Chamonix!

The Journey

A challenge for a traveler whose trips are necessarily short (I am needed at home! I miss my fam! I miss Ed!) is to do more than just tolerate the long travel time at each end. But how? I've tried it all: in earlier years I'd look forward to the free wine on board long haul flights. That made the first half of the journey fantastic, but the last half -- a drag. I've also given in to nonstop movie watching. You can do four movies each way and still take pauses for bathroom trips and looking out the window. But honestly, it's hard to find so many good movies, especially since Ed and I mine the better stuff for our at home watching. How about reading? Yes, absolutely. But I need to take breaks with that, so it can't be nonstop. Lately, staring into space, taking naps, doing light writing have kept me busy. And still, I think I ought to work more on a love for the journey itself, not just the final arrival. 

This trip is one where I challenge myself to break away from all that ties me up in knots inside and I promised myself I would start with savoring each moment. Including each flight, each layover, each new snack, each conversation with a passerby or a seat mate. (I am a quiet seat partner, but if someone wants to talk, I'll be okay with it. For a while.)

And so this is how my travels began: calmly, with a search for delight. Here are a few that I found:

On the flight to Atlanta, there was no turbulence and so the attendants served the usual beverages. I asked for tea. The Italians may down their espresso in one gulp, but the British know how to pace and savor their tea. I joined the club of these sage sippers and really concentrated on loving my paper cup of tea. And I finished my murder mystery. Two hours well spent!

At the Atlanta airport, I decided to do a little spot writing. I have more than two hours here. I put my carryon in front of me so that I could raise my legs up to a comfortable position and took out my laptop. I played around with ideas. Time always passes quickly when I try to write. 

Waiting in line to board the Air France flight to Paris, I noticed there were three separate passengers with wee dogs in those little stow-under-the-seat containers. The pups found each other and instantly made doggie friends. The passengers surrounding these animals were less generous. I heard mumbles about how wrong it is to travel with your dog. Wrong for whom? It's not as if they will bite you. I found them to be adorable and I tried to imagine why they were in fact going to Paris.

On the flight itself, I had in front of me a young family: parents and two little girls exactly Juniper and Primrose's age. The youngest one wiggled and complained for a good two hours. But, I was totally charmed by her. Her sister as well, though she was lost to the world with her earphones and her movies. The family was French and I wondered what they had been doing in the US. Disneyworld maybe? The mom wore a shirt with Disneyland Paris on it and the girls had Mickey Mouse backpacks, so maybe they liked amusement parks?  I played a clapping game with the tot. Honestly, the whole lot of them made my trip!

Too, I totally appreciated my seat by the window. 

I'd booked this flight in early September and had the whole plane open and all seats available. My goal was to eat, watch one movie and try very very very hard to nap. Classical music helps and the selections these days are fantastic. Did I sleep? I can't really tell. You know how that goes!

In Paris, at the airport -- well, now it becomes easy. It's breakfast time and there are croissants and pains au chocolat galore and, too, there are always interesting travelers to watch and listen to. 

And the flight to Geneva? Oh, if you cannot take pleasure in that short jaunt over half of France and the peaks of the western Alps, then you are hopeless!

In Geneva, all I had to do was find my ride to Chamonix. Easy peasy. And a little after the noon hour, I am at my hotel. [The driver, whose family came over to Chamonix from Tunisia, spent the hour telling me about his recent trip to Miami. The man loves to travel! I asked him if he's likely to stay in Chamonix and he said yes, he'd like to. To be close to his family, and to raise his own family here. It's a great place for it, with only one problem, and it's a big one: wealthy people are buying up housing and the locals are being priced out of home ownership. A familiar story the world over!]

Luck

It's funny how luck works: there are those whose lives are really tragic: luck evades them totally. But for most of us -- you win some, you lose some. Me, I hover between that and having more than my share. Sure, I may give a lucky break a slight push, but let's face it: I have had a wonderfully full life of adventure, and beloveds, and calmness, and a roof over my head, and food on the table. So, lots of good fortune. But with weather -- well, I've had my share of the pits. Snowstorms and cancelled flights. And remember the rains in Naples? 

