to Chamonix

On this first morning and only night in Switzerland, sleep is still elusive. And wouldn't you know it -- by the time I'm finally psyched for dozing off, Snowdrop, who shares a room and a large bed with me, is up with that typical first night in Europe wakefulness. After a few feeble attempts to get her back to sleep I decide it's better to talk a little, read some and then try again later. We discuss life's most perplexing issues, she gratefully takes the book I brought for her and eventually, by maybe 6 am she is out again and I finally zonk out as well. For an hour or two. We have to get up and get going: we're meeting my daughter for breakfast at 9:15. Ha! We get there first! The little girl is hungry and she just adores the Swiss meal of breads, bacon, dried beef, fruits and yogurt. And hot milky chocolate!

Good morning!

Our ride to Chamonix will pick ups up at 11:30 and so we have time to take a short walk. To the lake! (Where these two are amused by the poster ad for walruses...

It's hazy and chilly outside, but the Geneva fountain is spectacular! It shoots water up 140 meters but they do shut it down when the weather dips below freezing. We're just at that cut off point!

We do have one errand: one of us needs a bag, since a current one is so tightly zipped that I doubt it'll last the journey back. In this shop, Snowdrop is being sold on a bag of her own. I tell her I have one of these and it has lasted for decades of travel.

Lookin' good!

And now we finally turn our attention to Chamonix. The drive there is quick enough -- one hour. And as the car climbs in elevation, the clouds recede and the mountains are suddenly right before us.

Chamonix today is having the kind of weather it was once known for -- January cold, with snow showers expected every few days. Of course, their January cold never came close to Wisconsin's legendary Arctic blasts (Chamonix deep freeze this Monday night will hit 11F/-11.5C. Madison's deep freeze that same day will tumble down to -11F/-24C).

As we approach the town, we see that lovely lace of white ice crystals on the trees.  The day in the Chamonix valley could not be more beautiful!

Finally, we're at our hotel -- same one as last year's: the Mont Blanc. With the outdoor swimming pool that is open for business year-round. Snowdrop is delighted by it!

The rooms aren't ready yet and in any case, we need a lunch. I opt for the boisterous Pont du Rose. (It's that very pink building in the photo below.) I actually haven't eaten there at all, because it seemed too impersonal and crowded for a solo dinner, but with the two of them here now, it seems really perfect for a solid lunch. (I have an egg on brioche with cheese sauce and mushrooms, my daughter has cheesey gnocchi, and my grandgirl wants her good old pasta with Parmesan. Italy is just on the other side of these mountains, so you could forgive her for wanting Parmesan over, say a Savoie Reblechon or Tomme de Savoie.)

It is not possible for me to even imagine travel to this mountainous region of France without at least throwing a glance at and putting up a photo of a wild blueberry tart.

I show restraint: we walk over to the Chalet 8412 Pastry shop/cafe and I order the small version of the above.

We poke around the Chamonix main drag -- an activity very much enjoyed by Snowdrop as she wants to get good souvenirs for those back home. And eventually we make our way back to the hotel. Our rooms are ready for check-in!

(I did not book the room with the view toward Mont Blanc for Snowdrop and me. I felt the one with the views toward the Aiguille du Midi peaks (less expensive!) would suffice and too, they have more space for play.

But we don't linger in the rooms. We don't even unpack. The two younger ones want to go swimming.

... followed by a soak in the tub. All outside, in below freezing weather.

Shower, rest, unpack, talk to those back home and the afternoon flies! Would you believe it -- it's time to walk down to town for dinner. 

 (Our room is on the American 6th floor, but we always use the stairs. At least on the exit!)

I prebooked all our evening meals and it's a good thing, because all these places fill up every day in the winter season. Today's choice is La Caleche. It's one of the more Alpine-styled eating choices and I figured it would be a good jump off point into French Savoie foods.

In the end, to appease all palates, we order fondue again, this time made with Savoie regional cheeses and accompanied by a Savoyard charcuterie tray. And we add to it a plate of scallops with mushrooms. Where's the ocean, you ask. Well, a "few" kilometers away. But the mushrooms are local and we are all happy to share our foods so that everyone gets a little of this and a lot of that.

