Petit Envers du Plan (Vallee Blanche variation) for Valentine's Day

Arriving in Chamonix for the first time as a skier is analogous to arriving in Yosemite as a climber. The history of mountaineers, climbers, skiers, and pioneers oozes from the aiguilles and extravagant vertical relief enveloping the Chamonix valley. The grandeur of the mountains and the ambiance of the premier mountain town is found only here. The sole of mountaineering, mountain culture, emanates from the top of Mont Blanc down to the glaciers of the Vallee Blanche, from precariously balanced refuges to chateaux style gites, from the Aiguille du Midi teleferique to

the bustling walking streets of Chamonix. This is a place of religious value for any mountain enthusiast.

Anytime one rushes with urgency, life seems to remind us of the value of patience. After loading the Citroen and beginning our drive toward Chamonix, we noticed an odd smell followed shortly by billowing smoke coming from the dashboard. Slow to allow our peppy van to dash our weekend plans, we pull to the side of the road and pop the hood. The trusty diesel van had transported us on so many excursions. The thought of mechanical problems NOW seemed incomprehensible. We knew this had to be something simple. The billowing smoke was just more bark than bite, right?

Drawing off years of owning an '81 diesel rabbit named Dinky, I knew this would be a roadside fix. Reattaching hoses, replacing hoses, tightening hoses had been a past-time with old trusty Dinky. In this case, the odor was clearly radiator fluid, and it seemed obvious a leaky, detached or otherwise fixable hose was the culprit causing the leak and hence the billowing smoke. Our noses hovered over the engine, et viola, the radiator presented a limply hanging hose. Diving into our ski packs for the duct tape residing in the "epic kit", we did what any diesel owner would do...........and the duct tape permitted our voyage ahead, while the Citroen calmed our urgency and reminded us all good things come with time.

Rounding the last corner, Mont Blanc, spilling seracs, L'Aiguille du Midi, followed by so many more aiguilles, and finally Chamonix presented themselves. It lived up to all expectations leaving us both breathless and somewhat dizzy. Pictures could not translate the energy, immensity, and grandeur that overwhelmed us. We spent the rest of the day finding our bearings and securing our teleferique reservation for the following day. Awaking on Valentine's Day, we skied the Vallee Blanche. A 3000m descent from the Aiguille du Midi that provided us a fantastic way to orient ourselves to the terrain for return trips.

La Grave

Provence in 4 days

Some say Provence is shaped like a giant wedge of quiche. As a food focused person, how could I resist making a visit. Avignon became my home base from which to explore all the Roman, Medieval, and artistic wonders situated a stone's throw in all directions. Camping on L'Ile de la Barthelasse of the Auberge Bagatelle's hostel and campground, Avignon lights up the night sky and Provence hotspots lie waiting within 30-50 km. I anticipate retracing vanGogh's footsteps in Arles, imaging bullfights and gladiators in action at the Amphitheatre of Nimes, and exploring the cold hallways of the Palais de Papes of Avignon.

The journey from the Savoie allow me to navigate from 1850m Courchevel down valley through Albertville (the home of the 1992 winter olympics), on to Chambery (the Savoyard capital), through the Combe de Savoie (agricultural region at the foot of the Bauges Mountains and home to Savoie winemaking), on to Grenoble (known as capitol of the Alps complete with views of Mont Blanc), over Le Col de la Croix Haute with views of Mt. Ventoux to access Nyons followed by Provencal villages, and eventually landing in Avignon with sun setting on the Rhone River. With broken French complimented by broken English, I secured a campsite and set out to explore night life in Avignon. Le Place du Palais is found quiet while la Rue des Teinturiers is glowing with lights, food, and French fashion. The streets are alive, buzzing, and magnetic to explore. I wander through tight streets lined with quaint home facades and find bearings to my new surroundings. Returning to my campsite, I fall asleep with Rick Steve's Provence pleated on my chest ready for exploration the following day.

