Saint Martin de Belleville 5

Snow at night turns to rain after midnight. All day today, we are to have rain showers. By night, they will change to snow again. Heavy snow. Causing slowdowns for sure. Tomorrow. With even more snow. The day we are to leave. 

But anticipating weather in the mountains is a fool's errand. You just don't know how much, of what, when, and with what consequences. I wasn't surprised to see that snow last night, and I am certainly not surprised that it warmed up, and that some of the snow cover is diminished in the valley. Looking outside at our wake up time, I see this:

 

Who knows what the next 24 hours will bring.

This day is supposed to be slightly different. We did not plan on skiing (and that's a good thing, considering the possibility of heavy rains). We had only one activity and I scheduled it many months ago because it's otherwise impossible to get a slot for it: dog sledding. But can you even do this in the rain? And would you want to?

Those are the questions in my head as we go down to breakfast. 

 

 

 

One of us (me!) is super not hungry. And yet...

My daughter joins us, we linger. Snowdrop entertains us!

 

 

We make some changes to our plans - giving up on a dinner out tonight (eating in the hotel will keep us dry!), reviewing the morning possibilities. How about another try at the museum?

Snowdrop and I head out. Down the hill. Staying dry so far!

The museum is small of course. It traces village life from about 150 years ago to more recent times, when Saint Martin opened up just a few ski lifts and trails. We looked over the farming implements from those earlier days and watched a movie on hay gathering -- the old way.

 

Not much of it is new to a person coming from Wisconsin, where dairy farming was (and is) a way of life for so many. Still, it's interesting to track the transformations in the village. The attempts to rein in winter sports here now, so that Saint Martin never will become just a ski destination.

The museum visit doesn't take long, but then we don't have much time, because we want to eat lunch before the dog sledding expedition (should there even be a dog sledding expedition). We go up the hill again and then turn around, this time the three of us, heading back down to Le Montagnard -- the place we ate lunch yesterday. It's colder now and of course, there is the occasional drizzle.  It's definitely not an "eat outside" day!

In we go. We're at the point where we know what we want: lentils in Alpine pesto (for me), fried fish (for the girl), some cheesy-melty thing for my daughter.

 

And now we have to figure out if our dog sled adventure is going to go forward. Back up the hill to the hotel, a check of emails, messaging -- no mention of cancellations. And I have to say, the rain has really eased to a very light drizzle. If that. 

Off we go! 

You have to walk some twenty minutes to the meetup point. This is the same path that looked so pretty yesterday. The mixed weather did a number on the fresh snow cover!

Still, we persevere. And we are rewarded for it! The dogs arrive promptly at 2 and they are full of energy. Their trainer spent a few minutes explaining their work, their breed (there are huskies and he tells us that people really love these guys for their looks, but there are even better sled dogs than huskies -- his own teams have a mix of breeds that work well together). But don't pause for pictures now. These guys are really anxious to get going!

I get in one sled with Snowdrop, my daughter takes the second one.

And we're off!

If you are in the sled, you cant take great photos. But we do pause at the turn-around point, and this is a remarkable moment because the weather momentarily improves. No precipitation at all. Just the beautiful mountain scape before us. I hand over the camera to the dog trainer.

Wait -- you can see the girl in that? Let's do a close up:

The dogs are well trained, but they are antsy to go. We're off again!

And now there is time to say a big thanks -- to these remarkable animals who love nothing more than to run with a sled.

We walk back full of gratitude. The rains held off, the dogs were terrific, and as we approached our hotel, a winter rainbow pokes through for us.

And this really brings our stay at Saint Martin de Belleville to a close. The rains (soon to change into heavy snow) do come down this evening and that's just fine, as we have packing to do. My daughter will be returning home tomorrow, to the boys, to her work. Snowdrop and I will take the train to Paris, just for a couple of days there before heading home. 

One last meal together -- dinner, at the hotel, just like on our first night here!

 

And then we say good bye. Snowdrop's mom is leaving very early in the morning. Cross your fingers on that snowstorm, for her, and for us too -- for our own trip to the train station in Chambery. I'll surely let you know how that all turns out! For now, one last good night from Saint Martin de Belleville.

(Just me and the girl, forging ahead...)

 

with so much love...

Saint Martin de Belleville 4

Magic. There's no other word for it: what happened in the mountains overnight was pure magic and we wake up awed by it.

(predawn light)

I don't know how many inches of snow fell last night. Enough to bury your short boot -- Snowdrop will tell you. Enough to cover the landscape with something that you rarely see if you dont live in the mountains: every house, every tree branch carrying a fluff of white diamonds. Because there's sunshine too. 

How could we be so lucky to have a day like this!

Breakfast first, of course. By now we know what we like. 

(view out the dining room window)

And then we are to split up. Snowdrop and her mom are to stay back and read or rest. Me, I want that walk in the forest. To see it, smell it, feel the humility that is always mine when I walk beneath the sheltering branches. And as I get ready to head out Snowdrop changes her mind: I want to come! -- she tells me.

I smile at that. If you come, it's magic times three over -- I say to her. Because of course, a walk in the forest is going to be grand. To share it with her? That's just awesome.

