Le Franco Phoney

Just a few posts ago, I was talking about people who like gadgets such as pole clips. Imagine my surprise when I a man entered the same télécabine/bubble/gondola/egg (choose your preferred word for the enclosed ski lift) as me with a very special clip on his poles.

Notice that he’s a cross-country skier (look, we all have our prejudices and mine is cross-country skiing). More on this later. Ski poles are light and narrow, making them easy to hold in one hand. I would argue that adding a clip to them merely makes them harder to hold due to the wider distance between the poles. However, this isn’t just any pole clip, is it? No: this one has the face of some champion and a motivational caption (which I’m afraid I’ve forgotten, and my phone’s old 1 megapixel camera couldn’t capture).

But let’s get back to the cross-country skier bit. I was able to extend my arm out as far as it would reach towards these poles to take this photo because the cross-country skier owner was too busy getting undressed to notice. Two layers came off his chest, leaving one long-sleeved loose layer that looked good for sweat removal (urgh). He then unzipped his tracksuit bottoms from his ankles right to his waist — like a stripper — and rolled them up into a bag with his other removed layers. The skin-tight under-layer made me want to say: “No, please put those tracksuit pants back on,” but I resisted. The only other occupant of our télécabine was a middle-aged ski instructor, who looked over at me giggling silently while this guy got his bumbag (with water bottle holder) out and velcroed it around his waist. I’m surprised this gadget man didn’t still have one of the La Clusaz piste maps clipped to one of his poles — but perhaps it’s attached to his downhill ski poles at home.

Pictured is a very good friend of mine who loves paragliding. A few years ago, he couldn’t ski, but he was motivated to learn so that he could see the winter scenery of La Clusaz in all its glory — and to one day try speed riding (they’re the really crazy ones who have smaller wings and touch the snow with their skis every so often).  With skis attached to his feet, he took off from La Balme at a spot where speed riders  normally take off, then hovered above me while I skied down to meet him at the bottom. As you can see from the photo, the sea of clouds in the distance made the mountains into little submarines, with only the village of La Clusaz clear from our spot on the hill. He must have had a great view of the resort.

My friend is still not a great skier, and his paragliding landings are always fun to watch. Will he fall? On this occasion, he ended up like a turtle, unable to get up because of the skis attached, and unable to detach his skis because he had no weight behind his arm to push down on to the bindings to release them. It’s the most interesting landing I’ve seen him do so far. He told me after he landed that he had almost fallen during the take-off. I think I snapped the moment he was talking about, as he mentioned something about zigzagging unexpectedly and how his downhill ski was going in a different direction to his uphill ski. I think, maybe, there’s some more practice needed before he attempts speed riding. Either way, he’s much braver than I am. I’ll stick to the snow and the almost-as-magnificent views of the valleys below.

Every winter, La Clusaz advertises moonlit skiing if there’s a full moon. When the conditions are right, it’s good fun. Take this photo from a few years ago as an example. It was warm enough to take lots of photos, including this one of my friend, Lilly, while some loon danced next to her. We were at one of the four pubs that run down the ski piste (le Cret du Merle) that was open that year, drinking mulled wine, playing with the flashing lights handed out for free and listening to music by the warm fire while overlooking the village of La Clusaz with all its lights below. It was glorious.

This required a number of factors including:

1. A clear sky so the moon creates enough light for skiing
2. A well-groomed piste so there are no surprise jumps in the dark
3. Temperate weather

Okay, the temperate weather is not a requirement, but the other two really are. Last year, at least one moonlit ski was cancelled due to no clear sky, but this year, the moon was out and everyone rejoiced. However, the weather was freezing cold (way below zero), and as soon as I stepped outside, I felt the heat my lips and cheeks disappear. With such cold weather, the pistes could only be icy, and with so little snow since December, quite patchy and rocky too.

The pub, with a live band playing to celebrate the moonlit skiing event, seemed like a much more attractive option. With the piste ending next to the pub, I watched a snowboarder attempt to get down the last twenty metres. Sections of the piste were shining like an ice rink, and the whole lot was as hard as a rock. This guy couldn’t stand up for more than one second before his board would slide from under him again. I watched him fall three times consecutively, with his snowboard making that ‘shhhhhhhhrrrrrrkkkk’ sound (the ‘kkkk’ being his rump hitting the ice). As I walked to the pub, I heard that sound another two times. He was still less than half way down.

It’s such a shame that the weather was so cold and the pistes lacking snow for such a great event. The real enjoyment comes not so much the skiing at night (one run and the novelty has worn off), but from stopping in at each pub, listening to DJs or live bands and sipping something hot while chatting with strangers and friends alike. I’m already looking forward to the next one and keeping my fingers crossed for better conditions.

January is traditionally a quiet month on the slopes in the French Alps: school holidays are over and everyone is recovering financially from Christmas, leaving the mountain to the locals and the seasonnaires to play on as a result of all their hard work in December, when staff often get no days off for weeks or work very long days. To compare the two months quickly, the tailback of cars in La Clusaz at the end of the day can last for around two hours as the stream of traffic from La Balme meets the stream from l’Etale, and then they both hit town and meet more traffic, and the snake continues down through St Jean de Sixt. In January, it’s third gear all the way through with few cars on the road.

