Tour de Mont Blanc: Rivers and Rocks

On the Tour de Mont Blanc, you were never far from some sort of river. There were streams you could leap over, deep gorges you had to cross via suspension bridges, sightings of waterfalls as you rounded corners and glimpses of icy blues and glassy greens through tree branches. Each day we crossed water at multiple points. These crossing were aided by bridges of all sorts--skinny bridges held by swaying ropes, ancient bridges of cobbled rock, wooden bridges recently painted and makeshift bridges composed of single boards balanced (sometimes precariously) over raised rocks. At times the river water was brilliant blue; other times it was milky green. When the water ran fast, it was frothy white; and at slower points, it was steely grey or muddied brown. The rivers crossed countries. They zigzagged and meandered; gushed and pooled. Sometimes the trail hugged the tour's rivers. Other times the trail furled away from them. But never for long. Each day, again and again, your travels were punctuated with that sound of water over rock (rushing, trickling, flowing, lapping).

Rocks were another constant. They rose up on either side of you, forming hillsides and distant mountains. They were underfoot--as small bits of gravel ground into dirt by the summer's hikers or smooth slabs of rock deposited during the Roman empire. Their colors were varied--bright orange, deep blue, liquid silver, nearly black, white with flecks of gray and gray with stripes of white. Rocks were assembled into teetering cairns, sturdy huts,  piled offerings to lost hikers, protective walls for windy summits and other, more frivolous arrangements. They made sounds--crunching, falling, jostling, echoing. Some were so large they took your breath away, while others were small enough to be examined in the palm of your hand. They were jagged and craggy; they were polished and smooth. They resembled things: stern faces, whimsical animals, little hearts or broken glass. There was no way to see them all but that didn't stop you from trying. 

This is my (small) tribute to the many rivers and innumerable rocks of the Tour de Mont Blanc:

They're forever changing; they've been around forever.

It Starts in October

I love October.  It's the start of so many things--fall, the holidays, cold weather, decorations, crafts, comfort foods, warm drinks and festive parties.  We celebrated this October with a trip to the pumpkin patch (Bob's), pumpkin carving with friends, home-brewed hard cider and a night of dress up (aka Halloween).  This October was also: feathers, felt, duct tape, doggles, neon sunsets, hikes with Buckwheat, goats and piglets, foggy drives along the coast, leaves pooled under trees, jackets in the mornings, cool evening runs, funny scary movies, costumes based on movies, bowls of candy,  toasted pumpkin seeds and . . . All the things October should be! Yes, I love October.  And this one was pretty perfect.

To see some pumpkin patch photos from last year's trip to Bob's pumpkin patch ("pick 'em where they grow!") go here.

(photos 5-7 + 15-16 taken by C)

Adventures Abroad: Chamonix

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). 

-------

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. 

--------

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.