In the dining room, on one side, we have a couple from France, on the other -- well, a table of Russian women. Sigh... What can I say...

So ends our first day in Chamonix. Fabulous weather, wonderful arrival. We will plunge into our adventures full steam tomorrow. In the meantime, here's to a night of good sleep!

with love...

to Geneva

Long after we'd arrived at the airport in Chicago yesterday, boarding passes in hand, TSA cleared, I kept scrolling to look at the weather app. I'd been "oh no-ing" it for so long now! That we came out fine is still a bit of a miracle. We left the storm behind us, but we came so close to having it wreck our week. And yes, it was a wrecking ball for many, in far graver circumstances than a mere cancelling of a trip. I know that. Still, I wanted to save this excursion for sure! Daughter travel is rare. Granddaughter travel will also turn rare soon enough.

After all that worry, once in flight, everything moved smoothly. A little late here and there, but nothing that cost us a connection. Still, I couldn't sleep. When you get wound up, it takes a while to let out that coil of nerves. 

In Paris, we walked over (did not need to run!) to our gate and very soon after, we were in flight to Geneva.

Geneva. I never write anything great about the city, because I've never fallen in love with the place. It has always been a stopover. To the mountains, from the mountains. The city is actually rather pretty. The lake is fabulous and on good weather days you can see the Alpine peaks to the south. The old town is attractive (the Swiss "neutrality" during the war surely helped preserve its architecture). And it's very cosmopolitan. All those international organizations that base their headquarters here ensure a diverse crowd of visitors.

And yet. To me it feels serious and staid. Attractive, but not a place I'd like to intentionally explore for more than a day or two. 

Nonetheless, to Snowdrop, it's an entirely new experience. If asked, she'll say Switzerland reminds her of milk chocolate (she got that one right!). And she has been hearing a lot about melted cheese. On potatoes, in fondue pots, seemingly everywhere. Geneva preserves that Swiss Alpine food culture.

(landing in Geneva is always fabulous; here, the Alpine peaks float on top of puffy clouds)

 

We cab over to the hotel -- which is smack in the center of the old town. Les Armures. I'd never stayed there before and in more active seasons, this would be out of my price range, but the last minute prices were sensible, so I booked two rooms. Cheaper than spending an extra night in Chamonix, which right now is entering its peak season.

Lunch is right adjacent to the hotel. The restaurant of Les Armures has actually been well loved for a long time. People say it's Geneva's oldest cafe. Can I say it -- it is really, really Swiss in appearance and in food. I have a Rösti (pan fried grated potatoes -- I used to always make this dish for the holidays...), Snowdrop and her mom share a cheese fondue and a platter of air dried beef. The little one proclaimed it to be the best beef she has eaten in her life! (It helped that she was hungry, going on just a piece of bread with butter for many many hours now.)

And now both girl and mom are itching to just lie down and rest. A book or a tablet for company. The quiet of a room with very thick walls. Me, I head out. One of us left her glasses somewhere, possibly on the airplane. That is not good. One of us cannot see very far without them. I'm on a mission. Is it possible to get something close to the prescription, made up within... well, a very short time?

I walk to the lake, and through the old town, 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...to the commercial center and I stop by the first eye glass store on my way. The person there makes calls. He frowns at the absence of a doctor's prescription. He calls and chats some more. He offers coffee while I wait. And finally he comes back with a qualified yes. They can do it (because they have some lenses that are close enough to what is needed already made), and they can be ready before our departure tomorrow. We just have to come back tonight before closing to measure and finalize the order.

Where are you staying? -- he asks.

Les Armures....

Good choice! (well that's a relief!) You should definitely eat at their restaurant. They do have the best cheese fondue! (I'm living the man's dream...)

I ask -- you know, I was curious -- that dried beef, are you supposed to dip that in the cheese too?

You could, but I usually dip the bread then wrap the beef around the cheesy piece! (Next time we'll know!)

A few more blocks this way, that was. I'd forgotten my trusty Melatonin, so I pop into a pharmacy. Sorry, here you need a prescription for it. Ah well... I'm not convinced it works that well anyway. I make my way back to the hotel, where I find that in the short time I was away, tablet chords have disappeared. Plugs have failed. I tell you, I should not leave the room. You never know what may happen in my absence.

