calm breakfast and a supper filled with veggies and gratitude. For all that keeps you busy. For all the help you can offer to those who need it. And perhaps for the cheer that you can bring into someone else's life. 

With love...

Monday

At night the rain pounded windows from all directions. Lightening flashed, the wind howled. We had one thought -- surely the ice outside will melt!

Stubborn ice: it did not melt. The landscape is a Dalmation pattern of mud and ice. The paths are slippery, even as the rain keeps coming down.

This, of course, is what early spring looks like. I keep lighting candles and thinking up ways to make breakfast even more cozy. Today, for example, though we have reheated croissants, I bring out my tiny jar of jam made from Savoie wild blueberries. Heaven!

We talk about Pancake. She (he?) appears to be now a farmette fixture. Here every day, hanging out in the barn in bad weather, meowing by our door when hungry (then scampering away when we move toward her). Clearly we have got ourselves a seventh cat.

The issue is of course whether we should try to trap her and spay her. She is far more skittish than the others. Too, how do we set the trap for just her, without luring the others into it? Moreover, are we sure she isn't somebody's cat? We now have a whole development of houses nearby. She could be hanging here for the excitement and some additional food. The more we see her, the more we doubt that she has owners. Still, we need to spend some time observing and figuring out the next step. The other cats aren't fighting her, but nor are they thrilled with her now constant presence. We'll see where this all takes us.

The rain is breaking up my string of high energy walking days, but this is probably a good thing. The knee right now is very unhappy. Ed says it just needs a rest. The doc had said "do as much as feels right." None of this provides clear answers as to how much I can use it, but I have to say, the rainy pause is a welcome event. 

I pick up a radiant Snowdrop: I love this rainy weather! -- she proclaims. Sweet child always punches away at the roadblocks to happiness.

I ask her about her day. About the recesses. About the boy she sits next to. He's been dueling with her (playfully) for months now. 

Oh, we got a new seating chart today. Now I'm sitting next to R (a boy) and across from A (another boy).

You're surrounded by boys!

Turns out this is a good thing, in her estimation. She likes them, they like her. It's a more straightforward relationship than with many of the girls, who are already jockeying toward establishing their territorial spaces. I mumble something about her having experience with boys, what with two brothers at home. 

She pipes in -- And (insert nickname for Ed) at the farmette! 

Considering that they often play punching games or worse, I'm not sure I'd view him as an inspiring model on how to treat boys, but to her, he is a confidence builder. If she can handle big strong Ed at the farmhouse, she can certainly manage little A and R back in her classroom.

This afternoon though, we don't have him here to mess with. He's picking up fifty pound bags of cracked corn at Farm and Fleet for the cheepers. You'd think this would be a bit much for a guy who's just come off of some knee and back issues. You would be wrong.

Sunday

I came downstairs at my usual morning hour and found Ed sprawled on the floor with a pillow under his back. It's not unusual for him to spend the better part of the night downstairs, working, napping, working some more until he feels he's done enough. Sometimes he'll come up to bed at dawn. He's not a guy driven by what the clock expects from the rest of us: he is his own scheduler. But on the floor? With that telltale pillow? That's unusual.

Turns out he had done something to his knee while I was away and somehow that injury lead to a back problem and though he thought he'd put it behind him, his injuries, or sprains, or old age had other ideas. Basically, at the moment, the guy's a mess.

Well okay. He can rest. Unless there's a problem, the house is basically my responsibility. While he huddles under the quilt, I can go about my business.

Except there's a problem.

It's a beautiful morning and I'm feeling light hearted and bouncy going to the barn. But wait -- what's that big object in our animal trap? A raccoon? The size of a bear?? Oh boy.

We have a place where we can transport animals to, but it's far. More importantly, I hate getting near these large snarling beasts. I know that they can't get at me through the cage, but still...

