Cross Country Skiiing - One Time and One Time Only

My new profile picture says it all. I don't think we need to discuss the issue further...except I would like to note that the background of that picture is a hill. I thought cross-country skiing was across FLAT land. I will post the same picture at the bottom of this post since I don't intend for that to be my profile picture forever.

So moving right along past Day Three, on our final day in Chamonix, our group once again split up. The guys decided against another ski day and instead did the trip up to Aiguille du Midi. K. spent the day exploring town further and resting, and I took a cable car trip up the other side of the valley, using the Brevent lift. I found this to be far, far more terrifying than the Aiguille du Midi trip. That cable car was large and packed with people. Even though we could see just how high up we were, the snow beneath the car gave the illusion of a soft landing, and with all those bodies around, again, an illusion of safety...I might be able to bounce off of one them in the event of a disaster. Not so on the Brevent lift. It's a small, gondola type car which I had all to myself as we went up, up, up over a clear-cut path littered with spiky, tree stumps. There was just no place for my mind to go for reassurance of possible survival. I was quite breathless upon arrival at the top, especially as a paraglider went flying by at close range.

The day was sunny and incredibly warm at the top of the mountain. I roasted in a ski jacket and fleece pants, and the lounge chairs set up for folks to sit and sunbathe at the edge of the mountain made perfect sense. I was also intrigued by the number of people up at the top of the mountain walking their dog around the ski area. These were not patrol dogs, just regular people who apparently put their dog on the gondola and took him/her up for a little jaunt in the snow. But then, dogs were everywhere in Chamonix, even in nice restaurants and bars. France is clearly the place for me and Crazy Dog, but Crazy would have to learn some manners, like the French dogs have. Several of them even carried their own leashes! Meanwhile, back in Naples, our nutso ran away from his BFF's house when a maintenance man left the gate open. He apparently galloped about in a mud field somewhere, or perhaps just the gutters with all the other Neapolitan strays, until our friend's landlord found him and drug him home, with mud covering him up to his stomach. Scully once again earned his nickname, even though at this very moment, he is lying peacefully in his dog bed, looking so innocent and cute. He had a hard morning patrolling our grounds to keep them safe from Sinbad, the one-eyed cat, who cleverly taunts Scully from atop our fence.

But back to the Brevent ski area...following a little wander around, I braved another cable car - this one stretched between two mountain peaks and is a pretty, red box that slowly moves horizontally and slightly up while dangling over absolutely nothing at all. At the top was yet another nice, sunbathing area, a couple of men with a yellow lab who were straight out of an L.L. Bean catalog, and the most panoramic restaurant yet. I'd intended to ride some other cable cars and/or the train that connects the villages throughout the valley, but one look at this restaurant threw my schedule out the window. It was irresistible. Before taking a seat, I availed myself of one of the lounge chairs, planning to read for awhile. However, it was quite disconcerting to sit back in a lounge chair on a bright, sunny day and see only snow-covered, mountain peaks while listening to the clicks of skiers stepping into their bindings. I didn't last long before heading over to the restaurant.

Our last night in Chamonix was lighter fare after the many pounds of melted cheese consumed the previous days. We loved our wintertime visit to the Alps and hope to do another weekend trip in the summer for some hiking among that gorgeous scenery...cross-country skiing, however, will most likely never be attempted again.

Glacier Walks & Melted Cheese

Mer de Glace Glacier, 4.3 miles long and 656 feet deep

Following our trip up Aiguille du Midi, K. and I headed down the cable car in order to catch the Montenvers train up to Mer de Glace (Sea of Ice). The nearly empty train wound it's way up the mountain, giving us perfect glimpses of soaring, alpine peaks and Chamonix town far below. Arriving in mid-afternoon meant our follow-on trip in adorable, little red gondolas down to the glacier was peaceful and uncrowded (very unlike our trip down from Aiguille du Midi, which resulted in a small brawl with a large, drunk fellow who'd taken a liking to K.).

This was a first glacier trip for both of us, and we were awed. Mer de Glace moves at a rate of 1cm per hour (!), and each year, "they" (the mysterious they) carve an ice cave inside the glacier. As we took the gondola down, we were able to see the curve of the glacier in the distance, with just a hint of that color that seems a  mix between sea glass green and cerulean blue, depending on how the light hits it. Just below us, were several crevasses and the entrance to the ice cave, which we had almost all to ourselves. I fell in love with the curvature of the ice, the way it seemed to flow and whisper.

One of the things I loved in Chamonix were some of the vintage posters. On our final night, Nathan and I visited a photography shop and fell in love with some of the postcards showing photos from the late 1800s/early 1900s of explorers, both men and women, walking about on the glacier, generally without rope holding them together, the women carrying parasols, looking for all the world as if they're out for a Sunday stroll. One postcard clearly shows that parasols were for more than sun protection as the women used these for the men to help them across a crevasse or while walking along a narrow ridge - clever girls, weren't they? These vintage photos are contrasted with our trip to the glacier, where K. and I saw several hiking groups, all roped together on the glacier or, off the glacier, weighted down with packs carrying rope, pickaxes, carabiners galore, and so on. We found the painting to the right adorning the outside of a Chamonix bank, and later found a postcard of it displaying the original photograph, which was taken by Georges Tairraz in 1908 of an ascension of Mont Blanc.