So too, I moaned and groaned as I studied the weather in the Alps this winter. It's not that I need snow (though I would like it, because it's beautiful), but I kept seeing horrible predictions of clouds with wet snow showers thrown in for good measure. I wondered it I'd even see the mountains. I do want to see the mountains!

Imagine my total delight as the time approached for my trip here and I watched the forecast improve. My wistful hopes for maybe ONE good day, turned to hopes of two maybe three, until I stopped hoping because it seemed greedy and yet, here I am, with great weather predicted for the better part of my week-long stay here! Awesome luck!

An Alpine Town.

I'm staying at a lovely old hotel -- the Mont Blanc. (It's been here since 1849!) I mean, it's just perfect for me. I learned last year in Morzine that being centrally located is actually a good thing for a person like me who plans on darting in and out all day long. Just as long as it's quiet. The Mont Blanc is central and quiet.

And I coughed up the extra Euros for a room with a view. I can explain away such indulgence like you wouldn't believe! I tell myself I am saving tons by NOT skiing. No rentals, no lifts. Looking out at the mountains means a lot to me. My room, a corner one, does look out at the mountains, from two sides!

(the Mont Blanc peak is the one directly under the sun, half hiding behind two others)

If I did nothing else but stayed in my room, or better yet, on the balcony of my room for the whole week, I would be happy, just staring at these stunning peaks.

But I do plan to do stuff. Kind of different stuff. No skiing. No riding up the cable car to get close to Mont Blanc. No husky sled riding (though I was tempted!). Yes to walking. But not always alone.

Chamonix in the wintertime is an intimidating place to do good walks. Heck, Morzine was intimidating too! I needed help there (from a very earnest hotel person), and I need at least a tiny bit of help here. I found a person in Chamonix (Teresa) who does in fact offer herself up for walks, ones targeting your particular interests. So, for example -- no great elevations and icy trails for me. But yes, hidden remote interesting stuff I'd not easily find myself.

After unpacking, I do two very important things: I sit on my balcony and feel that deep winter sun on me and I think -- vitamin D never tasted so good!

Secondly, I take a stroll through town. My hotel is a Belle Epoque gem, with art deco stairs and an old world feel to it throughout...

(the "living room" downstairs)

But it's not the only building with those lovely wrought iron balconies. Chamonix definitely has a unique style.

It also has not a small number of people. It's much more cosmopolitan than Morzine where I heard French everywhere. Here, I'm occasionally picking up British English (my driver commented -- they never learn French. Some live here for months on end and all they can say is "one baguette still vous plait"). And I definitely heard both Russian and Polish.

I'm just a hop skip from the pedestrian zone and so I stroll along it, taking in the pulse of the town. To its benefit, there are numerous outdoor cafes, all packed with people taking in the sun.

(actually some dont bother with the cafe -- they get their sun elsewhere. I was that young once!)

(warm enough for ice cream)

There are trade offs, of course. More cafes, more people, more eateries, more choices. But all this makes Chamonix a sizable town. I know I'm in Savoie -- a mountainous department in the Auvergne-Rhone-Alpes region of France with its own cheeses and sausages, but you really have to step out of the town to get that vibe of a Savoyard lifestyle. 

In the evening, I meet up with Teresa over a drink (Negronis!!) to discuss my excursions for the week. She'll join me on at least two of them, but I do find her comments useful for my solo walks as well. No, not good in the winter. Too much shade. Too hard to get to. And so on. At the end of our hour together I have a pretty good idea what my week will look like. 

And on my first evening, I eat dinner at Matafan -- the hotel's restaurant. I probably would not have chosen one of the better restaurants for a first night when I am most tired, but my eating here was a little taken out of my hands: I'd asked the hotel about a month ago if I needed to plan meals in advance. Yes! They quickly told me that most of the solidly good restaurants book up quickly during the French school holidays and of course, February is one staggered French school holiday. I asked for recommendations and was given a list and an offer to arrange all choices according to my preferences (not too far a walk and good local food. Mostly casual. As I explained, solo travelers are always better off eating at lively casual places).

The hotel came up with a plan for my dinners. I'm going along with it. What the heck -- they know their food in the Savoie region of France. Fresh and honest was invented here! 

