Morzine is for skiing?

 Morzine's high season is now. Not spring, not summer, when all French people worldwide take their long vacation break, but now, right now, during the six week period of school winter holidays. Most people think of it as a ski resort and because it has many mixed-level skiing venues, families descend here from the end of January through the first week of March en masse. To ski.

The pace is incredible. You see kids, parents, babies even, clunking through town in heavy ski gear, walking sprightly toward the east gondola or the west gondola to reach the ski runs high up in the mountains, guaranteed to have snow now, even though the town itself has long lost its white stuff. Trails are groomed and ready. Including several sets of cross country trails, but never mind those -- people live and breathe down-hill skiing here.

So why haven't I skied at all in the last three days?

I'm here for six full days (five down, one to go) and after the first two, I stopped skiing. It's weird for me to be in a ski resort and choose, for three days now, not to ski.

What's my excuse? Oh, everything! But mostly, I have grown pretty unfond of down hill skiing (too crazy, too mechanical, too loud, too repetitive!). As for cross country -- it's too limiting! In a way that hiking is not. In fact, it's because I find this place to be so beautiful, so amazingly beautiful, that I took this break from skiing. I want to see everything! I want to hike to obscure corners. I don't want to be hamstrung by ski trails that create boundaries for me. 

Believe me, I torture myself over this every morning! It's my last chance to ski this winter! I should go out on the trails!

Then the other side speaks up: I've done two of the three clusters of Nordic trails already. I should take the stunning hike stunning mademoiselle at the hotel desk suggested. And I should actually go up to THE lake, the one I missed by accident yesterday. And I could go back to the set of trails I hiked yesterday, but instead of turning left, I could explore going right -- that leads right into Switzerland. Wouldn't that be cool? 

Today's tortured back and forth lasted until breakfast. In the end, I opted for the magnificent walk suggested by my hotel. They really know their stuff. If they rave about it, it must be good.

So I eat the cooked breakfast again. Today they are offering an egg coquotte, which appears to be soft baked and served on some mushroomy custard. Yum. And of course the croissant, always the croissant!

 

Now, how do I get to this magnificent walk? Again, I have to learn a completely new set of mountains. I am to take the bus to Les Gets -- a village on the other side of the mountain to our east. From there, I take yet a different gondola up the mountain even further east. Do you see how one might get confused? 

I arrive at the bus stop a few minutes early. Well that's okay! There's a pastry shop near the stop. I can go hang out there and drool.

And do some people watching at the bus stop. All nonskiers.

At Les Gents, I take the Mont Chery gondola up to pick up the trail there along the ridge, all the way to Mont Caly. It's at a medium elevation of about 1500 m (about 5000 feet). The hike trail has some inclines, but honestly, nothing that will make you really pant. Well, except for the views: they will make you sweat from excitement! 

The highlight is, of course, the direct view onto Mt Blanc. So let's start there. 

And to the left...

And to the right...

A short way into the hike, I pause to watch an orange squirrel catching water from melting snow, which only happens on this side of the ocean (orange squirrels are something out of my childhood in Poland)...

I'm not the only hiker here, but there is enough spacing that you never feel you're sharing a crowded path. And once you leave the ski gondolas, chairs, and t-bars, the quiet sets in. And Mt. Blanc, now in a haze, which only adds to the drama of this highest Alpine peak (at 4808 m, or 15,774 ft), tracks your progress and sends encouraging signals of Alpine comfort and yes, peace.

I set up the camera for a selfie. But there's an issue: I'm wearing sunglasses. You have to! On a sunny day the glare is something else! That means my glasses are off and I cannot see anything under my nose. I can see the mountains, I can't see my camera screen. In setting up the selfie on a timed release, I press buttons from memory. And I end up pressing the wrong buttons. As a result, the world for the next five photos will be presented to you in... Sepia!

When I reach Mont Caly (the next summit after Mont Chery), I see an arrow pointing down to the hamlet, suggesting a restaurant. It's only noon and I am not especially hungry, but you know how I love sitting outside in the mountains over a dish of this, or a cup of that!  

Madam suggests a swing chair. Madame reads my mind well. I tell her I'll have something sweet. What's this? They have a home made wild blueberry tart?