And it just gets better and better.

True, her boots are too short and snow packs into them pretty quickly. I give her my stick and use cleats on my own boots, but we're really not equipped for a big snow walk. I don't care.

 

I just cant stop marveling at the beauty of it.

A tiny gust of wind and a million sparkles fly off the branches. I try for a timed release. Misfocused, but charming nonetheless!

How could you not be awed by the world right now!

We pass several hikers. French people out with their dogs. A cross country skier. A couple chatting, with big grins on their faces.

Eventually she is totally drenched with snow and I've had my time of rapture. This is the snow I've missed so much back home. This is how it's supposed to be. This is what I love best about winter!

And we were given this gift of magic and I am so totally grateful.

Lunch again at noon. The three of us head down the hill. 

 

 

 

 

 

We're thinking pizza, but the place is closed. What's this? The Montagnard -- our Friday dinner place is serving lunch? With tables outside in the sunshine? We sprint to get a table. It comes with a hat for the sun, a blanket for the lap and... a bear.

It's slightly colder than the previous days and a few clouds do start to roll in, but still, there's plenty of warmth all around us.

And then it's time for Snowdrop to ski. There's a bit of discussion as to how much she should push herself. She did the big mountain yesterday. She wants to hang back on the easier trails today. I dont know how they will resolve it and I dont know what the proper strategy should be. I stick around only for her first run down the easy slope.

And then I leave them to it, because I have a scheduled back rub this afternoon. To let loose those muscles tensed by, well, life, the fall, the news, the worries of everyday.

[I ask her when she returns -- how was it? Amazing! I want to come back, here, and ski with Matthieu! Did he let you stay on the begginer's slope? No: he said either gondola or t-bar. I chose t-bar. It was steep and I went down all by myself! This is what mastering the difficult feels like...]

In the evening we set out for L'Etoile des Neiges. How appropriate -- "the star of the snows." 

(ready to go!)

 

 

It's the closest of the restaurants. Just down the hill a handful of minutes.

 

 

And it is very lovely. With food that would have an ambitious skier feel satiated. Cheese, so much good cheese! Cream, delicious concoctions with potatoes, wild mushrooms, salamis and meats (which I have to quickly push to the side or else!)... 

 

 

... and even the wild blueberries, smothered in more cream and bits of meringue -- all of it artfully and tastefully prepared.

We stumble home!

There's absolutely nothing good about the weather forecast for tomorrow. But how could you complain! We've had one day of perfection, followed by the next, followed by better yet. 

We are happy.

with love...

Saint Martin de Belleville 3

The second of two brilliant days in Saint Martin de Belleville. Good morning, beautiful mountains against a clear sky!

 

 

Once again we wake up to the sun reflecting light on the mountains. (The sun comes up at 8 right now, and sets at 5:30 p.m.. By comparison, it rises at 7:20 and sets at 5 in Madison.)

Having had a full day yesterday, I feel less driven to get things done (before the weather turns). Our meetup for breakfast is nicely late (9:30!).

(we all have great breakfast appetites; case in point: my selections)

Afterwards, my daughter goes off to read while Snowdrop and I set out for a walk. I wanted to take in the one small museum they have in the village (from what I understand, it's about life in Saint Martin over the centuries). It's a short 15 minute walk down the hill.

All good, except that the museum happens to be closed on Saturdays. I'm usually careful about monitoring openings, since I'm used to the idiosyncratic breaks in Europe for lunch, for holidays, for no reason that I can figure out, but this one caught me by surprise: on Saturdays? The one day I would not have expected a closure is Saturday.

No matter. We like the walk! 

 

 

 

And I promised Snowdrop one more visit to the souvenir shop. She likes to pick up a few things for friends. We do that now.

The three of us meet up for a noon lunch at the bakery. (Madame closes for a two hour break at 12:30.) Again, no one is especially hungry, but with skiing in the early afternoon, we have to fit in this midday meal. We do go easy today. I'm thinking crepes with Nutella for the girl, a sandwich for my daughter and maybe a blueberry tart for me? Or... what's this, madame?

This is a family recipe my grandmother developed. We call it the Bellevillois. My cousin bakes all of them now! (It's with almond paste, raspberry jam and of course, blueberries.)

(individual "Bellevillois")

(up the hill to our chalet-hotel again)

(a few minutes of play with a small Lego set I'd packed for her...)

Matthieu, Snowdrop's ski instructor, is at the hotel promptly at 1:30. The girl gets ready quickly.

 

 

I would have gone to watch her ski for a small while, but today's not the day for it -- I broke down in the end and rented skis for myself. Just for one afternoon. This afternoon.

I'm not prepared for it (clothes-wise, otherwise). I'm not sure it's a smart idea (I haven't skied since Morzine three years ago and I did not like it then: I felt I'd lost control, even on the intermediate slopes, which in the past were easy peasy for me, even on icy terrain). But in the end, I talked myself into it. If not now, when it's convenient, proximate, uncrowded, sunny -- then it's a permanent good bye to a sport I have always loved (even though I Alpine-skied, as they call it here, very rarely in my adult years). And here's an additional bonus: I have never had a lesson in my life. All my skiing -- from the years I side stepped up a hill in the Polish mountains, to the mad racing down a mountain I did in my college years -- has been self-taught. Through watching others and a long time youthful subscription to Ski Magazine. French ski instruction is (relatively) not expensive and I think it is delightful. All the instructors I've watched on the slopes appear to be friendly and encouraging. Why not end my skiing career with one short lesson -- to learn what I could have done better for all my decades of skiing?