But of course, they did strongly recommend their own Matafan and I agreed. For tonight. And, not surprisingly, it was excellent. Local lentils, house smoked salmon and then a touch of the Italy that's just on the other side of a mountain -- gnocchi with a ragu that you might kill for if you were of that disposition. Oh, and a local pear for dessert which sounds very simple, but actually isn't because it came like this:

And now it's nighttime. I'm crossing my fingers that my newly discovered solution to the jet lagged poor sleep on the first night will work (3 mg Melatonin and here's the crucial part: get the time released capsules, because the problem is not with falling asleep on your first night in Europe but in staying asleep!).

Lights out, deep exhale. I am in the mountains they are visible, grand, exciting.

to Chamonix

I knew even last winter that I would want to return to the Alps this year. When I was way younger but already on my own, I loved scheming and finding ways to make possible the winter trips to these beautiful heights and vales, and though I took a great long pause in my midlife, I'm rediscovering my affection for this corner of the world. 

Except that both the mountains and I have changed.

Many of the villages and towns that were only modestly groomed for skiing fifty years ago, have gone hog wild in the direction of pleasing those with skis and snowboards. Winter tourism has exploded and not necessarily in good directions. Moreover, because there is less snow, the mountains can look pathetically sad with white ribbons of artificial white stuff twisting down once forested ridges. 

Then there is me -- I've changed. One creaky knee, one wisened soul. Reluctant to take part in the skiing frenzy now, and reluctant to drive or take buses great distances to reach the more remote towns and villages, I look for destinations that have something to say beyond opening up mountain runs for skiers, and I look only at places that are not too far a drive from a major airport. That limits my choices for sure. But I think it explains why I was so eager to put my bets this winter on Chamonix, in France. Or, as it has been called since 1921, Chamonix-Mt. Blanc. I booked this winter retreat even before summer was officially over.

I do realize that Chamonix is no small hidden gem. Though principally a summer tourism destination, it does see a good flow of people passing through or, like me, staying a while in winter. Yes, for the winter sports: Chamonix hosted the very first Winter Olympics back in 1924 -- that tells you something, though in those days there were all of maybe a dozen events, as compared to the last Winter Games in 2022, which had well over a hundred. And they keep coming year round for Mt. Blanc: you can get mighty close to this majestic summit by riding up on the world's highest cable car -- an engineering marvel that scared the daylights out of me when I rode up in it nearly fifty years ago. (Mt Blanc is, by the way, the highest peak in the Alps, rising to 15,780 ft, or 4810 m.) They come, too, for the little red train (built in 1909!) that'll take you all the way up to the glacier Mer de Glace.  And they come, like me, for the closeness of the mountains. With views onto not only French Alps, but the mountains of neighboring Switzerland and Italy. [And perhaps unfortunately, people  come, on their way to Italy: Chamonix is right by the road leading you to the 11.6 kilometer Mt Blanc tunnel, cutting through a dark mountain as if it weren't there. Been there, done that, hated every minute.]

Chamonix is just a tad over an hour's drive from the Geneva Airport. That's an easy trip! The weather? It is a town at a higher elevation (at 3400 ft, or about 1040m) so one could hope for snow, except that this year has pretty much wiped out thoughts of snowy Alpine meadows for most of us seeking that kind of winter serenity. From what I can tell, it's been an exceptionally warm December followed by an exceptionally warm January and after a brief series of snow storms, there followed an erratic February. But maybe... Who knows. We shall see.

No matter. This is a meditative trip for me: to be alone with my thoughts in the mountains. That is the goal.

Right after my morning routines (Ed, wake up! we've got another opossum in the barn!)...

(breakfast)

... I'm catching a flight  to Atlanta (beating a snowstorm that's coming to Madison tomorrow!), then one to Paris, then to Geneva. If all goes well, I will write tomorrow, from Chamonix.

Happy Valentine

I am that -- a happy Valentine. A person who was programmed, probably from birth, to fight hard to ignore the irritants in life and focus on something bigger and better than that. And, too, a person who likes Valentine's Day --all of which makes me a happy Valentine.

