Le Franco Phoney

Let’s start with the dumb. This letter from EDF arrived in a letterbox in Annecy last week. You can see from the date circled at the top (click on the letter for a larger image) that the letter was printed a month earlier. This seems to be standard practice with utility letters: it’s as if companies print out a huge pile of letters, then get someone to stuff one per day or something. Anyway, three weeks after the date, the letter arrived.

Now, three weeks seems like quite a long time when there’s only fifty-two of them in a year. But check out the other circled date. Yes, that’s December 2007 — almost a year ago. What’s the significance? Well, this is the date that the recipient requested a new service. This letter confirms the request, but then requests that the recipient call the number again to confirm once more — more than ten months after the request was made!

I know this is France and paperwork is relaxed, but tenants have come and gone in less time. And what makes the letter even more unbelievable is that it urges the reader to speed up the process two times. Great, so if your new service still isn’t working almost a year later, call this number and maybe you’ll get it after a further six months because you get to talk to the person who stuffs one letter per day between taking calls on missing letters and delayed services. Just so you know, the service still remains unused by the recipient.

On the other hand, the French postal system comes up trumps. What it lacks in speed it makes up for in service. A friend of mine received this postcard. As you can see, I haven’t had to blur out the address: it was simply addressed to my friend, with her surname spelt incorrectly, in La Clusaz. The postcode is wrong (that’s the sender’s postcode in Thônes, down the road), and no effort was made to describe the address. In the whole of La Clusaz, the post office tracked down the right person, with nothing more than her first name to go by, and delivered the postcard.

This certainly counteracts their placement of a large parcel for me in my letterbox. They wedged it in from the side that their key works in, but on my smaller, framed side, I had no way of getting the parcel out. For almost a week, it was wedged in despite the explanatory note on the letterbox. Each day, I’d fish out the new letters from around the wedged box until finally the postie saw the note and knocked on my door with parcel in hand, apologies and an embarrassed smile.

But these things are not so rare. As I type, I have a router ready to be installed, but the letter with my login details has never arrived. An insurance company who demanded I pay my renewal even though I had followed all legal routes to cancel my insurance still send letters telling me that, as a member, I can vote for their board members or something. I did quite like my water bill for 48c (if only they were all like that!), and I’m still waiting for an electrician to arrive, who promised in a letter to be here in October. We’re all, of course, only human, and French utility services certainly show their human side.

I woke up a few mornings ago to discover that the green grass was covered with a blanket of white, sparkling snow. Across the road from my place, a group of friends were having a snowball fight and one wandered further away to kick snow for the dogs to play with. See? Even the dogs love the snow, although Bruno, my cat, is less than happy about it.

Anyway, what really makes it officially winter is what happened on Saturday night. We ventured up to the carpark at La Balme, which is normally empty after dark in November. That all changes when there’s fresh snow in the vast open space. We made it up the slippery, snowy road that leads to the car park and discovered another car was already there. We saw its headlights go from side to side: its driver had the same thing in mind — handbrake turns! It’s been years since I’ve been in a car skidding sideways in the snow, and I was a little apprehensive, but it was great fun. We took it in turns with the other car to slide from one end of the car park to the other, fishtailing all the way, and ending with a 180-degree slide to go back again for more.

After three circuits, four more cars arrived. Now, the car park is big, but it’s not really big enough for six cars. No worries, the delivery van (!) driver took his van to the lower, smaller car park and went crazy there, leaving five of us all trying to hog the car park’s remaining untouched snow. After many more slides, we left the others to it: it was just too crowded, and I think we both felt a bit too old in such a young crowd. It was definitely one of those great relive-a-teenage-pastime moments, but better than that, I felt really local, with the others waving to us and smiles all around. It’s rare that the carpark is completely free of cars in winter, and even rarer for so much snow to fall to cause a spray of snow over the entire car when sliding sideways. This must earmark the start of winter.

Tomorrow, I will be snowboarding down one of the closed runs and catching freshies all day. Another sure sign that it’s winter! Bring on the snow.

