Chamonix!

Old habits are hard to shake. Staying up past midnight -- such a typical thing for me when I travel. Too little time. How can you have a meditative day and still do all that you want to do? My life's project -- a search for balance!

I come down to breakfast and again habits kick in. I liked my meal yesterday! Let's repeat it! This time, ask for the salt.

Once more I am seated not too far from the two Russian tables (see above). I try to ignore, to not mind. The boy is twelve, maybe thirteen. Playing with his i-Phone. The two men, one his father, the other maybe a friend, a brother, a cousin. Both grumpy. I have to say, no one in the room is aware of their presence except for me. A solo traveler always notices her surroundings, the people across the aisle, in the cafe, on a walk. So I notice.

Later, I ask at the front desk if they have Russian guests this year. I get it that it's a loaded question. Still, I was pointing to no one in particular. I remember asking in Naples -- where is that group from? -- pointing to a newly arrived contingency. They answered readily -- China. I was interested if the Chinese, isolated for so long, were resuming travel. Obviously they were. Here, they dodged the question. "We have guests from all over the world." I understand their nervousness, still, I think they should have answered. Though perhaps in their refusal to answer they told me all I need to know.

This morning, my first goal is to visit the weekly market. It's just above freezing today in the Chamonix valley. I have to wonder how they do this when there is snow. Do the vendors really stand outside all morning long? Teresa warned me that it's better once the sun hits the square at around 11, so I go close to that hour.

(on the walk over, I took these two snapshots to give you more images of Chamonix itself)

I have been to so many outdoor markets in this country! So many! But this is my first winter market in the mountains. It seems so unreal: winter, mountains, outdoor stalls year-round?

On one side of the street you have the foods. Plenty of French families, picking up their favorites. Cheeses, sausages, potatoes. And so much more...

On the other side of the street: everything else. I actually buy something -- dish towels! We have such awful, raunchy dish towels. I pick up three, from her:

Wonderful market! Truly a good way to get to the heart of an Alpine town.

And then I am ready to head out for my day's big adventure. Teresa joins me, this time not as a guide, but because she herself wants to do that walk. I'm her companion. (Having said that, I really don't think Teresa is capable of not helping me do things well here. Not only does she drive us to the starting point, but she makes sure to call ahead to my chosen end point to confirm that it is open and that they will welcome us. To say that she is helpful is an understatement.)

We drive the few minutes to Le Lavancher. (Again, a play on words: sounds like avalanche, doesn't it? Well it might!) I suppose you might see this as a hamlet. A cluster of homes, of chalets. I haven't really photographed what is the dominant housing style here, in the valley. I suppose because it is so ubiquitous in all Alpine valleys. Maybe I'll focus on pointing out some such houses tomorrow. Today, let's get on with the hike!

I had chosen this particular hike because it has some incline and I am, after all, in the mountains. Nothing too onerous, but in this warm sunlight during the day and freezing temps at night, there is a lot of slippery stuff on the trail! Never have shoe cleats been more useful! Those spikes are awesome on the trail!

Equally awesome is the forest: tall firs, a  pine needle carpet, sometimes under a snow cover, sometimes, when the sun has access, the snow will have completely melted away. Only to reappear again up higher.

(if I'm in any photo today, it will have been taken with my camera, but by Teresa)

Teresa tells me stories from Chamonix -- about the granite used here in construction, about crystals (you must visit the crystal museum!), about previous hikes up this trail she had taken. It's her back yard after all, much the same way that our county park is our playground back home. Ed and I know every tree there. She knows every rock here, I'm sure.

One reason to do this particular climb is that it ends (if you want it to end) at Buvette du Chapeau. This refuge used to provide simple warm drinks and perhaps a quick bite as you labored up the incline. These days, with its new large deck, it has gone the extra mile and created (for a few lucky souls) a place to eat simple, good food...

... with a fabulous view to please your demands for visual gratification. Onto the Mer de Glace glacier (more on that another day)...