I come back to review with him the options. If he can get himself to the car, I can wheel the monster over and we can both drive to the release point. Then he can open the door while I hide inside the car. Or, in the alternative, I suppose we can go to our neighbor's who likes to shoot invaders and have him blast the raccoon to smithereens. Those appear to be our choices.

While Ed assesses his movement capabilities, I drive over to Madison Sourdough. Surely this morning deserves a breakfast of delicious pastries!

Just as good as those in France!

When I pull into our driveway, loaded down with croissants, cinnamon rolls and a baguette, I see that Ed's car is gone. He clearly is not one to take his aches and pains seriously. Somehow he managed to load the dinosaur into the car. I can't say that I am disappointed!

That and breakfast are about all the effort he can put forth...

(Dance does a photo bomb...)

He spends the day resting, I do the stuff that needs to be done today, which includes opening my suitcase! It arrived this morning with gracious apologies for its errant behavior!

In the afternoon, I go for a solo walk. It's stunningly gorgeous outside -- just above freezing, plenty of sunshine. The ice on farmette paths is melting beautifully. Life is good! Well, except for the fact that now two people living in the farmhouse have wounded knees! Must be something we ate.

Dinner at the farmette is with the young family. 

(arriving)

(a rare moment where the three find a common interest n a toy)

(hug)

Lovely to have them all here again!

By night time, Ed swears that he is on the mend (ha! I've heard that one before from my own knee discussions!). We happily watch our Clarkson series and munch on chocolates - Valentine's Day, now supplemented by Toblerone squares, since we're mindful of the latest buzz about dark chocolate additives. It's nostalgic for us because we began our life together nearly 18 years ago munching on Toblerone squares in the evening. We've come full circle! Only we're a little bit older and, one hopes, a little bit wiser.

with love...

Saturday

My suitcase decided to have a fling with Paris, partying there for the third day now, showing no intention of hopping on a plane to return home. The beleaguered airline personnel, like parents of a petulant child, offer apologies and even financial payment (all of $100) for their charge's malfeasance, but that does little to bring the kid home where she belongs. I'm hoping that the French will have enough of her defiant stance and send her on her way. I'll keep you posted!

In the meantime, I know I am entitled to additional compensation for articles that I need in the days before our reconciliation and reunion. Of course, I don't really need anything. We none of us really need fresh pairs of pants and shirts every day, but might this be an opportunity to replace some stuff and charge the airline for it? So often in life we are faced with these choices: do we follow the path laid out for us, do we take what's handed out freely, even though we know that we don't actually need the gifted items?  Sigh... I guess I'll stick with my old underwear and ratty corduroy pants when they finally decide they've had enough of the good life in Paris.

Waking up to a weekend, I got hungry for a baked goods breakfast. I asked Ed if I should maybe head out to our old favorite for baguettes and croissants. No, dont bother driving out... But, but... Why dont you bake something?

There's an idea. After feeding the animals...

... and experiencing that joy of a special bird sighting...

... I take out a book I purchased 3 or 4 years ago and never used. This one:

It's a beautiful compilation of stories, photos and recipes and yes, it does have a good number of pages on Savoie cooking. And I see there's a recipe for a Savoie cake. With a suggestion to sprinkle it with blueberries. Well that sounds good!

I'll say this much: it took forever to bake (twice as long as called for, though this may be the fault of using Bresse chicken eggs, which are very very large!), and in the end, it looked way better than it tasted. 

A definite Meh.... Not terrible, but not worth the effort. I'd be better off baking a traditional bundt cake, and yes, I did see bundt cakes -- both in Chamonix and Morzine. I'm sure they were delicious. This one was about as indifferent as you could imagine. (I am a harsh baked goods critic. I'm way too old to put up with indifferent pastries and breads.)

And now the sun comes out and I am reminded of... Chamonix! Sunshine, icy surfaces, temps rising to just above freezing -- the most perfect weather to put yourself outside.

We go for a walk.