No, that’s not a typo, there’s a new ski ‘posse’ called Coreupt (or coreUPT — they can’t seem to decide), and Candide Thovex is in with them. The news isn’t actually that recent, but I’ve only just discovered the (very short!) video (see below), which is kind of an odd one, and since Coreupt seem to be based in Tignes, perhaps the Candide Invitational 2009 will be held there instead! Coreupt seem to be collecting a pretty good team of riders. Anyway, I heard a rumour that Coreupt equipment will be available for testing on the last weekend of November. Don’t blame me if I’m wrong — I’ll be going to Tignes that weekend anyway for another snow fix before La Clusaz’s lifts open in December.

Many years ago, I recall a supermarket visit that involved a woman telling my mum and I about her son in a mental institution who was being allowed to visit for Christmas. We didn’t know her: we were just checking out frozen turkeys for the festive meal when she walked up and said she would need a bigger turkey this year because her son was visiting. Instead of ignoring her, my mum said “Really?” and smiled, and that prompted the woman to talk at us for a good ten minutes (hey, it might not sound like long, but when you’re in a frozen turkey aisle, it really is) about her son, the dogs in the sky (!?) and various other topics that actually made no sense. My mum just attracts people like that. It’s what she’s good at.

It looks like it might be genetic. Just last week when trying on a pair of boots, a little old lady informed me that she is old and sick and “look at my feet.” I looked at her feet and they were indeed as old and sick as she had explained. I didn’t understand much of her French, but I was left pretty speechless after burning my eyes with the image of her twisted, dry, bruised and lumpy feet with yellow toe nails. I escaped, feeling just a bit ill.

I’d hoped it was a one-off, but it was not. Today started with a man who saw I was buying three plates. Yes, today, I bought three plates. I will use them to sit my gingerbread houses on, as my friends never give my my own plates back. I’ve learnt to buy the cheapest I can find, and I was in the cheapest shop with all the world’s crazy people. The man in front of me at the checkout turned to his, erm, I can only assume it was his minder, and said in French, “Looks, she’s buying three plates. Three plates. That’s what she is buying. Three.” She pulled him away while I did exactly what my mum does - I smiled as if it was normal. These people are not normal. Later today, a woman came running up to me. Now, I had baggy jeans on and a blue hoody, complete with dreadlocks loose almost to my behind, yet she seemed to think I had a red supermarket apron on and was an ideal worker to ask directions from. “Where are the detergents?” she demanded, impatiently. Eager to help (will I never learn?), I said I wasn’t sure but I thought they were over- Too late! She heard I wasn’t a native French speaker and dismissed me as a BAD store worker who was probably taking a local French person’s job. “Oh,” she said as she walked off in a huff. I felt like yelling out in English: “No worries, any time, glad to help such friendly people as yourself. And have a great day, sunshine.” Instead, I carried on and was grateful I was not in the frozen turkey aisle.

For someone who once lived in Annecy, it’s a disgrace that I never made it to some of the tourist attractions there, such as the old jail. So, I recently rounded up a few others and we spent the day as tourists, checking out Annecy’s offerings. We started at the jail, officially known as Palais de l’Isle. It’s funny to think that a jail is actually a palace, but indeed it is! I suspect it’s also the most photographed structure in Annecy. As the name suggests, it is an island - perfect for a jail, but it was actually built in 1132 for the Lord of Annecy to live in. It’s also been a mint, amongst other things. Two rooms show where the coins were made, and some areas of the jail are open, including the toilet holes, which lead directly into the canal.

Now, if you’re thinking this wouldn’t be a bad place to be incarcerated, think how frustrating it must have been to be just feet away from either bank of the canal, hearing the bustle of the city around you, and being stuck in an overcrowded, smelly, cold jail, right in the centre of town. We looked at the scrawlings left behind by anonymous inmates, then moved onto the chateau.

Now, the chateau in Annecy is one attraction I had already seen. A few years ago, as a French language student in Annecy, a group of us had checked it out. We noticed some dead fish in the fish tanks, but apart from that, it had an interesting assortment of artwork and artifacts. Actually, our French was so bad that we told the teacher that “nous sommes allés á le chapeau et les piscines sont mort” (”we went to the hat and the pools were dead”, when we meant “we went to the castle (’chateau’) and the fish (’poissons’) were dead”. Time has passed since then and no fish were dead on this particular visit. Favourite bits were the Emile Cohl exhibition, the sock monster and the 3D miniature of the lake and mountains of Annecy.