Toward evening, Snowdrop comes out for a walk with me. To look around. To feel Geneva in the wintertime. To get some Swiss air. To buy a toothbrush. (One has mysteriously disappeared!) And to sample Swiss chocolates.

(It's one degree above freezing and the Swiss choose to sip beverages outside!)

It;s getting late. Time for all of us to head out for supper, with a stop over at the eye glass store. They guy charges for nothing but the frames and he finds us the cheapest ones in the store, knowing damn well that this is an emergency pair that may not be a perfect match.

Supper? We eat at the Cafe du Centre, which is pretty much in Geneva's center (!). Again, a venerable institution. We're not exactly starving, but still, we eat abundantly. Shrimp, risotto, snails. You can guess which one of us ordered what dish. We are content.

And then we crash. Totally. No explanation needed. Good night!

with love...

speedy departure

Did I mention that my now annual winter trip to the mountains has taken so many twists and turns this year that I no longer remember how it is that I imagined it and when it was to take place? I've changed the reservation maybe ten times. Maybe more. The most recent iteration was to go now, in January and because Snowdrop has several days where school is closed, she asked (more like begged) to go with me. I agreed. But since she was to accompany me, I changed the itinerary to one that would be less "sit back and do nothing" and more "let's see what I can teach her about the mountain culture in a place that is full of history and mountain ethos. For that, a return to Chamonix seemed to fit the bill.

Once we started to discuss the things we could do there, her mom's ears perked up. My older daughter typically does not like to travel. I've almost never gone anywhere with her in her adult years. She loves home. But something about the Alpine trip really spoke to her. She says it's all that talk of melted cheese. Or maybe she is wistfully watching her daughter grow up fast, even as her younger brothers still demand so much of their parents' time. And so a few weeks ago she asked -- can I go too?

Well now! I have myself a trip for three. (Though my daughter can only get away for two thirds of it as she has work stuff that needs her presence.)

We were to leave tomorrow. Then came storm number one. No problem! It's over and done with! But a second one, some say a fiercer, windier one, a virtual blizzard, the likes of which we haven't seen in a decade, is coming tomorrow.

At first I thought we'd get away with making a few tweaks to our flight plan. Leave earlier in the day. Avoid Detroit, go through Minneapolis. I stayed up late last night convincing my airline to make that change. And then I went to bed and I thought more about it and I became uneasy: we wont get out of Madison tomorrow. There's no way. The forecast is too dire. So I called my girl early, just as she was hustling the kids off to school and said -- can we leave today?

I thought we could head out in the evening, but that was a no go. Everyone has the same idea. Flights out of Madison are totally full. Flights to Europe are totally full. All those people bumped off from the first storm! All those trying to avoid the second! They're filling the planes!

Finally, a very resourceful and patient agent found us three seats on a flight leaving out of Chicago.

This is how instead of having a leisurely day of careful packing, of skiing with Ed, of planning for my departure tomorrow, I found myself packing speedily at daybreak, driving over to my daughter's place to help the little one pack her case, and driving back to get Ed to take the three of us to the bus station so that we would catch the 11:30 out of Madison to OHare airport.

I cannot believe we got ourselves ready and on that bus on time!

I write this from Chicago's OHare. I have few photos to post. 

One from the bus ride!

 

 One eating a Chicago hot dog at the airport!

I have very little else to offer right now except a great huge sigh of relief. If we make it out tonight, and we should, we will consider ourselves very very lucky. The trip will not be cancelled. We will not suffer a tremendous disappointment (the financial loss alone would have been staggering as I never buy insurance!). And we will gain an overnight in Geneva. That is where I will write from next! 

Thank you, son-in-law for all the boy care that falls upon you in our absence. Thank you beloved Ed for always being there, calmly helping in any way at all as I throw down one idea after the next after the next after the next. None is too ridiculous, too outrageous, too complicated. You should go now, gorgeous. It's the best way to save your trip. Always that calm and steady shoulder to lean on.

And so I went. With my two girls. To Geneva and eventually to Chamonix.

with so much love....