You're probably wondering if these are local blueberries. They are. Each restaurant bakes their tart differently -- some cook the berries lightly, others put them on a sponge layer, this one places the berries, which would have to have been been frozen, on a splendid tart shell. All these tarts have been wonderful, down to the last berry. (Today I drink blueberry soda.)

Fortified, I make my way back to the gondola. 

 

 

 

I'd put on my glasses and discovered my camera sepia mistake, so we are back to regular tones now!

I could just catch the bus back to Morzine, but I have another idea: why not stay in Les Gets (it's pronounced simply zhe, not ghets, or ghe, or goat or whatever, which I realized after I kept asking about Get and getting nowhere). Why not walk over to the west side and take that gondola up that mountain! Here's the brilliant thing about that plan: I will then land at the Les Chevannes mountain ridge. You wont remember it, but I do! On my first day here, I skied over to it, coming from Morzine. It's where I found my first outdoor cafe on this trip. It's where I sipped my apricot juice, being much less savvy then about all the blueberry wonders floating around here.

As I stood in the short line for the gondola, I saw that right next to it, there were a few other skiing options, accessible by chairlifts (so going only halfway up the mountain). And this is where I had my epiphany: the reason I like Morzine so much is because it has no chair lifts, t-bars or other moving machines, with ski slopes carrying you right to the streets of the village. There is only one run down the mountain into Morzine (the one I skied). All the rest of the skiing (so, like 99% of it) takes place at higher elevations. Accessible only by these various gondolas. 

And that's a good thing! I see what has become of down hill skiing: it's gone crazy. It's not about long mountain runs into town, through forests and past meadows. It's treeless spaces with countless skiers and in case you're not already overwhelmed by the activity, by the magnitude of the mechanical operation, by crazed skiers going way too fast on skis and snowboards, there's music! Loud pop or rap or something, pulsing at you, making more noise. I saw it at Avoriaz, I see it in Les Gets. It used to be a feather in your hotel cap if you could say that you can ski in and out from the back door of where you're staying. But these days, it seems to me it would be hell to be that close to ski runs. It's so much better to take that noise, that craziness and put it up into the mountains, though I do feel for the animals who surely had to flee once the people on skis showed up with their chaos.

So, I like Morzine, indeed, I love Morzine, because it has taken its skiing and tucked it away. I like the ski destination because you cant really see the skiing from where I'm staying!

This sort of begs the question: why come to a ski resort at all? Why not just find an Alpine valley with your little Alpine hotel and lots of Alpine trails to tempt you?

Well because. There are some trappings of humanity that are nice. The trails, even the walking trails, are mostly groomed. It would be otherwise difficult to do mountain hikes in deep snow or on icy surfaces. Ed and I have a hard time hiking back home in March because everything is dangerously slippery. Here, the snow is deep, but it's packed down hard for you. I saw yesterday that once you left behind the groomed trails, you needed snow shoes to make any progress at all. A groomed hiking trail is a benefit of a ski resort that I like. (As is the food of Alexandre here, as is the sweet honey store that I visited, to say nothing of the toy store, and the patisserie.)

And because there are people, there is, too, terrific public transportation. No one wants to see cars clogging the little village streets. In fact, no skiers use cars here. They leave them for the week, or two weeks and they move around on foot, on gondolas, and on buses.

Let me finish my hike though! Because I am like the bunny that keeps on rat-a-tat-tatting that drum! The weather is stunning, I am on the trail, taking me not too far from the ski trail of my first day. 

 

 

 

I hike it all the way to my gondola number 1, the one that carries me right back to the heart of Morzine.

 

 

 

... where I think I should eat something other than a blueberry tart. How about a vegetable tartine? (Grilled, with fantastic cheese.)

It's evening way too quickly! I don't mean that it gets dark fast, though that's definitely true: the sun disappears early and the cool air takes hold once again. (Did you notice that on my hikes, I was down to no gloves, no cap and no jacket? The sun was that warm!) I mean that the day flies by so very quickly.

The appetite stirs. Which is good, because at 7:30, I go down to dinner. Today there's lamb, which I unfortunately like very much, but would never order myself (because eating veal and lamb feels extra not right to me, even though I do understand that I have not always been consistent with my attitude toward meat: it's like skiing -- I'm not necessarily opposed to it, I just have a hard time overcoming the mounting objections to it). I'll just post a pic of the cheese course: I chose two of my favorite Savoie cheeses: a Beaufort and the Reblechon.

