Wherever I travel to in this world, I am asked -- why are you going there? Most often I shrug it off. Who knows what lifts me and moves me when I study travel possibilities. There's never an easy answer. It's not just the art and food in Paris (and sometimes neither is even important to a visit there). It may be that one place may have a landscape that I want to experience, another -- an attitude that makes me want to dive in. I can't really come up with just one reason why it's there and not elsewhere.
However. There is only one reason, and really one person that is responsible for me booking this trip to Saint Martin de Belleville in the French Alps: on June 21st, I was up at the northern tip of Scotland, staying in a house where a young woman (Beks) worked. We chatted. Her partner is a ski instructor. In the summer, she works up north (while he takes care of their kid). In the winter he works in the Alps, teaching skiing (while she takes care of their kid). I described to her the type of place in the mountains that would appeal to me: small, but not so small that there is no movement, no commerce at all. A place that's not overrun by zealous skiers and visitors (like me!). A beautiful place. You've lived in a large number of Alpine towns. Which one do you like best? She said -- go to Saint Martin de Belleville (in the Savoie region of France). Shortly after I booked my winter trip there.
I've maxed out my skiing years (I think), but Snowdrop is just starting. If there is snow, the skiing here should be good for a beginner. Let's see what I think of the village itself.
Wait, let's first get there!
It's a short 7 hours and 14 minutes from Minneapolis to Amsterdam. Enough to get in a cycle of sleep were it not for the flight distractions. That is if you're one of those who can sleep in the air. (They can, I can't.) In Amsterdam, we have a nearly three hour layover. By 1 p.m. we're in flight to Geneva. The arrival is a breeze. No waits anywhere. By 2:30 we're on the road, heading for France.
No place is a perfect destination and Saint Martin has the disadvantage of being a little more distant from Geneva airport (or any airport) than say Chamonix (last two years) or Morzine (the year before). It takes us two hours to cab over to the village. The weather today is variable. Warm and partly cloudy in Geneva. Not so much in the valley wherein you'll find Saint Martin. Cloudy. Foggy. Or is it that we're sitting smack in the thick of the cloud cover?
I'm not driving. I leave this to a local guy and this is not a luxury but a necessity. The last twenty kilometers are around hairpin curves, up a mountain, down a mountain, and here, the air gets cold enough that you start to see snow. Surely the roads are slick?
Our driver is in a hurry. We wasted time driving through Annecy -- there was an unusual amount of traffic. Too, if I understood the guy correctly, there was a bank hold up, resulting in barricaded streets and gawking passing drivers.
He sped up and down that mountain in a way that surely demonstrated he knew the road well, but who cares -- it was terrifying. (He apologized afterwards and I suppose it's easy to forgive because he did not kill us, but he came dangerously close to it!)
It's a long and adventurous travel day, but at long last we are here: Saint Martin de Belleville. Population: 2600. Elevation: it varies! Some homes are at 2100 ft (640 m). Some are higher up at 11 700 ft (so 3560 m).
We are staying at a fairly new and comparatively small place -- M Lodge. I have the larger room with Snowdrop.
My daughter is in a smaller one below us.
The view? Which I wanted so much? Ha ha ha - look out our window. Fogged in.
I have a few minutes to unpack, to refresh, but by 6 we are downstairs at their "Bistro" for our first supper in France.
The food at the Lodge is super, but less focused on regional dishes than the remainder of our eating places will be. (Yes, you have to prebook your dinner restaurants in the Alps-- this is a small town and even in January, there are plenty of skiers here. We are, in fact, set for all the days we are in Europe.)
It's a good beginning: the hotel is Alpine rustic and authentically beautiful all at once. The bistro has a party celebrating someone's fiftieth, the clientele boisterous and in a vacation mood. But the truth is, we would have eaten here even if they served fast food in cardboard boxes. We're tired, no one feels like exploring tonight, and importantly -- they are willing to seat us on the early side of the clock. (No French person worth their chops would be caught eating supper at 6!).
(fish for the girl; though what she really loved was... the octopus)
Back in the room -- the fog is lifting! It's dark of course, but we can see the contours of the mountains at last!
Tonight we shower, we crash. Tomorrow -- we explore!
with love...