The wind picks up a bit, but still, it really is beautiful outside. Lake Waubesa is not completely frozen and we climb onto the pedestrian bridge to watch the swans do their graceful sail across the river that links one lake with the next. Trumpeters probably. Migrating now to Minnesota. 

We hike a bigger loop than usual, just because it feels so good to be walking in this pre-spring weather! I dont know how many dozens, possibly hundreds of times we've walked the trails of this park of ours. It never gets old.

Pre-spring, but nippy out over the lake! We turn in and walk briskly back to the car. 

I'm telling myself that it may be lusciously sunny and bright, but it's still winter. A good day to cook up a pot of soup. All our winter veggies -- onion, carrots and spinach from our winter farmers, squash and tomatoes from our garden, garlic, and the world's best local corn. For dessert? A split chocolate from our Valentine's Day box. 

Who says February doesn't deliver perfect days?!

farmette days

Yep, it was that kind of a return. Once we hit airspace over the US, we got tangled in the delays that sprouted in the days when the weather here was vicious. The plan had been to land in Madison at 8:25. In the end, I landed after midnight and then I had to spend some time waiting in line to file a lost luggage claim. My suitcase appears to have a different opinion as to what constitutes a good solution to air travel this week: it chose to overnight in Paris. 

I did have one piece of luck: I had decided to park in the airport garage. It's $2 more per day and usually it makes absolutely no sense to pay that amount for a roof over your car. Except in the winter. My car was without snow or ice and required no scarping. I was grateful.

When I pulled into the farmette driveway, I recognized the problem: everything is frozen solid. The ice storm did its work!

Ed was alseep. Like the good soul that he is, he did bring in the groceries that had been delivered earlier, but everything was in the wrong place, so I spent a good hour reorganizing my kitchen spaces, while he lay dead to the world on the couch. Dance, happy to see me, kept me company.

By 1:30 am, I finally let go of everything and went to bed.

This morning, my regular routines quickly took charge. It's sunny but very cold and so no melting will take place until later in the weekend. Hello, farmette lands! Hello chickens!

(where have you been?!)

Breakfast: I must say, it feels good to return to oatmeal! And to this guy!

I surely can't do a mountain hike today, but I do want to keep the walking momentum going. There's always that resolve that you bring home after a very active vacation. You dont want to lose that pace, even though eventually you inevitably will slow down. But today, despite the absence of sleep, I want to keep going. 

We go to our park, somewhat apprehensively: ice and snow, mixed together, are a powerful combination and my boot cleats are in the suitcase, probably having a hell of a good time in Paris.

But we manage! On one of the hillier segments Ed sits down and tries sliding down the hill. Not worth it -- he tells me. We continue our careful pace and we make it back without a single broken or twisted limb! Amazing!

And in the afternoon I pick up Snowdrop. The girl has had three snow days and two vacation days (for Presidents Day) in the time I've been away, so I have to think a return to some kind of a normal routine is good news for her and for her working parents, whose jobs don't allow for time off for either snow or presidential birthdays.

I surely am happy to see her her again.

She is chatty and downright effervescent. Eventually I remember to ask her about her school day. What subject did you like best today? There is no hesitation in her answer: reading. Not unexpected. I tell her -- I can understand that. We usually like subjects we are good at. She shakes her head -- no gaga, that's not true. I am clever at phonics. I hate it when we do phonics. You like subjects where your whole heart is in them. I stand corrected.

I picked out some Alpine animals for the grandkids. I carried these with me, thinking (oh so correctly, it appears!) that if the suitcase got lost, I'd still have something to hand over to them when I first saw them. I thought she might like a chamois.  I showed her the marmot I got for her older brother. Oh, I love them both! Maybe you could give him one of the animals from the farmhouse pile of stuffies?? No, Snowdrop. He gets the marmot. Can I at least hold both for one minute? Of course.

She and Ed look up the chamois on the Internet to see a realistic depiction.

