We started and ended our trek in Chamonix. We arrived under a blue sky smattered with paragliders and fluffy clouds. Our surroundings seemed out of a dream--blue-gray mountains jutting up, white-grey glaciers thrusting down and buildings that transported me to mountain cabins and old french villages all at once. Admittedly, I was also practically delirious from lack of sleep . . . But that sense of wonder over Chamonix didn't dull with time (or a good night's rest).
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It was 10:30am, but luckily we were able to check in at our hotel, L'Oustalet. Our room was small but charming. I felt like going straight to bed but C was firm about getting our internal clocks set on local time . . . So we freshened up and then ventured into a town still teeming with summer tourists and outdoor enthusiasts.
Out of all the places we visited on our trip to Europe, I think Chamonix was my favorite. The city was small enough that you could walk most anywhere but large enough that you could find what you needed. While we were there, we got sandwiches and pain au chocolats from a boulangerie-patisserie, ate too many macarons to count, enjoyed burgers cooked by Scandinavians, indulged in an incredible three course meal at
Le Petite Kitchen, shared an Asian influenced picnic lunch prepared by Brits and warmed ourselves on a cold, rainy night with entirely too much Indian food. It was all delicious.
Everywhere you looked in Chamonix there were flowers--hanging in pots, under windows, in parks--so that even under gray skies, the streets and buildings popped with color and cheer. The city was home to several museums (we went to:
Musée Alpin) and a river (L'Arve) with a recreational path that ran right through the center of town (and beyond!). On our second morning, we put on our running shoes and ran out of town along the Arve. Its waters were green with sediment and all around us were enormous mountains and little pines that looked like trees out of a model train set. It was all a bit magical . . .
. . . Even in the rain. I say this because upon
our return from the TMB, things were a bit, well, wetter. When we went out, we wore rain jackets and when the rain got too heavy, we ducked into cafes and tabacs to escape--ordering Belgian beers or cappuccinos and browsing postcards. But by that time, I didn't mind--Chamonix felt familiar. We had our favorite cafe; we knew where to find several Petit Casinos (for those not familiar, it's a grocery store chain, not a gambling establishment), and we could recall what streets took us to what places . . . I guess I was starting to feel at home there.
I hope we return to Chamonix someday. I'd like to see it in the winter. Or maybe see it from above. At the Musée Alpin, I learned that a woman made the first successful winter ascent of Mont Blanc. Pretty cool. I don't think I'd attempt it in the winter, but the mountaineer in me would love to stand on that summit.
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Two weeks after our return stateside, C and I found ourselves watching Charade on Netflix. And suddenly, I wanted so badly to be back in south-eastern France. With all the exhaustion that came with traveling abroad (and a week of hiking 15 to 30 km a day), I don't think I realized all that I would miss when I left. Chamonix, you stole a little piece of my heart. I look forward to the day I can be reunited with that piece of myself--under those astounding mountains, in that green valley, next to that milky river. Rain or shine. I don't care.
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