The Telepherique
The Philippines, located a little below the equator, has a very boring weather forecast, it’s either just raining or shining. So the prospect of seeing snow got me fired up for obvious reasons. We drove all the way east of Lyon to the Chamonix Valley, the largest and oldest winter resort in France. The road to Chamonix was absolutely stunning, from the dizzyingly high bridges to the little stone houses (with the roofs getting steeper as it neared the Alps) littered along a backdrop of mountains capped with… snow! The drive took an estimated 2 hours, but imagine how long it took in the 18th century, when the only means to reach Chamonix was by horsedrawn charabancs. Tourism in Chamonix started when 2 Englishmen decided to climb Montenvers in 1741, probably to conquer the Monts Maudits (Cursed Mountains), believed to be the scene of witches’ sabbath (during severe winters between late 14th cent. to mid-15th cent., townspeople actually exorcised their glaciers). Apparently, these 2 men wrote pretty damn good accounts, because a Montenvers railway began construction in 1892, and in 1908 the line was inaugurated. That’s advertisement.
The world’s highest cable car ride can be found here too, linking Chamonix to Aiguille du Midi. The project plans for a funicular started in 1911, was cut short by the War, and came fully into operation in 1955.
We wanted to take the Teleferique, but it was the first day the Telepherique was operating after 3 days on account of bad weather, and the line was choked with tourists. Instead, we took a 20-minute charming red train ride that transported us from Chamonix to a panoramic view of Mer de glace (Sea of Ice), France’s biggest glacier (240 metres thick and 14 km long from its origin, moving 1 centimetre an hour, approximately, with a time lag of 3 years). From there, we took a cable car to the edge of the Mer de Glace, where we visited a cave of pretty ice sculptures. Everything was tinted blue, there was a Saint Bernard the size of a pony, and surprisingly, literally being inside a block of ice made me feel warm all over. Parfait!
Yeah, Chamonix had charm.
Beaujolais
Upon arriving from Chamonix later that evening, we met up with Julien’s friends and drove north of Lyon to the Beaujolais region, famous for its legendary wine, of course. It’s amazing how a region so small (around 40 miles in one direction and 10 miles in the other) produces millions of gallons of wine to be sold all around the world. The grapes had just been harvested, sprawling vineyards stretching out in the late sunlight, car windows open. I was thinking of the snow I had seen earlier, and now this. There was a single mongolfier against the mountains, and I don’t think I’ll ever forget that drive.
Pérouges
Since the Rhone valley was colonized by the Romans, there are preserved relics and villages reminiscent of the Middle Ages and Renaissance eras, and Pérouges is one of those villages. The medieval city of Pérouges, with its stone walls and cobblestoned streets, will make you swear you’d entered the film set of the movie Chocolat. Julien and his parents and I wandered along lazily by foot, stopping often for exhibitions or shops. The church at the village entrance had thick walls and tiny windows, probably used as a defense tower way back when. It’s astounding to walk through history.
It’s a nice place to visit but I wonder how the occupants bear the number of daytrippers and tourists, who were choking the lovely little town (We were one of those daytrippers, so I shouldn’t complain). I can only imagine how it looked in the evenings, devoid of crowds. It must be a very romantic place to live in but… where would you park your car?
Kala loves fromage.
I mean it. From the bottom of my heart. I would send love letters to Saint Felicien fromage saying “You complete me”, if I weren’t in touch with sanity.
Drama aside, my sister is excommunicating me from her “People I Like” list because I don’t remember the names of all the food I ate in France. That sounds equally dramatic.
Drama aside, I had the most excellent meals in France. I eat bird-like proportions of food really, but in France, it’s the quality and not quantity. The most beautiful words I’ve ever heard over the dining table were “You don’t have to finish if you don’t want to”, because its effect on me was the exact opposite.
Bon appétit!
On the way to Pérouges we stopped for lunch at this restaurant, Hotel de la Tour. I’m not sure exactly where this was, but the address in the hotel brochure mentions Chatillon-sur-Chalaronne… it’s north of Lyon, I think. The brochure also says: “We open our doors to you like an open heart”. Ouh la! I should ask what meals exactly we ate and put them here as recommendation. And there was the famous frog’s legs, foie gras, the huge crepe, that spinach-dish thing we had in Lyon, the salads, the ice cream, and the fromage. In short, it was French cuisine at its best!
Plus, Julien’s mother whipped up these amazing French dishes from her kitchen each meal, without fail. I am now determined to learn how to cook, even if just for one dish perfectly in my lifetime (I have my sights set on the cauliflower with cream – I’m a very ambitious person).
Continued -