Toward evening, I drop her off at the Thirsty Goat, where her family often eats dinner on Fridays. It gives me a chance to say hi to her brothers too!

And now I am home. After eating deliciously fresh and mostly creative foods for a whole week, I do nudge myself to veer off the same track of dinner staples. But not today. I need to recover some of those lost sleep hours from the crazy travel delays and early morning departures. I bake fish, whip up a sauce for it, steam asparagus, toss a salad and call it a day.

Yes, it takes no time at all to fall back into all your habits and patterns after you return. Yet I have a bit of Chamonix running through my head and that tells me a lot: it was an important trip. Maybe I should return there someday soon. Maybe I haven't finished the work of getting close to the mountains and the communities that inhabit them. Maybe.

with love...

 

going home

As usual, I wake up a few minutes before my alarm. Outside, I know there are clouds over Mont Blanc, but it's too dark to really see much of anything. This photo is taken an hour later, when I am ready to close the door for good to my balcony, and my little room at the Mont Blanc hotel.

They start breakfast service at 6:30 -- for the early skiers I suppose. There are no early skiers. I am the first and only one in the dining room.

(surveying the bread product for one last time...)

I go light again. You cannot stuff yourself for travel. Savoie yogurt made with blueberries, oranges, croissant, and some new pastry that is delicious with a milky coffee that they sprinkle here  abundantly with cocoa powder. Oh and honey on the side, just because I'm nuts about honey.

I'm packed and ready to go. I check the room ten times. I don't know why I take these precautions. I have never left anything in a hotel room. 

Downstairs, I look into the living room, the bar... I only once sat in either one. What a shame! I imagine it to be a comfy place to read, to people watch, to sip one of their Savoyard aperitifs which seem always to be made with fizzy wine, and blueberry liqueur. But I never did it here. Not enough time.

I ask the desk staff how early they begin to fill up for the winter. I'd made my own reservation in September. Is that when one must decide on February travel? Yes -- he confirms what I already know. French school vacations, skiers' high season. Do older people plan vacations six months in advance? Think of all the body parts that can fail you in that amount of time! Ah well, to lead a full life, one must take risks.

My ride to the airport is here. A young woman is driving. I sit back in the car that's always large enough to accommodate skis and I lose myself in thought. She asks me if I am okay. I smile. There is a beautiful mist over the valley. The kind that begs for a walk with a camera. Maybe I make a mistake in coming to the mountains only in winter. May Alpine flowers, October fields of gold -- I never see them. Fact is, Spring and Fall are beautiful seasons where I live. It would be hard to leave then.

The question that will remain unresolved for me for a while is whether to come back to Chamonix. I loved the walks. I loved the food. I loved my little room at the Mont Blanc, with a view toward the mountains, and I loved the muscle kneading at the end of a hiking day. I'm not sure that I loved Chamonix.

On the one hand, it really stirred deep feelings of time and place. Fifty years ago, I hiked and skied with my friends in the Polish mountains. Primitive shoes attached with primitive bindings to primitive skis. Run back another 50 years, or 100 years, and I would have been skiing/hiking like this (picture from the Refuge yesterday in Montenvers):

Chamonix is full of such reminders, binding the place to a past even as it tries to imagine a future (one with probably less snow). This I find poignant and meaningful. We are all connected to our past and anxious about our future! Life isn't only about the here and now. Chamonix is also full of children (at least during French school holidays). It may be a serious winter destination for mountain people and off piste skiers, but it's also a place to bring your little ones. They're welcome everywhere.

At the same time, Chamonix feels crowded. The main drag stays packed from mid afternoon onwards. Not quite Times Square, but inching that way! They come out to eat and shop and stroll and there are just too many of them (us?). I knew that the town was not small, but still, it's unsettling to see so much humanity in a mountain destination where you seek refuge away from humanity! 