K. and I met up with the guys back in town, running into them strolling down the street in their skiwear. They'd been to the pharmacy since Nathan had hurt his ankle in a fall. Nothing too serious, but ibuprofen and a compress was needed. Cocktails were in order, so we had an apres-ski get together at a local bar (in France, a bar is an actual bar, not a place for coffee) before heading off to another delicious dinner.

Day Two was a lazy day of hanging about town, exploring the shops, eating every couple of hours. It was France, home of the best croissants in the world, nutella crepes, gorgeous patisseries, yummy baguettes, and a selection of cheeses to make one swoon. Chamonix is in the region of Savoy, home of such delights as Raclette, Fondue (good fondue, not the stuff made with Velveeta), and, a new discovery, Tartiflette. This dish is very similar to a potatoes au gratin, but to my taste buds, which have been eating octopus salad, fried dough balls, mozzarella, and spaghetti with clams for the last four months, I thought I might actually pass out from pleasure over Tartiflette - potatoes, cooked with cream and bacon and onions, then covered with Reblochon cheese and baked. The reblochon cheese is phenomenal. I must eat more Tartiflette. And to my aunt, who asked in a comment a few posts ago if I'd gained weight since moving here, I now have what our friend K. calls a "cheese baby." My cheese baby was a delight to conceive over other meals, too, such as Raclette, where the waiter brought a small, cast iron, charcoal grill to the table for us to melt our own cheese, then pour it over sausages and potatoes.

I have to also mention the cocktails available in Chamonix. Each restaurant had their own house cocktails, which usually involved some sort of fruit liqueur  or syrup with either white wine or champagne. All delicious...but my absolute favorite is a traitor to Nathan's hours upon hours of perfecting the best mojito, which he learned to make during our station in Key West. Hotel Le Morgane, where our friends were staying, had a swank bar in the lobby, decorated in gray tones with fuzzy chairs and tree trunk coffee tables. One of their specialties was a twist on the mojito - lots of sugar in the bottom of the glass, then fill the glass with fresh mint (lots and lots of mint), then just pour in the champagne and stick in a straw. Voila! If I can get some fresh mint growing around this house, we will change the name (Nathan's a bit hurt that I would like this "mojito" better than his, but it really doesn't resemble a mojito in the slightest) and add it to our cocktail offerings for dinner guests. I think I'll call it Alpine Dream.

Ascending the Needle

We've just returned from a six day trip to Chamonix, France, a long weekend intended to be a ski trip but which turned into an eat-our-way-through-every-melted-cheese-dish-available. We went with our friends, D.&K., who are leaving in under a month, so we had to pack in as much fun as possible. From Naples to Geneva, there is a cheap and quick flight to Geneva, Switzerland, where one then catches a 1.5 hour shuttle to the Alpine town of Chamonix. Unfortunately, our flight was delayed over three hours, which led to us missing our shuttle and another delay in Geneva of two hours for the next one. Our quick, weekend jaunt turned into an all-out, full day of travel. After settling into our respective hotels (we stayed at La Croix Blanche, our friends were at Le Morgane), we headed out for a delicious meal which set the standard for the next four days of incredible food. In four days, we didn't have a single, bad meal, and for me, I didn't even have anything mediocre. Every dish was amazing, even down to the simple, fresh bread and goat cheese sandwich.

Friday, our group split up, with the guys heading off to ski Le Brevent while K. and I headed up the cable car to Aiguille du Midi (Needle of Midday), a height of 3842 meters (12,605 feet). Thrilling, terrifying, amazing, exhilarating. We packed into one cable car, which held about 40 people and quickly watched the town of Chamonix recede into the distance. Then the transfer to the second cable car. I later learned that these cable cars have the highest vertical ascent in the world. At the top, we found a building setting atop a mountain peak. And by setting atop, I mean the building is directly on a spire peak. The connection to the next building is over a short bridge with nothing under it. Parts of the building hang off the edge of the mountain. Stairs to various terraces are metal, ice-covered, and see-through, so that we could get a good look at the great nothingness below. But the views...what can I say...we were quite literally on top of the world. And the Alps just stretch out into the distance as far as you can see. As K. observed, "these are nothing like the Rockies." At a rough guess, I took approximately 150 photos of Alps peaks, which all look beautiful and "same, same, but different" - much like the 401 pictures of sunsets that also litter our various photo albums. We got an up close view of Mont Blanc, Western Europe's highest peak (over 4800 meters), and got to watch skiers head down an impossibly steep, slippery ridge, carrying skis, poles, and packs, to launch themselves into the Vallee Blanche ski area - an area that is not groomed, not patrolled, and prone to unseen crevasses and avalanches.

Underneath all the padding, this is me, venturing out as far as I'm willing past the big, "Don't go here" signs. The photo above shows the actual skiers walking down this same ridge to reach the top of the "ski" area.

K. and I had a quick lunch in a small cafe with panoramic windows overlooking the majesty, then spent half an hour trying to find the lift to the actual top of Aiguille du Midi. We finally found someone to ask, and luckily for us, the fellow who operated the lift was standing nearby. He'd closed it due to lack of use by the morning's visitors. After a short wait, we headed even further up, where we got a great, overhead view of the building we'd just been tromping around. I have a little vertigo just looking at this photo!

Over the next few days, I'll put up more information about our trip. The rest of the trip, while not quite as scream inducing, was nevertheless, a fantastic, restful time and the fulfillment of a dream of Nathan's to ski in the Alps.