Pierra Menta

La Pierra Menta est une competition internationale de ski-alpinisme sure 4 jours (10000m de denivelee positive) dans le massif du Beaufortain Savoie France. The Pierra Menta is the namesake feature for this ski-mountaineering race, and it lies within view from the Saulire of Courchevel 1850. As Mike's 2 days off from work arrived, we decided a tour into Pierra Menta terrain would be a worthy use of the time. Of course the morning of day 1 we wake up to pounding snow and wind, but our "packed the night before" packs encouraged us to head out the door anyway. French snow can be analogous to Pacific Northwest concrete, especially as one retreats in elevation. The slop and glop turns quickly to an icy mass, and the hair-pin turns allowing our descent from Courchevel won't let us forget it! The little diesel Citroen performed well, and as we hit the valley floor we charged for the town of Aime where the next series of hair-pin turns brings us to the trailhead. Eyeing each other nervously, we noticed the gloppy roads prove a bit more challenging on the upward train. Just as we started wondering if an alternate plan for the day might be a good idea, our little white Citroen starting spinning, then sliding, then............. rotating..........and in amazing slow motion we watched a 180 view of the landscape around us before the van nestled into a snow bank facing the way we had come. Just as we thought this was a hint from the ski Gods to turn around and come back another day, a diesel Volkswagon van came charging up the hill next to us. A young friendly frenchman poked his head out the window and asked if we had chains (among other things that we couldn't translate with the diesel rumble in the background). As he realized that we neither had chains, nor did we speak Fre

nch with a British accent, he asked where we were going and where were we from. We explained we're American, and we're headed to the trailhead for the Refuge Presset. He seemed impressed.........or maybe surprised..........but he jumped out, starting chaining his Volkswagon, and attached a towline to our Citroen. We quickly realized he too was a skier, and his van was stacked with randonee skis. Once he pulled us out of the snowbank, we decided a ride in the Volkswagon might be a safer way to conquer the slippery road. We parked our defeated Citroen safely down the road and jumped into the Volkswagon. Now charging uphill, we learned that our friendly French saviour was a Physics/Chemistry high school teacher that also headed up an outdoor program for his school. He had organized a day out on skis for his students, but with the bad weather was deciding to opt for another day. Originally he was headed to a lower tra

ilhead with gentle slopes for his students, but with the bad weather he placed a call to cancel the trip for the day. He said our Citroen in the snowbank diversion gave him a good reason to be out, and he was happy to drive an American pisteur to a favorite trailhead. He dropped us off with a handshake to Mike and the customary 2 cheek kisses to me.

We listened to the diesel rumble down the hillside as we stood in the pounding snow hoping our stubbornness would pay off in a positive way. The next several hours were consumed with slogging blindly in the wind and snow. Every few minutes, we pulled out the map to imagine what the terrain around us might look like. Continually, we hoped the beta we received in French from a friend had been accurately translated. As we foggily slogged on carefully making navigation decisions, we felt the eerie looming of dramatic terrain around us. Landmarks correctly presented themselves encouraging us on, and eventually a horizon opened as the white-ness lifted just enough for us to make out the first refuge perched above us........La Balme Refuge Communal. Our intended destination was the Refuge Presset which we'd been told is situated on a higher perch providing be

tter views of the Pierra Menta and surrounding terrain. Looking higher into the white-ness beyond, we started feeling lucky we'd made it this far and decided settling in here for the night might be just fine.

The refuge had an eerie echo. We were lucky to have the place to ourselves, but the line of bunks complete with pillows and folded blankets expressed the hustle and bustle that the refuge often experienced. Firing up the wood stove, we settled in to dry out and make dinner. Refuge life was comfortingly similar to 10th Mountain hut living in Colorado, and we were grateful to find shelter from the Everest simulator outside.

The next day, we were aptly rewarded for our efforts. Pristine blue skies paired with calm windless mountain air motivated us out of the bunk, on to Refuge Presset followed by a tour to Col du Bresson over to Mont Rosset and fun turns back to the trailhead. New snow provided fun skiing but dictated conservative navigation in light of the increased avalanche danger. Spectacular views of the Pierra Menta emerged everywhere we turned.

Annecy

Annecy has become a favorite escape from Courchevel when the weather calls for a break from skiing. Annecy is a substantial city situated in the French Alps. Unfortunately, these photos are a bit grey........but hopefully the flavor can still be savored.

Joyeux Noel

I am seated on Christmas Eve day at the table in the kitchen of Le Cave Americain admirably buzzing by way of a pastis waiting for the beef to thaw under a faucet drip in the sink. I have successfully arrived by way of the Geneva Switzerland airport with only one bag missing, the ski bag, notably t

he least important bag for a winter of skiing in the French Alps. After a session of broken English follo

wed by broken French, I came to understand my bag was left in London to arrive on the next flight to Geneva, pas de probleme, n'est pas? So Mike and I found plenty of time to

catch up while holed up in the Geneva airport waiting for the next flight from London to finally arrive.......pas de probleme!