Yes, Chamonix gives you choices -- where to eat, where to walk, where to have your winter adventure. But does the visitor who comes only for a week need all that choice? Last year I was happy as a clam eating every single dinner just in my hotel. Fresh and honest! No reservations needed! That was fabulous.

And yet...The history, the mountain culture, the architecture, the Alpine agricultural presence and gastronomical evolution -- it's what I loved about this place. (That and the back kneading!)  Our own winter resorts haven't the pastures for goats, the photos of women wearing long dresses to ski 150 years ago. There's a reason why I travel so far to take these mountain walks.

I'm at the Geneva Airport in good time. The flight to Paris is flawless, the next layover -- not too long. But now it gets a little crazy. 

It's going to be one of those returns! The flight from Paris has technical issues. At least a two hour delay. Not much chance of catching my connection then to Madison. I can overnight in Paris at one of those horrible airport hotels where unhappy people stay because they've been bumped off their flights. Or I can reroute through Minneapolis. I tell the agent that I do not want my suitcase lost. He assures me that the suitcase, checked in, will follow me. The suitcase, of course does not follow me. It goes to Detroit. 

In Minneapolis, my connecting flight to Madison is delayed as well. I doubt I'll be home before midnight. Ed calls and tells me that the farmette is so iced over that you can hardly move. I'm telling you, it's going to be one of those returns.

Nonetheless, I'm so happy to going home to my beloveds, and yes, so happy to have had a week in Chamonix. Ed always says travel is pointless unless you really learn something, big time. I think I did.

And that's a very good thing.

With love...

Chamonix!

There are two things that everyone does when they come to Chamonix. First, they all take the cable car to Aiguille du Midi ("Needle at Noon"). You actually take two aerial lifts and you end up at an elevation of 3842m (12605 ft) -- the highest access point by cable car anywhere. From there you can see basically the world, and specifically -- Mt Blanc up close and personal. This I did when I was in my twenties and I never want to do it again. My head does funny things at sudden shifts in elevations (don't even ask how many nose bleeds I get in the mountains, and even in the valleys of mountains!) and the last thing I want to do is ride in a packed cable car (Covid!) to then stand at heights that trigger every instinct in me to get out and get down. Funny that I love the mountains so much given that great heights inspire in me holy terror. [I was only a little tempted to do it anyway, because you can, since 2015, take another cable car from up there to Courmayeur in Italy. I love that small town and haven't been there since I was a very young solo traveler. So -- tiny flickers of temptation, but not enough to push me to do this trip.]

The second must-do in Chamonix is to get up close to the Mer de Glace glacier. It's by far the largest glacier in France (7 km) and the ride to it is just as beautiful as the view once you get there: you take a 20 minute cog rail car (funicular) to Montenvers and from there, you ride a brief telecabine, and finally you take some 500-plus steps down, and that puts you not only face to face with the glacier but actually right inside the glacier.

This I plan to do today.

After I greet the mountains.

They will be under cloud cover later, but at daybreak, I can still see them and feel humbled. Chamonix is such a complicated and touristed place and yet, the mountains are always there to remind you that they rule here. You are just a mere passerby.

Breakfast? I finally figured out (took me a while) that I do not need a large morning meal if I'm going to eat lunch a few hours later. Yes, I know breakfast is included in my room price, but still, "free" is not an invitation to wolf down more than you can handle. So, let's get back to fruit, yogurt and a croissant. Fine, and a stick of tomme de Savoie for protein!

I'm still unnerved by the whole skiing-Russians thing but perhaps this merely shows our utter isolation back on the other side of the ocean. Hearing Russian in the U.S. merely means that you've come across a community of immigrants. Not tourists, visiting while we're exchanging missiles over the Ukraine. Europe is different. Russians have bought up real estate here, parked their boats here, and routinely have played on Europe's playgrounds. In the past, I never gave this an ounce of thought. People travel, power to them. But of course, this year, it's different. In my mind, you can't party in Europe and wage war against its member state. Maybe it's just me. Poles have a deeply ingrained belief that Russia is always on the brink of destroying borders. Today it's Ukraine -- that's miserable enough -- tomorrow it's Poland.

