Chamonix!

Good morning from Chamonix! 

(look to the south, at Mt. Blanc, the bald mountain in the middle of the photo...)

(look to the east at the aptly named Aiguille du Midi -- needles.)

Breakfast is copious. Of course it is. Breakfast for athletes! Wait, am I an athlete?

I'll try to keep it to a light meal, honestly I will!

(Waiting for my oeuf a la coque (soft boiled), which I then ruin by dousing it with a packet of sugar. I thought it was salt!)

I hear Russian at a table. A family of skiers. Okay, so you dont have to live in Russia to speak Russian. You could be a family that left. But what if they are just plain Russian, on a ski holiday here? (My experience has been that on the slopes, Russians are a presence -- they come for the display of wealth if not necessarily skiing talent. A handful of years ago, I got knocked down on the slopes by a mighty Russian who was totally out of control.) I read that Russians can technically still vacation in EU countries, though it's tougher to get visas and the wait time is longer. They typically enter through third-party countries. I have to say, it catches me: how do you deal with eating in the same room as someone from a country you're at war with (because Russia has very much waged war against us all)? I am reminded of the countless movie scenes that I've watched of Germans in European dining rooms at the time of World War II. I always wondered -- how could you just sit there alongside SS men and eat normally? And I know this particular family -- a teenage boy, a mother, a father -- are a far cry from the SS during World War II, still, this was a new one for me. In the US, the war with Ukraine is remote. In Europe, it's a hell of a lot closer.

(Glancing at a book in the hotel "living room;" the Savoyard costume appears to me to be a rather somber affair. Must have to do with the severity of the Alpine climate, at least in the past.)

In the late morning, I meet up with Teresa. (You too can arrange a promenade avec Teresa if you are in Chamonix by going to her website here.) Today's plan? To drive up the valley to Vallorcine (some 20 mins  by car north and east of Chamonix). With stops along the way.

Vallorcine, population 404 (Chamonix: pop 9000), is the last village in the Mont Blanc valley. After that, you're stepping into Switzerland so beware! We are indeed just a stone's throw from both Switzerland and Italy. It's hard to imagine the confluence of these along with France unless you look at a map, but trust me -- they all meet here. In fact, looking out my window, I can see Mont Dolent -- the mountain where you have a tri-point of the three countries! It's the one to the left, with the jagged peak.)

If you speak French, you'll think -- ah, Vallorcine is the "valley of the bears." Sure, but they're history now. Wiped out. Chased down to the Pyrenees. The animal of note here is the chamois -- an Alpine beast that is somewhere between a goat and an antelope. They come down in winter for the forest vegetation and if you're lucky, and you know their paths around the mountains, you may spot one. 

But let's put aside the chamois for now. Vallorcine itself has something else to offer: authenticity. Until a gondola went up a dozen year ago, no one went there to ski. (And the gondola itself is tricky because you dont ski down to Vallorcine.  It's just a means of transportation to get you to the other side of the mountain. All this to say that Valldorcine is small, and it has character, rooted in its history rather than in the business of winter sport.  

Take the architecture: this is where you'll find raccards -- granaries that were constructed in the style of the Valais (a canton of Switzerland) and that cannot be found anywhere else in France. It's a reminder that this part of the valley was a mix of the French and of settlers coming in from the north and of course of the Savoyards. Officially, Vallorcine has been part of France since 1860. Before that? It's complicated! Just know that in this small handful of hamlets, Walser influence abounds.  [What's Walser? It's a designation that simply means we're dealing with something from the Wallis or Valais region, down to the influence on language, which will include Walser dialect -- an Alpine German that made its way here and into parts of Switzerland, Liechtenstein and tiny hamlets of Alpine Italy and Austria.]