Since Ed and I have been together (more than 17 years now!), I have variously treated this holiday. In some years I wanted us to go out to dinner, get flowers, eat candy, write cards. Other years I settled for a box of chocolates. One time I think I cracked open a bottle of champagne. This year, my goal was for us to be together (I'm heading out tomorrow -- the day after Valentine's Day), to eat something outside of my normal cooking repertoire, and to still have some chocolates and flowers left over from when we got them a week ago! 

[With family and friends I mostly let the Valentine current run wild without me. The grandkids get tons of chocolate and sweets from other grandparents and family members -- they dont need more from me. A few cookies before Valentine's Day -- that's it. My girls -- oh, I tell them I love them constantly. I announce it to the world! From the mountaintops! I love my young families so much!! I leave it at that.]

I know Ed and I celebrate love every day of the year too. In some fashion, we acknowledge gratitude at being together in this old house with the warm rooms in winter and the cool porch in the summer, and the land that has allowed for so many flowers, berries and fruit trees to flourish. Watch'y doin' gorgeous? -- he'll ask out of the blue. Or from the couch, in the middle of the day I'll hear -- it's nice being here with you. Nonetheless, on Valentine's Day, we ratchet it up a bit. Just because.

So, a walk to deal with the animals...

And a breakfast: rosy me, with the pink shirted guy (still working through Chicago baked goods)...

And then? Well, not a whole lot of outdoor excitement. There's a threat of rain, so we keep our park walk short.

Afterwards, it's time for me to get my suitcase out and start thinking what to put in it. (I'm heading out tomorrow.)

And in the afternoon, Snowdrop is here. Good thing the girl made class Valentine's cards! An unexpected delight -- a Valentine's Day party in school -- brought in the loot from classmates. Oh, how kids love a chance to collect these small cards, trinkets and candies!

Not much time to spend on studying the spoils from the party though. It's ballet class day. I admit, I'm a little lenient with her pokiness. And predictably, we are a tad late. Hey -- half the kids skipped class altogether! I imagine parents were dealing with one big sugar high after school. Me, I cheat and put on the TV. Doing her hair then is easy. She is distracted by the cute Bluey episodes and she doesn't mind the gazillion pins that I have to stick in her scalp to keep the bun in place.

Class...

And then I drive back home.

An evening with Ed -- our last one together for a while. I broil some small lobster tails left over from Christmas Eve (I had purchased too many). Ed would absolutely give in and watch a rom com tonight with me, but I so love the show we just tuned into several days ago (Clarkson's Farm), that I opt for that instead. Last evening's episode on rising sheep had us laughing so hard that I thought -- wow, comedy never felt so good! 

And so ends another Valentine -- wet and gloppy, warm and muddy, weird and wonderful all at the same time.

(Dance and Snowflake-Unfriendly, the half sisters and BFFs)

With so much love...

Monday

The luster and radiance of the light in the past week has not gone by unnoticed by any of us living here, in the upper Midwest. This kind of luminance is something you see at higher elevations. I don't think of it as something coming at me across farmette lands in February. Yet here we are.

And now having tasted it, having felt the light's brilliance, I can no longer think of these days as belonging to winter. I have moved on. We are in pre-spring. Ed reminds me to tread carefully there: March can pack a mean punch for those who think spring has set in. But I tell him -- I'm not looking for jonquil buds in the ground. I'm merely enjoying the pungent aroma of wet earth.

Breakfast treats from Chicago still, with my pink guy. In anticipation of Valentine's Day? We can pretend!

We go for a walk in our county park. A bit slippery, a bit mushy, but really quite divine!

And then I pick up Snowdrop. 

She feels that spring-like air! It's tree time again!

In the farmhouse, she has the job of doing Valentine's Day cards. If she feels like it. It's not an obligation and there has been no mention of it at school. Still, last year most kids gave out cards and she wants to follow in that tradition. And if you chose to give cards, it has to be for everyone.

Her set of purchased cards has cats or dogs. Cats for the nicer kids! -- she tells me.

At first, she sticks an extra heart on the card of her current favorite boy in class. Then she quickly changes her mind. Let's put heart stickers on all the cards so his doesn't stand out! Oh, how I remember those days of elementary school love interests, or as Ed would aptly call them -- "like interests." It wasn't until I was thirteen years old that I was brave enough to openly acknowledge to my "like interest" that he was in any way special. From a safe distance. I was leaving the school and would likely never see him again.