Here is a menu from a restaurant in La Clusaz (you can click on it for a much larger version). It’s possibly the only restaurant in town that offers a separate English menu, so I probably shouldn’t pick on it, but when the translation goes this wrong, I honestly can’t help myself. If you can shed any light on some of these dishes, I’d be grateful.

I started off looking at the “Salad and Starters” section. “Salad of goat” takes the number one spot on the menu. I’m picturing a goat’s head with those funny square eyes sitting on a bed of lettuce, or maybe some goat’s legs sticking up between some tomatoes. Further down, a “Salad tomatos mozarella with the pest and Parmesan” is available. Can someone please get the pest out of my salad tomatos?

The “Spéciality of wood burning stove” options are a little better. “Crozet” is actually a Savoyard pasta, which might help you interpret this: “Roasted of crozet (svoyard pastes) with boletus and green salad”. Err, what is it?

Meanwhile, the “Sea food” options sound far more interesting. You can order a stove! Yes, the “Stove of st jaques in vegetable julienne”. Now, I’m not sure if st jaques is related to St Jacques, and whether he really wants you covering his stove in sliced vegies and attempting to eat it. I imagine the waiters would have a hard time bringing it out to the table too. No problem — you can order “Coco - curry of St Jacques to zucchinis”. Again, what?

Obviously, a restaurant modern enough to have a separate English(?) menu offers more than the regional specialties. Wok dishes are available too. What delights await us? Who can resist “Noodles jumped to the gambas and crunching vegetables”? Are the noodles crunching the vegetables after jumping to the gambas? I have an image of noodles in karate outfits bouncing all over the place, with thinly sliced vegetables breaking under their weight.

Meahwhile, the “Specailities” section offers something extra special: although orders are for a minimum of two people, the menu also announces: “price by anybody”! Great! I’ll just order my favourite dish, even though I’m not sharing it with anyone, and charge myself a Euro twice. Bargain for two! I might avoid the dodgy-sounding “jumped spotted potatoes” and the “Molten with the farm reblechon”: a stove is hard enough, but an entire farm named after a misspelt cheese is too much for anyone.

I’m a little concerned for the butchers of La Clusaz, as the “Meats” section offers “Rib steack of the butcher”. Ouch! And “Paving of beef”. What’s that all about?

LIke any great meal, the highlight is the dessert. This menu lives up to my expectations. I could have “Greedy coffee”, which comes with a description: “coffee and his preciousness”. Not convinced his preciousness was for me, I found another option: “Ministrone of vanilla fresh fruits, jelly of barley water”. Now, if I could just figure out what vanilla fresh fruits are. Someone “spilt” the almonds on the “Strawberry melba” (double points if you can guess what’s wrong with this dessert name). Alternatively, you can buy “2 balls” in a variety of flavours. I think I might give the balls a miss.

With even more snow falling in La Clusaz, my mountain-biking buddy from a few weeks ago and I took the opportunity to visit a friend in Tignes and hit the piste for a pre-season slide.
Although the wind prevented the telepherique on the glacier from opening, all the t-bars were open, and as the only snowboarder out with four skiers, I’m currently sporting a bruised behind from the t-bar…erm…bar. In case you don’t know, skiers rest the bar at the very top of their legs where their legs meet their cheeks. Snowboarders, however, have to go up sideways and take all their weight on their inner thigh and the cheek nearby. It also works your muscles a bit more when riding a t-bar on a snowboard and after the fourth journey up, I was wishing I had skied instead. My forward leg was like jelly.

The snow was fresh and powdery, but visibility higher up was not so good. So we stayed lower down and I played on a friend’s 2006 Nidecker Diablo (pictured) which was lots of fun. It’s much softer than my Burton Custom, but it felt just as hardy when going at speed. This board didn’t flap, yet the extra softness provided great suspension over the few small bumps that I could find on the well-flattened piste. I managed to find some powder that had blown into a gully the whole way down one side of the t-bar and that’s where I noticed that the board had that sinking feeling. Just one centimetre shorter than my Custom, I expected it to float just as well. It did float, but it felt like the back end was sinking - a feeling I haven’t experienced on a board before.

We ended the day in Tignes with a hot chocolate and drove back to La Clusaz, satisfied that the first day of the 2008/09 season was a good one. Meanwhile, more snow is due to fall this week. Winter is coming!