What was it like to live there decades ago? It's a lesson in self sufficiency! On big snow years, there will be weeks when you cannot get to it from France, because the road leading here is under constant threat of avalanche. And take yourself back another few decades: Forget about GPS maps, cell towers, and same-day delivery. People really had to "live locally." Think foods high in calories and produced in your own back yard. Think cheese and potatoes. Buckwheat pasta if you're going all out. There is a fierce pride of place among the Vallorcinaises. They're not just part of the Valley of Mont Blanc. 

I've given you some background. Enough to look at the photos with some idea of what they are meant to convey. But now let me hang back a little and let the photos tell the rest of the story. And I say this despite the fact that Teresa flooded me with interesting tales about everything that I saw and everyone that I met. But, the day is only so long and the post will already be excessively long. So, just pictures, okay? Well, maybe a word or two, but no more!

1. Going to Vallorcine

We pause at the next town of the Mont Blanc Valley after Chamonix: Argentiere. Why? Because of the L'Al'pain (play on words here!) bakery. To supply ourselves. Fantastic breads, pizzas, sandwiches. 

And the world's best brioche.

Next hamlets: Montroc and Le Planet. Teresa shows me paths I can take here for later solo walks. Great views!

2. Hunting for the Chamois

She brings binoculars. I poo poo them. If the chamois are that distant, we may as well give up! Still, she parks the car at the col -- the mountain pass that you have to go over to get to Vallorcine. We hike alongside a mountain that she says is our best bet. Shoe cleats are essential in this kind of icy snow!

She pauses to scan the mountain all the time.

The reward! Tiny from afar, but so precious!

We continue. The views are sublime!

And trained now on how to look, I spot the next pair!

Can't improve on that! Time to head back to the car.

3. Vallorcine: the people and their hamlet

The quiet of a small village. Here, the sun is a rare cold weather treat. In the deep of winter, it's blocked by the mountains for most of the day.

A small way up a hill we come across madame, totally engaged in the act of dismembering a wall of very old wooden slats. She has lived in this hamlet all her life. She collects things and makes stuff out of all that she finds.Witches are her true love. She has goats and a husband (who is a carpenter) and their house is right next to one of the few remaining old granaries (remember? the raccards). All this you will see below.

(in every homestead there is a bench facing the western skies, for the sun)

(a natural barometer, for laughs and for real!)

(the raccard)

(her husband, reading a comic book, in the sun, because in every homestead there is a bench...)

(we pause for lunch)

(kids sledding)

(in every homestead...)

Avalanches are a fact of life here. You can't build at the base of the mountain, because you will be buried. Still, the church went up. Several hundred years ago. Why in this precarious spot? Because it's exactly the halfway point between two hamlets. A stone wall was constructed to steer the avalanche debris away from the church. It has saved the building more than once.

(Teresa's work, using my camera)

(One last look toward the mountains: you are seeing Mont Blanc in-between the closer two...)

4. Guy's place

The village has a bar/tabac/cafe/post, all rolled into one. Guy presides. It's where the locals go for their espresso, or wine, or hot chocolate spiked with Chartreuse (the green herbal liquor from Grenoble). It's where we can eat our brioche.

(Teresa takes out her camera...)

(and uses mine on me)

(and I use mine on her)

(Guy, and I assume his wife...)

And now it's time to go home.

I'd forgotten to take my phone for today's adventure, which means that I went for a whole six hours without knowing if the world was still turning!

(It was still turning.)

I catch up on news from back home and after Zooming with Ed, I head out to dinner.

I eat at La Caleche. Known for its Savoyard food. Remember? Cheese and potatoes! The ambiance, too is Savoyard.

One item on the menu really really tempted me -- the Bresse chicken (appropriately priced at a higher rate than you'd normally see for a chicken dish!). Unfortunately, they did a last minute menu change and brought in an exceptional local chicken. (Bresse, by the way, is just to the west of the French Alps.) I mean, talk about finely marbled and therefore tender and moist meat! Amazing! With a wild mushroom sauce. Bresse girls, you better watch out!

The day wont end until I finish writing for you. And yes, I'm spent! But honestly, in the very best of ways!

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!