Meet Simon.

I explained my skiing history, my trepidation. My fears of having out of control skiers crash into me (Cervinia, 2007). He listened, nodded and we set off.

We stick to the nearby mountain (even though we are in the middle of the Three Valley ski area, offering possibly more ski options than any other Alpine district). At first, he watches me do an easy run off the "magic carpet" (the moving strip that hauls beginners up an incline). He nods, and says -- you're ready for the gondola. We can come down the big mountain together.

Two things happened on the long ride up in the gondola: in the last stretch, we looked out and we spotted Snowdrop with Matthieu. 

I was surprised. This is not an easy run in many places, and it is very, very long. I know she hasn't the confidence to handle a big challenge. Still, she is making her way down. With a lot of assistance. 

The second thing I noticed is that altitude changes aren't as easy at 71 years as they were at 21 (at the height of my ski activity). When we get off the gondola, Simon proposes an additional climb up by chairlift, to the very summit of the mountain. He tells me the snow is so good up there. He assures me I have the ability to ski any intermediate terrain. But I say no. I'm feeling the height and the thin air!

Okay then -- he says. Let's ski down and catch up with your granddaughter.

And we do. (The ski instructors know each other quite well here.)

That smile belies her tension: she is feeling out of her element on this run (and it is one hell of a long run and they are just at the beginning). I'm not sure she is really enjoying it. 

I give her a hug. Simon takes a photo.

I can offer encouragement, but really, there's no turning back once you start down the mountain. We leave them to their run.

At the bottom of the mountain (and it took us a good half hour to get down) I say to Simon that I'm done for the day. It's not that I am tired, but it took a chunk out me to go up, and another chunk to come down. Simon was helpful and gave me some tips on how to handle a icy and difficult incline, but otherwise my skiing technique appears to be just fine. I tell him he can use the rest of my "time" with him to go up and help Snowdrop, but he shrugs off that idea. 

Matthieu has been teaching for nine years, he can handle it.

We walk back to the hotel. I'm curious about him, about his skiing history.  He tells me he is from the next village up. His father was a ski instructor, his brother is a ski instructor.

You know, I took my grandmother skiing yesterday.

How old is she?

Eighty. But she hasn't skied in a while. She says she wants to do some now because in France, if you're over 75, ski lifts are all free, so she can go now whenever she wants to.

And how was she yesterday?

Good. But slow. She said she will only ski if she has two personal instructors: my brother and me. One in the front, one in the back.

As slow as me?

He laughs. Just like you!

I take that to be the highest compliment: I ski as well as the ancient mother and grandmother of a line of ski instructors!

And I dont break any bones, nor do I bust up my knees!

What do I wish I had known and done all the years I skied? Perhaps the shifting of body weight forward more, to support better control on steep terrain. But really, what Simon gave me was confidence to return to a tough long run. Even if I'm not likely to do it any time soon. Maybe when I'm 80!

Snowdrop comes back an hour later. She's all smiles, but she does tell me the run was difficult. She prefers practicing on the gentler slopes. It helped that they paused halfway down for a snack at a mountainside restaurant. What did you have? French fries! Matthieu had some too, but he ate his with mayo. He hates ketchup, just like me!

A few minutes later, Snowdrop goes down to the pool. I was going to leave her to swim with her mom, but the warm pool water feels good on a post-ski body. I take a dip as well, then I leave them to it. 

 

Evening rolls in and with it come the clouds, portending a very mixed weather pattern for the next three days. We'll see what we get!

Dinner time. We eat in a restaurant recommended by our hotel (they actually picked all of the dinners for us -- it's a small town and there aren't many restaurants and we aren't fussy). It's called La Ferme de la Choumette and it really is a farm, located up the mountain to the back of us (and requiring a shuttle by car from our hotel, because we should not walk up that road in the dark).

During the day, skiers stop here for lunch. In the evening the action moves inside. And here, the farmers came up with a clever idea: why not showcase the animals? The cows, the sheep -- you can see them as you walk in. There's a window separating the barn from the restaurant.

 

 

(They promise that the meats you eat are not from the animals on the farm -- these they keep only for the milk and cheese production.)

 Fondue for my dining buddies, tartiflette for me -- a Savoie dish of potatoes, onion, lardons, and Reblechon cheese -- but it was much liked by Snowdrop so we switched around some. She shared her portion of the cheese fondue.

 

 

Would you like our house Genepi liqueur? Treat from us. (It's an Alpine herbal concoction.) Sure. Ummmm, oh my, just one tiny sip is enough to waken my insides!

Satisfied and satiated we get a lift home. Once again, so grateful for the beautiful day we had here in Saint Martin de Belleville.

with love...