In the evening, I drop her off and pause again to admire the setting sun. Beautiful February vignettes, left and right. February snapshots that properly belong in March. Are we really done with winter? Something tells me the snows and Arctic blasts are going to have the last laugh!

Sunday

Abundant sunshine, warm temps. No trace of snow in Chicago. Weird February! But, it makes for a very very peasant walk from the hotel back to my daughter's home. Indeed, I take a detour. 

A stop at a bakery would be a cool surprise! 

What?? Long lines? Oh cities! Open up a good bakery and lines form. I shrug off the idea of baked treats and walk briskly to spend my last hours with the young family.

By the time I get there, the kids are in the thick of their Sunday morning routines. 

Primrose gets ready for her morning swim lesson...

Juniper is about to take her morning nap.

Well that's okay. I'll have a few minutes to chat with my daughter over a morning cup of coffee.

We review this, we make plans to do that, and before you know it, Juniper is up again!

Hey, shaggy girl! Oh, now I can see you!

I am not surprised that she goes straight for her Van Gogh book. She has one on Monet that has the same concept: push a point on a page and you get an excerpt of classical music. I was so excited to see an edition of this for Van Gogh, in Rome at the exhibition, that I neglected to take note that the text of the book is actually in Italian. No matter! My daughter has a great Italian accent. It served us well during our travels to that country together way back when. 

(Look at those perfect young knees: a total 90 degree squat!)

Once Primrose returns, we all head out to Middle Brow -- a neighborhood brew pub that serves up fantastic brunch foods.

The kids may love their creative pizzas, but I am a sucker for a good shakshouka.

And there it ends. 

Time to say goodbye. I'll see them all again in March, but now I need to head back and they need to get on with their routines. And on the drive back I play my music and put on my sunglasses and I think (what I admit, likely most parents think) -- how awesome are my adult daughters! Each different, each exquisite, taking the good from our family life and improving on it all tenfold. With kids of their own -- ones who love so intensely and care so deeply.

Thank you, Chicago bunch. For everything.

And a few hours later I am pulling up into the farmette driveway which, despite the warmth these past days, is still quite iced over. No matter. It'll melt.

I quickly throw down my bag and start in on dinner. The older young family is coming tonight for a Sunday family meal. Our routine has been choppy this past month -- bugs, travel, they all cut into our weekly suppers at the farmhouse. And I have more disruptions coming up, so it's good to keep this dinner in place.

(Sandpiper moving a chair, because minutes before that, Sparrow had moved a chair.)

(As usual, I and her mom coax Snowdrop to give her very long hair a solid brushing. We ask the girl ten times if she wouldn't like to trim off a couple of inches. No, she would not!)

(messin' with Ed doesn't end just because it's Sunday!)

And the weekend comes to a close. And I feel all warm inside, so proud and so totally grateful to have these young families in my everyday.

With so much love...

Saturday

After several false starts last weekend, I finally made it to Chicago today! 

Stand back, cheepers, cats, hurry down for breakfast, Ed, I need to get on the road!

Here we are nearing the middle of February and I can just now celebrate my daughter's January birthday! Not to mention the grand girls! I haven't seem them at all in 2023. Our last encounter? On New Year's Eve day, in Door County. That seems like a mountain of years ago!

Oh how they grow!

I didn't make it here on time for Primrose's ballet class (where are those high speed trains when you need them??), but I did arrive in time for lunch. Afterwards? We do a passport picture session! Here are two photos that are obvious rejects, but ones I love!

An afternoon of play, of books, of music...

Ending with a neighborhood walk. 

(In her Wisconsin Piggly Wiggly cap!)

(Some of the buildings in the Wicker Park neighborhood of Chicago are really intriguing...)

(... and the murals -- beautiful!)

And in the evening, the young couple go out for a date, and I stay with the kids. The three of us eat supper... which obviously includes marinara sauce!

... and an amused older sister!

And then, soon after the parents return, I actually have to retreat to their neighborhood hotel. The corner of their home where I usually camp out is having some structural issues at the moment and it's easier for me to just sleep down the street rather than disrupt their household even more. Tomorrow I'll be back with the whole lot of them for a morning together. Not a long visit, to be sure, but a rich one nonetheless!