Now Christmas in Courchevel is unexplectedly flat. At the mention of a European Christmas, all Americans co

njure images of quaint hillside villages with lights and music abound. Courchevel adamantly argues the contrary. Courchevel is a chic ski resort catering to the ostentatiously wealthy Rooski and Britt t

hat bless les pistes during Christmas and other European holidays. Therefore, Christmas is hardly recognizable until aujourd'hui when all the blue collar workers of the resort busily erect wreaths, tress, lights, bows, and all the other fan-fare expectly by the arriving monsieur ou mad

ame avec beaucoups de wealth. Today denotes the first signs of Christmas, and timely enough, it is Christmas Eve. To celebrate such a transformation in the ambience, I have decided to prepare a French inspired meal known as Beef Bourguignon. Therefore, the beef sits under a water drip in the kitchen sink to prompt a rapid thawing session. Et voila, an excellent excuse boire le pastis, aperitif anise.

As dripping water sera

nades in the background, I'll catch you all up on a week and half in France. The ski bag arrived, and Mike and I headed en route for Courchevel. After crossing the Swiss/French border, the town of Annecy presented itself as a suitable stopping point for la saucisson et le fromage et le pain, the staples of un pisteur diet. As we walked the narrow streets and enjoyed the pristine views of le lac avec a s illouette of the French Alps, we found all the necessary decadence for the week. Unfortunately, taking pictures escaped me as I struggled through my travel hang-over, but Annecy was absolutely the perfect introduction to France.

With daylight disappearing, we continued on along the valley floor. Reaching Moutiers, the climb to Courchevel began. Stacked hair-pin turns brought us quickly to snow level, then higher to views of the Alps (Parc Nation al de la Vanoise), and finally the end of the road presents Courchevel 1850 where our home for the winter is situated.

The following days Mike jumped back into his yellow securite des pistes ensemble, and tackled the life of a French pist eur. Custo ms like opening a bottle of white wine by 9:00am or cutting into le pain avec le fromage by 11 have not been difficult to adjust to. On the other hand, French patrollers have interesting neuroses around maintaining acceptable pistes. Each pisteur is responsible for a particular piste, and on this piste the bamboo marking the boundaries must be perfectly straight up and down and exactly in line with the following bamboo. So throughout the day, a pi

steur will venture out from his post in search of his piste to move slowly from one bamboo to the next straightening, adjusting, maneuvering. It's actually quite amusing to watch from a

higher point up on the mountain. Mike has thought to buy a level at a hardware store in Moutiers in order to Wo w the other French pisteurs with his immaculate bamboo. All in all, few dull moments.

Aside from skiing the pistes of Courchevel, Mike and I ventured into the backcountry between Moutiers and Alb

ertville with a friend of a friend named Pierre. Pierre thoughtfully introduced us to a fantastic area tha

t offered valley

after valley conveniently parallel with spectacular passes in between. The turns, the views , and of course le fromage et la saucisson were all fantastic. The road to approach such a gem is famously known to access Le Col

de la Madeleine, a notable leg of the Tour de France.

Unfortunately, I've been plagued with computer problems, possibly a virus, and it finally decided to crash all together. Most photos are held captive on my inoperable computer. Enjoy the few most recent. The photos include a line of bamboo, a view of Courchevel 1850 from Courchevel 1650 with a

ir balloon, Mont Blanc in the background from the Vizelle teleseige, piste maintenance, our apartment co mplex with our diesel van parked in front, Courchevel 1850 resort views, and La Saulire which is Mike's post.

Ah, the beef has thawed. It's time to tackle an all day recipe that includes beef, bacon, carrots, onion, and en entire bottle of Pinot Noir. Ummmmm, the French 15 (closely resembling the freshman 15) are threatening to overtake us.

Wishing everyone a Joyeux Noel!

A Sea Of Limestone

Word has it, Mike arrived safely and has been greeted by amazing French hospitality. The days have been filled with climbing the alpine limestone, while nights are enjoyed dining and wine-ing. Dreamy as that may sound, adjustments abound........a trip to the grocery store, driving down the highway, going to the gas station, making a phone call snowballs into epics of language, measurement systems, exchange rates, international digits, time change.........and to think that after 6+ months, it will all seem second nature.