Wednesday

One storm down, another before us. It may become "just" a snowstorm, or it may turn into a full scale blizzard. A blizzard would be awkward. So, I'm tracking the system and hoping for something that wont unravel my plans for the weekend.

 

 

In the meantime, it is really pretty outside! The winds have (temporarily) stopped and the wet snow is clinging to every available surface. Were I a truly dedicated photographer, I'd spend the morning tracking down the loveliest images. As it is, you get a handful of morning walk pictures. Good enough, no??

I am monitoring the comings and goings of our barn cats. Several of them are refusing to leave the farmhouse because of the snow. That would be fine were it not for the fact that their digestive system demands an occasional potty run. I'm giving them the evil eye: one accident in the farmhouse and I am going to pick them up and dump them into a snowbank! Consider yourselves warned!

Breakfast? We eat after we clear the paths and driveway. Well, I just do the farmhouse path. Ed blows out the rest.

And now is the time to take out the skis. First time this winter! We drive to our park down the road.

 

 

 

We had hoped that they would pack down the trails early in the day, but they didn't, so we just follow the foot tracks of those giants who have come before us.

Beautiful stuff! But tough going. When there is a level surface, you're pushing yourself forward as if in snowshoes. Hardly the speed and facility of a glide. Still, we are happy. The forest on a winter day does that to you. 

In the afternoon, the kids come home with me. 

You'd guess that they want to play in the snow, but the fact is, they've each had two snow filled recesses and what they really need is a period of R&R. Cozy, inside, with lots of reading and snacking. And a few mice on skis.

And in the evening I make chili. Of course. You cannot imagine a better night for it.

with love...

snowy Tuesday

 

 

It was expected. The only question hanging over us is how much? Surely enough to ski, though of course, there are greater concerns: enough to disrupt the power grid? Enough to knock out the internet? Enough to back up air travel? 

For us, so long as we have power, a snow day is beautiful. It's a moment to exhale, because the kids are home with the parents. A disruption for them, as work demands pile up and kids get antsy, but for us, it's a moment to take stock and catch up. And appreciate the sheer beauty of a snow covered landscape.

 

Breakfast scores high points on the cozy scale. I have leftover croissants with my cherry bourbon jam from the farmers market, my paper white bulbs are blooming, the milky coffee is exquisite (or so it seems -- everything in the kitchen seems exquisite on a snowy day).

(cats at play)

The snow continues all day long and the winds kick in to make it rather fierce out there. Should we go out? We opt for walking the paved blocks of the development to the back of the farmette lands. It's gutsy and gusty and we get wet and our cheeks feel are pummeled by horizontally falling snow.

(looking at the back of the farmette lands...)

In the afternoon I watch the snow, and I organize the household to withstand some comings and goings later in the week. I've learned what I need to do before I take off anywhere if I'm to have smooth transitions on the departure and on the return. I set to it.

And the cats complain about the snow, and the walkway needs constant clearing, and the dusk comes quickly to our household.

My heart is with my good friend tonight. We all struggle with the tough milestones in life, but at the moment hers are at peak levels. Still, I'm reminded of a comment posted to as article in the NYTimes today, responding to the idea that January is the best month because it's full of quiet moments and low expectations after the tumult of December. The commenter noted -- I'm in my 70s and for people my age, every month is the best month! So true. We don't distinguish anymore. To be here with people we love -- this is what makes each day so good...

Monday

This I know for sure: tomorrow the kids will not go to school. Tomorrow there will be statewide closures. Tomorrow we may lose electricity and internet. We have been warned: tomorrow we're getting our big snowstorm of the season.

