Je Vous Revois

Ah, so wonderful to be back in France. It has been 8 long years since my last visit, and I was eager to dust off my high school French for a ski week in Chamonix. Coincidentally, the last time I was in France, I had a little stopover in Chamonix. Despite not being my first time in the valley, this trip was my first time actually seeing it. Way back in the winter of 2000, my family -- visiting my brother who then lived in Paris -- went on a ski excursion to Chamonix. However, when we arrived we (the ENTIRE family) were struck down by a horrid mystery illness, and subsequently never left our hotel rooms. And thus, we never went skiing. While there are many theories still circulating as to the cause of this lightning strike illness, I've come to believe that I just wasn't meant to ski that week. Perhaps Cham knew that 8 years later (amid my numerous graduate-level crises) I would need a ski week a hell of a lot more. On with the story.

Indubitably, the French Alps are amazing, beautiful, breathtaking, and really f*ing tall (more on my tense relationship with heights later). But, nestled in a valley that stretches from Switzerland to Italy, lies the sleepy little burg of Chamonix. While Chamonix may not be Lake Wobegon, it certainly has retained some of that small-town charm. The town has a number of artisans who run shops selling everything from local meats and cheeses, to wines, to disturbingly realistic marzipan fruits (HIGHLY recommended). Tradition and craftsmanship are certainly alive and well despite the influx of tourists to the region. This is perhaps most evident in the high quality (and abundant) regional foods available in the valley. As I'm sure you know, my stomach is my favorite travel companion. Thus, did not miss a single opportunity to learn about the people of the region through their food.

Also newsworthy was the scenery. Note the view from our apartment (yes, that is a ski lift) which illustrates the enormity of the surroundings. Even on a cloudy day, the vistas were just amazing. Rising through the clouds to the top of Brevent, there was absolutely zero visibility. But once you reached your destination, a sea of clouds spread out below you beneath the bluest of skies. Getting down the mountain (safely) through said clouds was another story entirely. Suddenly coming upon an unmarked trail ending (i.e. cliff) through the haze, I was reminded of a quote: "there ain't no ground where you're standin'." Yeah, something like that.

Best Day: our last day on the mountains we navigated the valley buses with modest success. After an in-boot hike, we finally found Argentiere, the tallest peak in the valley. What were we thinking spending the morning at Balme?? Despite some tram issues later in the afternoon that left skiers stranded in mid-ascent, we made our way to the very tippity top, for a slightly nauseating, but priceless view. Skiing down was not only amazing, but changed my mind entirely about the need to off-season fitness (or any fitness). As my thighs cried out for mercy and my heart struggled to keep up, I decided I would never ski at Pine Knob again - I don't care how many lifts they have, it's still only 400ft!