Alright: do an about face -- away from the breakfast room and onto the cog rail station. The train itself is not new -- it was completed in 1909, though at first it was powered by a locomotive. (It was electrified the year I was born -- 1953). I purchased a ticket online to avoid a wait (totally unnecessary as the ticket windows were without lines), then worried a little as there was a line forming to get on the first train out (at 10:05). In the end they send two little red trains, one right after the other and all those who waited got on and found a seat.

teach your children well...

We spill out at Montenvers, having climbed some 1000m up the mountain.

And immediately I walk over to get on the small telecabine that takes us down, way down to the glacier. 

the glacier

Well, this is what it did when the telecabine was constructed in 1988: you got out of the little cabin and the glacier was before you. Over the years, the glacier has melted and receded so much, that steps have had to be constructed further down to take you to it. Each year, more steps are added. From zero just a few decades ago, to 520 today. That's how fast it is melting.

From a physical stamina standpoint, that is one hefty descent, and of course, an ascent coming back. Pregnant women and seniors are warned: take it easy, take pauses. 

I smile a little at these warnings. Some fifty years ago, I would have been sure to sprint down fast, passing anyone I could. As I am nearly 70, I don't race. Though it's not the lack of stamina that holds me back, it is, of course, the knee that's supposed to be replaced this spring. But, I've given it a workout in Chamonix and it's been more or less cooperating. 

Down I go.

Those in Chamonix have long figured out that visitors love to go inside the glacier and so they have excavated caves and short tunnels for you to do just that: walk into a field of blue ice (why blue? as I understand it, water, both liquid and solid, doesn't absorb the white light of the sun in the same way that air does; the bigger the brick of ice, or the body of water, the more blue it will appear). I don't think they realized that these caves have to be dug out anew each year as the glacier recedes. 

It's quite beautiful inside a glacier. Who knew!!

I turn around and head back up those many many stairs, sometimes dragging my wounded knee, but mostly managing just fine. And I do pause to admire the sunshine trying hard to push through the hazy skies, and, too, I study the visitors -- families with small children, small groups of friends, not many seniors and no pregnant women!

And after making it up to the train station, I feel I deserve a reward. There is a sweet little gift shop. How about a wee sized Mont Blanc crystal? Maybe a magnet? My needs are small.

Teresa, my Chamonix walking companion, had suggested I eat lunch up here, at the old Refuge de Montenvers. It was built in 1880 for mountain climbers and visitors to the Mer de Glace. Granite on the outside, knotty pine on the inside -- it exudes a strong and warm protection against mountain fury. 

I booked a lunch on the veranda and I was delighted to see little wisps of sunlight coming in from all sides in the big dining space. Happy chatter abounds. The views are, of course, fabulous. 

I would have been happy with even a hiker's meal of bread and cheese, but these people put together a small menu of local favorites that is unusually good, beyond expectation. I didn't hesitate: I choose the one important Savoyard dish I hadn't had -- the tartiflette, which has potatoes with a few onions and ham bits, smothered with strips of melted Reblechon cheese from the Chamonix valley. 

I love Reblechon and used to sneak it into my suitcase way back when, because it was impossible to get it in the U.S. Now of course we are flooded with cheese choices at home and so it's silly to take anything back at all. Still, I wont forget this lunch for a long time.

Oh, and yes, I did opt for dessert: a "blueberry finger" with pieces of meringue "snow." I will always think of wild blueberries as being a very Alpine fruit.

Outside again, I see that some people just like to eat lunch on the edge!

And now it's time to go back down to Chamonix. With a bunch of skiers!