 

Let me end as I seem to always want to end these days -- with thoughts running to the Ukrainians who know anything but peace right now. On my last gondola ride, I was in a cabin with a German family. Two teens and parents. The dad said a lot about Putin and the Ukraine. I speak no German and so I understood none of it, (except for the words Putin and Ukraine), at the same time that I understood all of it. I could see it in his eyes, hear it in his tone. I can't tell you how strange it felt, this unspoken bond there in that cable car with a German family, on the subject of war. How strange, but also gratifying.

The moon shines so very brightly over Morzine tonight. May it soon shine brightly over the people of the Ukraine. Over all of us.

With love...

 

Morzine miscalculations

I am sitting under a sign that has the following written carefully in cursive, decorated with sketches of Alpine wildflowers:  silence, peace, and love reign here.

Yes they do. How enormously lucky for me, isn't it! How humbling.

(here's the full sign)

The thing is, I'm actually in the wrong place. I took the wrong bus and climbed up (therefore) the wrong mountain. Yet, peace reigns. It is so quiet that I am startled by a bird cry that I'm sure is coming from another mountain. 

What a beautiful mistake this day is! Just one big beautiful mistake.

Here's what happened: it was supposed to be the one cloudy day of my stay in Morzine. I thought -- perfect time to do my "in the valley" excursion. Mountains look better against a blue sky! Let me explore the places in and around the valley instead. And I do want to hike or ski the area of "the lake." Both my hotel people and the tourist office raved about it. (I'm equipped with that booklet of walks and Nordic trails and it's right there: "the lake." It has a name, I just can't remember it. And yes, I know how to get there: my hotel passed on a bus schedule.)

So should I ski? I vote no. If you hike, you get to do a larger loop that takes you into a wildlife preserve. Not that you're likely to see much wildlife during the day, but still, one can hope. So hike it is.

And a hearty breakfast to set me off. An omelet today. With tomatoes.

And then I catch the bus. To the lake.

It's not a long ride. That makes sense: I could have actually walked there, but it's 90 minutes by foot and I have an ambitious hike once in the area. So, bus it is. I get off just at the stop I was told to at the hotel. And I am faced with a map, right there, posted on a trail that winds it's way to the left, just like it's supposed to.

I look at the map. Wait, where is the lake?

Where am I??

 

 

I study it carefully: I'm certainly not by any large lake whose name I had forgotten. I appear to be near a hiking path that heads up into the mountains. Yes, there is a lake, a tiny one, after a short walk. Not "the lake," described by the booklet. But yes, "the lake" that figures into a larger walk suggested by my hotel. Hence the correct (by them) bus schedule.

Well no matter. Ditch the booklet, look at what's here. So, a hiking trail. Okay, as long as it's traversable, I can follow a path. May as well aim for that little lake.

Oh, but it's pretty here! We are completely away from the ski scene. No lifts, no runs. Just forest, with the occasional chalet. And mountains, everywhere around me, their peaks shoot up to the blue sky.

 

Did I say blue sky? Amazing but true. The clouds haven't rolled in. It's going to be a very nice morning.

Within a half hour, I come upon a little chalet with a bar restaurant that is just starting to open up. Maybe I could pause for a cup of tea... It's so lovely here, and the sun is gentle this morning, and the wee kids are playing outside...

Okay, let's not get lazy. Ten minutes later, I move on. Through the most majestic looking pines...

And I wonder -- why do I see a handful of skiers coming up this same path? They are climbing it wearing downhill skis. There are no ski runs anywhere. What are they doing? 

And dogs. Always the dogs. Must be locals. I only hear French all day long. Of course! Who else would come here? It's not in the tourist booklet!

Ah, the lake. Pretty enough. What next?

(where the stream runs into it...)

I keep following the path. Up, up... I can only walk on well trampled snow. Elsewhere it is deep and my feet sink quickly into it. But so far there is a path. I see snow shoe prints too.

After about an hour in the forest, I come out above the tree line onto a clearing. I see the skiers trudging slowly up ahead. Oh, so that's it!