And today? Today I'm thinking about sports. You may love watching them. Me, not so much the watching, but I've always had a love for doing sports recreationally. Ever since I was a kid, I'd want to give any and every sport a try. Early childhood was limited for me to biking in the Polish village where I spent my summers, and winter skating in the city. With a very occasional ski episode thrown in. Then came the real sampling. At the university in Warsaw, my friends and I plunged into skiing. Of the kind where you side step your way up the hill and go down and then repeat that for maybe 100 times. (Not much by way of ski lifts in postwar Poland). When I moved to the US at age 19,  I reveled in the skiing possibilities that were suddenly before me.  East coast, west coast, Europe -- I loved all mountains everywhere. But, by mid twenties, I was settled into a married life with a guy who hated the cold and, too, we lived in the Midwest and none of our friends skied and we had no money for it anyway, so there closed that door. Were there other sports? In grade school in NY I was a good basketball player, but then I moved back to Poland and no one was playing basketball -- they were all keen volley ball players. I had to hustle to learn and honestly, I never caught up to the good players. Ed got me going on tennis, but I was nearly a senior then, so again, I'd say that no advanced tennis player would ever ask me to be on their team. 

The point is, that to be good at a sport, it's best to start young and to keep at it. Therefore, despite the fact that I was a so called "tomboy" growing up, very athletic, very in love with the great outdoors, all that moving between Poland and the US, all those changes of friends, of geographical spaces, of cultures meant that I never stayed with anything for long and thus I became excellent at none of it.

But is this so awful? One could argue that being a little good at many things is better than being a lot good at just one, or two. Dabbling -- my specialty! -- allows you to sample a culture, even if you are never quite a member of the select club of experts. You can feel comfortable in many homes. You don't feel lost and out of place. You've tried it. You know the basics. I could pass around a volley ball if pushed to do so. Or dribble a basketball, or swat a tennis ball. I could certainly whizz down a ski slope at dizzying speeds, even if my technique is on the side of wild rather than refined.

You could say that I'm at peace with my very many imperfections!

All this is in my head because today my daughter asked me to deliver Snowdrop for her first evening class of volley ball. 

To date, Snowdrop has had lessons in tennis (meh....), skating (me as coach; she loves it, but doesn't do it enough to be really good), softball (loves it, but there are friends who play, so that may be the motivating factor), swimming (coached by me, infrequently, so she isn't nearly as good as her swimming friends), soccer (double meh...), and now this -- volley ball. A distant friend does it and so she wanted to join her. I'm thinking she's on track to imitate me: many things, but none of them have really sucked her in big time. And that's okay, though I'm hoping that something will draw her in so that she will rise to a level where she can say -- I'm good because I've been doing this forever, since I was a kid...

This is all evening stuff. I do have a morning and an afternoon and they're both busy. The usual...

And the less usual for this day: breakfast with my friend who is having the kind of life's worries most of us do not ever have to face. All I can do is listen and balance our meetups with more lighthearted stories which perhaps is a good distraction, but maybe, too, a little too trite and trivial considering what she is facing. 

Then (after all my luggage deliberations!) I return my new suitcase (too small). And pick up Snowdrop. 

Here is the issue: her mom and I have been trying to coax her into a haircut. I've said to her that not a single child in her school has hair as long as hers, thinking that perhaps peer comparisons will sway her. Her hair is so difficult to manage, and made more difficult by the fact that she hates tying it back. But, she wanted to grow it out ("all the way to my butt!") and no one wants to be firm about something that is seemingly so important for her. Until this December, when, armed with parental support, I finally told her that at some point, she has to get it cut. Not until after my birthday! -- was her reply. So I made an appointment. For today.

I have a lifetime of trying to be firm with the kids, at the same time that I know I'm a terrible pushover and they can pretty much talk me into anything reasonable. So leaving me with a girl who does not want that hair cut was doomed from the get-go. Indeed, she got it trimmed by three inches (according to her, by a whole foot!), but it will make little difference. It is still very long. And it still will hang down and get tangled and not stay out of her face. Bottom line -- she's unhappy about the shortness of it and I'm unhappy about my own failure to accomplish what I set out to do -- get it to a reasonable length.

Back to the farmhouse now.

Snowdrop has had quite the ride in the past few weeks -- the never ending holiday celebrations, the birthday stuff -- all great highs. I do think she needs some recovery time and today we try to do stuff slowly. To read, to eat well, to go easy on life.

And at 6, I take her to her volleyball lesson. (Pony tail needed for that one!)

 

 

 

I have no idea how that went. I did not stick around to watch. May she find joy in that game, in some game, in being with friends, in feeling herself grow competent at many, many things.

Me, I go back and reheat some soup for us. It's been a long day!

with love...