However, last weekend, La Clusaz went from quiet to car carnage due to three different events being held — each appealing to different audiences. Over at l’Etale, the Radikal Mountain event was being held, where freeride skiers bomb down cliff-faces, jumping metres of rock in the process, to a panel of judges below. Also at l’Etale, on the racing piste just next to the freeride event, were kids from all over the region competing in a slalom event. That meant parents and lots of cars in the already overflowing car park full of Radikal Mountain media vans. Meanwhile, no wonder the display for the La Balme car park said “FULL”: the lower car park had turned into a tent city with snowboard companies showing off their 2012 stock for industry workers to test as part of the Snow Avant Premiere event.

So, on the weekend, we had cool dude skiers, their fans and media people, plus a huge influx of kids and parents and all the staff required for a slalom event, as well as every snowboarder who works in a ski shop in a 200km or more radius! Also add in the usual weekend crowd from Annecy, bolstered by the sunny, spring-like weather. The result? A snake of cars from all directions trying to get out of La Clusaz at the end of the day.

If I saw any of the benefits of any of these events, I wouldn’t mind so much, but the Radikal Mountain day-time event is so distant it’s like watching an ant, the racing kids filled the snack bar I was in and made a racket, and the snowboard event is only open to shop workers. Radikal Mountain did also have a freestyle jib session in town on Saturday night, but it’s stupidly early at 7pm, so by the time we got there after dinner, the whole thing was over, and of course, the pub nearby, which was rammed, including a heated outdoor area, was only for invited people. The bouncer pointed us to the ‘bar’ (a black stand with a keg of beer and a man looking bored) for the public: apparently, we’re meant to enjoy drinking alone in the cold with no outdoor heaters and in full view of the cool dudes who are nice and warm. The four of us shrugged and walked away. La Clusaz, can you make things a bit more public — or at least spread out — next year?

Got a sore throat? Dry cough? You need Drill. That’s right: there’s a brand of throat lozenges in France called Drill. The word has no meaning at all in French, so I’m not rubbishing the French here, but I do find the brand name amusing given its meaning in English. Can you imagine a brand of soothing throat lozenges called ‘Drill’ in English? Apart from nasty images of giant drills in throats filling my mind, various horror movies involving drills and carnage are in there too. This is one brand that might struggle to do well in any English-speaking country.

Pictured is a plastic contraption, dating back to 1983, that a friend found when cleaning out her chalet. I loved it, and she kindly gave it to me. It’s the most curious map I’ve ever seen. Yes, it’s a map. The little yellow handle pulls out to display a map (shown below).

This funky little device lists each of the pistes on the back of the map, and curls up like a tape measure as soon as you let go of the yellow handle.

But what’s with the design? I’ll give you a hint. The plastic is made especially for taking onto the hill when you’re out skiing, and the yellow plastic handle is easy to grab with gloves on. The plastic helps with keeping the map dry. The hollow area is used to attach the map.

Have you figured it out yet? It’s meant to clamp onto your ski pole. This was no doubt a big hit with gadget-lovers who still use those little plastic pole connectors to keep their poles together when not in use (how utterly pointless!), I’ve tested it on my own ski pole and it works! Snap it on at the bottom and drag it up to the top, where it sits, waiting for someone to pull the yellow handle.

Meanwhile, a closer look at the map reveals a few interesting things about La Clusaz. Below is a zoomed in section of the map. If you know La Clusaz, you’ll notice that the Fernuy telecabine is missing altogether. Getting back to town from La Balme would have involved taking one of the green pistes pictured in at the bottom left of the map above. The runs at l’Etale have changed a lot, with only two of the drag lifts still existing there. The old telepherique (number 30) has been replaced with a telemix (chairlifts with a few telecabines thrown in for novelty), and the chairlift to the top (31) replaced with a faster model. And Croix Fry, the little peak at the right of the image below, has no lifts at all! This is the entire Manigod ski area of Croix Fry and Manigod, which is now extensive enough to support its own ski school branch.

The locals will no doubt shrug if they read this: they’ve seen the changes and probably had the blue plastic contraptions as piste maps on their poles at some point, but as a non-local, I find it fascinating to take a glimpse into the past from a gadget dating back to 1983. Do you? Or is it just me?

So, what’s one of the first words you learn in French? For me, ‘merci‘, was one of the few I already knew before the battle with this lovely language began. For years, I’ve been using this word to thank people for everything from giving me a free chocolate to getting a receipt for some work at rip-off prices, unknown to me at the time. That mechanic in Thônes who charged me €100 for literally wiggling an ignition fuse must have laughed heartily after my gracious thankyou. If only my skills of communication had been greater at the time to go back when I realised he’d done nothing. Instead, my lovely mechanic fixed the problem properly – for merely the cost of the replacement part (which was much less than €100). You learn as you go.

Anyway, let’s get back to ‘merci‘. Beware, beware! ‘Merci‘ can also mean ‘not thanks’.

As if  using ‘terrible‘ isn’t hard to understand, along comes one of the most basic words used in any language to represent gratitude about something, and it can also mean: ‘Nope, I don’t want what you’re offering’ in French. So, how can you tell the difference? Sometimes, when someone says ‘merci‘ to indicate ‘no thanks’, they’ll raise the palm of their hand — a handy sign for us non-native speakers. Unfortunately, the hand gesture is not mandatory, and then it all depends on the intonation. I often sit confused in a restaurant trying to figure out if a friend meant yes or no to having their glass refilled when I offer. It’s an ongoing struggle for my ears to hear the difference in this intonation, but the ‘no thanks’ version of ‘merci‘ seems to start low and go lower, whereas the ‘yes thanks’ version seems to start low and go higher. Would you like me to go through it again? What’s that you say? ‘Merci‘? Err…..