They are climbing this far up to get to the snowfields on the more distant mountains. They're backcountry skiers. Local people (my guess) who are willing to climb this far to ski away from the lifts, away from the frenzied pace of up and down and up and down. This is something entirely different.

(it's this next mountain that is their destination)

Eventually, as they continue to the left, off trail, or at least there's no trail I can see or follow, I take a trampled path to the right.

To these houses. Shelters. Maybe for livestock during a storm? Empty now. I sit down on a bench, underneath that sign.

 

 

At peace. Humbled and grateful. Sun screen slathered on.

I tell Ed later that this day would have been beautiful for him too. A challenge, and quiet. And not a small amount of knowledge to take away from it all. I see that when I finally do turn around, from this point, just above the shacks...

... and head back. Toward that little lake (which, when snow covered, looks like a meadow):

There are display boards all around it and they describe how we come to have the rock formations towering to the side. (A former sea... with marine fossils embedded within.)

And they describe the migration of birds through here each year. And the biodiversity in the forest... All fascinating stuff when it's all before you to see and feel.

They have a flora board up as well, but they don't have on it this very first Alpine flower of spring!

How beautiful May must be here! Though really, it's beautiful even now.

 

Slowly I make my way down to the bus stop. I check the schedule. Should I wait for the bus or should I walk back? I've been hiking for more than four hours, but I'm not especially tired. 

I opt for walking back along the river stream that eventually makes its way into Morzine.

For a while. But I see that the road runs parallel and honestly, this walk is less thrilling after having had that mountain experience. On the next bridge I cross the stream and head up to the road and lo! Here comes the bus! Merci, kind driver for stopping for me! (These buses are free here, so hopping on and off is easy.)

Back in Morzine I stop at the little bistro in the hotel and order a croque monsieur. It's a common sandwich in France, prepared variously. It's always grilled, always with ham and cheese, and sometimes it has sauces, sometimes it does not. This one is fine. Good cheese!

I am a little distracted. I check my email and see that my new credit card has been hacked again, in the same place it was a month ago with the old number. Sigh. A real bother when you're traveling. It's happened before during trips, so I know to take more than one card. Too, these really are not problems but minor inconveniences belonging to a lucky few in this world who have credit cards and who can travel and climb mountains. I do all the necessary paperwork to cancel the card and move on.

And pretty quickly, the clouds do come and it is evening and I am so hungry for dinner! And it is exceptional. No photos for you, not even of the 64 degree egg on a foie gras something with adorning mushrooms and emulsified something. You see my problem: I cant explain them well so best just to say they were great and let it go at that. I do want to add that I discovered a new for me cheese from Haute Savoie - the abondance, which does come from this valley and it is excellent and widely popular here, in the way that for us cheddar or colby may be popular. I tried it, I loved it. Great on a plate with reblechon, which has been a favorite of mine for decades.

But no more food talk. I sit in my room vaguely dozing off, waiting for photos to load (mountains and WiFi signals seem often not to like each other) when I hear bangs and clangs outside. When the world is at war, you don't like the sounds of explosions, so I look out the window to see what the trouble may be. 

No trouble. Just fireworks. The ski instructors do this show for those here on French school break: they ski down the same ski run I took a couple of days ago, only in the dark, with torches blazing. When they get down, the fireworks go off. Anything for the kids, right?

I'll leave you with a slate, leaning against the hut on that mountain, with a scribbled verse, partly translated for you.

The mountain is beautiful... a gift that costs nothing... each smile tells a story.

Wishing you a smile, wishing all of us, especially those so deprived of it right now -- peace. And love...

Morzine, change of pace

One of the great luxuries of solo travel is the freedom that you have to set each day. You're not in charge of anyone's happiness except your own. The burden though is there still: you want to make each day count. But you don't have to worry if things don't work out in the way you expected.

On this trip, I have some ideas about what I want to do here, but nothing is certain until I wake up and look outside and get a handle on what I'm up for. Though today I knew I had to go back to the lifts of Morzine - Avoriaz (yesterday's destination), since I have only a two day pass and it expires at 5pm this afternoon.

Once again we have beautiful weather ahead of us. Sunshine like you wouldn't believe! Buying sun cream did not kill the trend of perfect late winter days. So do I want to go back and repeat exactly all that I did yesterday? Go up in the gondola and chair lift, and ski the Nordic trails that offer endless challenges?