And down to Chamonix valley itself, surrounded by the peaks that are becoming awfully familiar but not ever less dramatic.

For lunch, I order the Croute du Chapeau...

... and it is wonderful! Cheese, melted with wine, in the style of a raclette, on a slab of bread, with generous portions of chanterelle mushrooms, which for once taste as I remember them from my childhood mushroom picking days in Poland.

We drink water that comes in from a mountain spring (used also to cool the beverages people buy).

I peak inside the hut, which has a kitchen and a small room where guests huddle at two tables in bad weather. Today, the tables are used to hold the homemade desserts. It's a warm and lovely space. The kind your grandma, or at least my grandma would have had in her country home.

And then we eat their justifiably well loved desserts. My tart (though raspberry, not blueberry!) is nothing short of sublime.

We have to hurry back down, because I have an appointment at my hotel. I have to say, we really do race down that hill! Only the French could outdo us! And my knee cooperated! Miracles do happen.

I am a few minutes late for my first ever in my life facial massage. Oh, back in Poland, I've had facial treatments. Every woman in Warsaw has considered or regularly scheduled facial treatments. But this is different and I am insanely curious what someone can possibly do to a face that would warrant any excitement. I want to try it, at the same time that I have great doubts: body massages make you feel better. Many people have them for medicinal purposes. Sort of like going to PT, only you don't have to do any exercises yourself. But facial massages -- aren't they for the sole purpose of improving appearance? Why would a nearly 70 year old, living alongside Ed no less, care about radiance in her face?

Still, I'm here, it's on the menu of hotel offerings and I want to try it.

And it is heaven on earth! Turns out it's not just about radiance and firmness and all those other inspiring yet irrelevant features. It's about a neck massage and adjustment. And those overworked tired hands -- they're included too in the rub down! I come out feeling like someone pulled the drain on any tension I may have brought with me to Chamonix. Absolute heaven.

In the evening I eat at Josephine. I suppose it's a curious choice as they specialize in seafood, but then, when you are in one spot for a whole week, you'll do well to diversify your eating choices. You can't just put away pounds of cheese, butter and sausage. (Okay, those have not been my staples, in part because I am a party of one. Most raclette, fondue, and other cheesy dishes are sold when there are at least two at the table.) The hotel suggested Josephine, booked it for me --  so I'm off.

It is a crazy place. I do like the image of Josephine. Here she is! And the restaurant itself? On the one hand, it is everything you expect a French brasserie to be: crowded, with a superbly efficient waitstaff. Traditional French foods, expertly prepared, if not always imaginatively presented. But on the other hand, this place is noisy! You know that peace that had seeped into my soul right through my face earlier today? Shattered by a million decibels of rowdiness. Plenty of kids, but they weren't the problem. It's the twenty something crowd and the groups of apre-skiers. Had I gone here with someone, I would not have heard a word that person said. If you cant shout, then you're out of luck.

The food? To repeat: expertly prepared. Pumpkin veloute with a few mushrooms, scallops -- my nod to the seafood here -- well seared, not overcooked, with a few winter veggies at the side. My dessert was a highlight though. The menu said: mushrooms with blueberries. Being a sucker for both I tried to imagine what a chef might do with those two mismatched foods. The waiter assured me it was fantastic.

And it was! Even better than it looked!

The fun here is evident: a mushroom, stuffed with blueberries indeed! But, too, the delicate mousse that holds the "blueberry filled fungus" together is actually very tasty! A rare combination of quirky prettiness and good flavor.

Looking out my balcony window now at the night outside I am once again reminded of how stunning this landscape can be, even if I can't fully see the contours of the ridges that surround us. You feel their presence! Like an ocean that threatens and soothes, depending on its mood, a mountain range can give you thrills, or that needed place to finally grow small with your trivial thoughts and worries and grow big with your love for all that's good in this world! All this and a beautiful, clear night. And a moon that shines somewhere in those skies above us tonight

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!