I ask them -- where the heck do you ski here? They tell me they go up to Aiguille du Midi by cable car and from there, they ski off piste to the glacier. Steep incline, varying snow conditions and 23 kilometers of skiing. Now that's nerve! I tell them they are my definition of adventurous. The young guy retorts -- oh but I am sure you are adventurous as well! My age must have lead him to think that. But am I? At home, I was taught to be cautious. That danger lurks. Much as I wanted to plunge into adventurous stuff, I couldn't. Someone always put a hand out to stop me. And eventually, my sense of adventure fizzled. Sure, one would argue that moving to a different country when you're young and have no money is adventurous. That agreeing to teach law to Japanese students in Kyoto for a month is adventurous. That moonlighting in a restaurant after your day job is adventurous. As is kayaking with Ed and hitchhiking in Sicily, and doing a bunch of naughty things that hadn't quite made it to Ocean (yet). But at a deeper level, I know I could never have skied down off piste for 26 kilometers like these young people do routinely. And yes, in snowy years some get buried in avalanches (they all had avalanche equipment, I noticed), but most don't. As Ed would say -- you're more likely to crash in a car coming up here.

So, I admire their spirit and smile at their enthusiasm. And notice their utter tiredness.

(note the sticker on his ski... Is he a cheesemaker?)

In Chamonix again I do some light shopping for the kids. Very light. So light it doesn't even count.

And then I have someone knead my back one last time and I take out my suitcase to begin the chore of packing, while outside, the clouds roll in.

Evening. It's my last dinner in Chamonix. I leave very early tomorrow (very early!), so you could say it's my last full meal, period. I chose La Maison Carrier for it. This is a sister restaurant (well, more like the poor cousin) to the only Michelin starred place in Chamonix -- Albert 1er. Both are run by I think the fourth generation of the same family and both are part of this town's luxurious hotel. All this is irrelevant. The thing is, La Maison Carrier may be a second fiddle of the bunch, but its food reputation is stellar. And its prices are in line with those of other dining establishments around town (which honestly are up there in Paris territory: my fixed price 3 course meals, service charge included, tend to be between 40 and 50 Euros here, which is currently right around $40 - $50; in Paris I often eat below that price point).

This is the only restaurant that requires me to walk to another corner of town. And it is the first and only time for me to feel the wetness of a light rain. I didn't take an umbrella -- I have a hood on my jacket, but it does make me wonder: what would have I done had it rained the whole time I was here? (Actually, I guess I know: I would have stayed in my hotel and read a lot of books!)

The restaurant is very farm-like in decor.

The food? Oh, it is very very good, but it doesn't cut through to the top three, or even four. The execution is great, the setting -- lovely, and they have a dessert table where you could help yourself to anything and everything you wanted. But the menu is otherwise (in my view) uninspired and if you want something not terribly heavy, you are stuck with lightly cured salmon for starters and a Lake Geneva fish for a main course. I order both and they are really fine, but what is missing is some excitement! 

(Salmon in a delicious lentil puree)

(Dessert? you pick your own from a round table!)

... Or is it that I am feeling the drag of having to then go back to the hotel, in the rain, and start packing? Knowing that I have to send my suitcase through, because of those creams and kid trinkets. It's just too heavy to take on the flight with me. And knowing, too, that we are having an ice storm back in Madison right now. The airport is officially closed. The weather probably wont affect my travel, but there may well be staggering delays as airlines try to catch up. 

But that's not what I was thinking about as I walked into the hotel Mont Blanc at night. I was thinking instead about how special this place is, with its 40 rooms spread over a five floors. Indeed, as I closed the door behind me in my room and faced my suitcase, there was a knock on the door. One of the staff brought a handwritten message thanking me for my stay and along with it, a beautiful bound notebook, as a small gift. They do such stuff here. Earlier, the person who was stomping on my back asked me if I liked taking pictures in Chamonix. How did she know that I took pictures here? Somehow, they know.

As usual, it's late. I don't mind being tired tomorrow. All I have to do is sit, all day long. And catch my connections. And write some words here, for you.

with love...