Actually, I do not. I'm up for a challenge, but I like the idea of ditching the skis for a day. Even Nordic skis constrain you. They set the pace. You can pause, but most often you keep on going until you've done your loop. I want to take in more that's all around me. The people. Their kids, pets, lovers. I want to listen to the quiet. 

But a slower pace doesn't mean an easy pace. I decide to do a hike up there, where the gondola and chair lift leave me. There are trails. I'll do a grand loop!

So it's a hearty breakfast for me once again. Today I actually choose their hot option -- a poached egg on spinach, with cured salmon at the side. And the usuals! Croissants, fruit, bla bla...

I smear my face with cream, pack my daypack and set out. Ski poles? Yes. Skis? No.

After you've been walking with skis (on or off), you appreciate a day where your feet are free. And you dont have to bump people in the gondola with your boards. (Nordic skis have to be treated differently: they cannot be left in ski containers at the side of the car. They're too long. You have to fit them with you, inside. And you have to explain to everyone why you're not doing what every single other person is doing.)

On the chairlift, I luxuriate with dangling my free feet. And I hop off without issue. Everyone else slides down to the multipurpose way, I walk. Taking in everything! Because I'm not concentrating on keeping out of the way of fast skiers and little children. 

(Starting off on the same shared path that I skied down yesterday, I pass this little chalet with the Swiss flag. How close are we to Switzerland? Well, Avoriaz is about a kilometer from the border, but there isn't a road. The country is on the other side of a very tall mountain.)

(Glancing at the people at this cafe at the side of the run makes me seriously consider just sitting down and not moving for the rest of the day.)

(At the beginning, I share the run with the skiers as they make their way down to the lifts of Avoriaz. Like yesterday, only this time I'm one of the handful of walkers.)

(Stopping to take a peek at a nearby farm where they make the cheeses of Savoie: Abondance, Tomme, Reblechon, Raclette.)

(The cows are in for the winter. Number 9093 definitely seems to have a thing for no. 9091!)

I take the hikers' path all the way up to Avoriaz. Not because I have a newfound love for Avoriaz, but because it's a good end point, way up there on the next mountain. (To its credit, it does blend in well enough, so that from here, you can barely see it -- Avoriaz is just below the mountain summit.)

And from Avoriaz, the goal is to take the circuitous path all the way back down, to the gondola. That's a good several hours I'm told. A lot more if you get lost. Just sayin'...

 

I feel that in walking it's easy to find your peace. Cross-country skiing too, once you know what's around the corner. But skiing interrupts the flow of thought. Sometimes, you have to concentrate on the terrain. In walking, you can let yourself unwind. Take a forest bath. Think about what's precious in life, on this planet. 

The paths are mostly empty, but not entirely. I meet a lot of French people walking their dogs. Some seem local, others -- who knows. They speak French. They could be Savoyards or Parisians. I'm not good at spotting French accents.

 

(a man with five dogs the color of snow!)

(close up)

 

 

Then, too, there are the kids -- the ones not big enough to be given two boards and told to hang out with the ski school. Local kids are in school now, so I see only very young ones out and about. And on the slopes -- kids from Paris. That's the region that's on winter break now. Which may explain the exrtraordinarily well dressed skiers.

(two moms with babies, two dads with toddlers)

All of this is very lovely. Just what I needed!

(forest magic)

But in Avoriaz, I don't really want to take a pause. I liked yesterday's lunch break a lot, but I'm in my quiet zone today. The frenetic pace of dining there, the loud music coming in from loudspeakers somewhere, maybe the ski slopes? Not for me today. So after reaching the place, I look at the view...

 

 

 

 ... and turn around and search for the long path that will take me back down to the gondola. 

At first I'm okay with it. I have that Tourist Office booklet after all. And the path is well groomed (if not exactly well marked). It's self evident.

Until it's not. Something doesn't fit. On the map, you're to stay on the left side of the road. In reality, there is no left side of the road. And that's just the beginning.

Some locals tell me "go that way." I have no idea what "that way" they're talking about. I abandon the little map which definitely would not have me go "that way," and follow their advice. And they were right, but they didn't warn me that the path would fork and it's anyone's guess which fork I should follow. Or that toward the end it disappears altogether and what you're left with is slushy deep snow (I'm at a lower elevation now). Sometimes the path would dead end at a ski run. How safe is it, crossing those runs with crazy skiers coming at you? Well, I'm going to say it feels a tiny bit terrifying.

But it's really a glorious walk and it is mostly downhill. I change elevations a lot, but I do it slowly. With a pause for a view.

All the time.

(crazy guy from yesterday?)

In the end the path is gone and there are still drifts of snow to navigate, but I see the gondola station in the distance, so I know I will, come hell or high water, reach my destination! Nearly three hours after leaving Avoriaz. 

I thought I'd pause at a cafe there -- the one with yesterday's cappuccino and a view, but part of me is still wanting to try new things today.

Later, at my hotel's reception, the young woman at the desk -- the one who is so beautiful that I swear she should star in some French coming of age movie -- tells me that some views she never tires of and she tells me about one which I definitely will look for later in the week. But I wonder if a person living here even notices the mountains anymore or are they like wall paper. I get a thrill when a peak comes into view as I climb up. Does a Morezine person get that thrill too? 

Living in the mountains is different than living in a landscape of lightly rolling hills (this would describe the farmette location). The sun sets before you're ready to see it go. The day begins in the shadows of the sun: it's there, but it's hiding. Too, there are the snows here: sometimes so huge that they seem to bury the smaller houses.

[At the same time, these people do not use salt on the roads. No one's car looks like mine does all winter long. No one's shoes are ruined by telltale white marks. And the lakes are cleaner for it. But here's a difference where we come out ahead: I happen to come across the parking lot where people heading to Avoriaz leave their cars. I swear, every car was black, gray or white. Nothing else. At all. We are a much more colorful nation!]

Back in Morzine, I realize that somehow in all my ramblings, I skipped lunch. That's okay -- I'm not hurting for food here. Besides, it gives me an excuse to sit down at the outdoor cafe of my hotel. The sun is low, but so pleasantly strong that I take off my jacket. (And slather on more sun screen. And still I'm getting scorched, I can tell.) I order a.... you guessed it! Blueberry tart (it comes with raspberry ice cream). And cappuccino. And it is all sublime.

I listen to the noise of school children. They are, for reasons of Mardis Gras, marching through town in costumes.

And at the table next to mine, a couple sits in a total lovers embrace, only occasionally disentangling to play with their dog.

 

 

People are returning from skiing with smiles on their faces. Some older men do post-skiing stretches. (There is a group of twelve older men staying here. It looks to me like they are friends, returning to have their buddy time on the slopes. French men like staying in places with good food. I've seen that elsewhere. And now here they are, stretching, stretching, maybe thinking about tonight's dinner...) Content people who came through the pandemic. Who aren't at war. Who can go to sleep thinking about tomorrow's ski run rather than a bizarre destruction of their home at the hands of a maniac. I feel happy for them. And sad for those who cannot share in such good fate.

Dinner? It's delicious. I'm sorry, but that's going to be a recurring theme. And the best thing is that I don't have to think about what to order. We all eat the same thing.  Still, today's meal deserves a special note. Sophia was helping out (husband's off Tuesdays and they're short staffed). But about the food: today they do a Savoyard dinner: a Vacherin cheese with a plate of charcuterie, a salad, and of course, the boiled potatoes for the Vacherin.

In fact, this is a Swiss dish to the Swiss, and a French dish to those from Savoie. The Vacherin cheese is made from milk given by Savoie cows in winter (it's seasonal!), or by cows from the canton of Vaud in Switzerland (just along the northern edge of Lake Geneva). The cheese has wine added to it and maybe garlic and then it's popped in the oven and voila -- it comes out in a creamy melted magnificence.

I asked Sophia what is the proper Savoyard way of eating all this and she described it well, but later I had this idea that maybe she wasn't from this region. It is conceivable that a Morzine man would marry someone from elsewhere. 

Indeed. She's from Brittany. I nod knowingly. So many good things (and people) come from Brittany...

The dessert? They make it here, on the premises. A meringue cake with ice cream, a bit of cream at the sides, and raspberries. They dont come any better than that.

I'm aiming to go to sleep before midnight today, so I'll retreat under my puffy quilt now, to dream of a better tomorrow, especially for the people of Ukraine. 

With so much love...