Le Franco Phoney

The cow bells are out in La Clusaz this weekend, with the FIS cross-country (ski du fond) world cup taking place in Les Confins.

Pictured are the front-runners of the men’s 15km race on their third lap of the course. The fourth and final lap ended in a photo finish, with Alexey Poltoranin from Kazakhstan beating Russia’s Alexander Bessmertnykh by just a few centimetres.

But the real highlights came before the finish line. First up were the wandering mascots, dancing to the music of the wandering minstrels, and being chased by the dog with the little doggy coat and doggy snow shoes (yes, they exist; yes, the protect the dog’s paws from the snow; no, the dog has no traction; yes, the dog slides all over the place).

The mascots posed for photos and made their way back to the Le Grand Bornand marquee — probably to refill on some vin chaud.

And here is where the mascots ended up. This was one of many groups from Le Grand Bornand who had dotted themselves around the cross-country race course.

Notice the huge casks of red wine in the bottom left corner. I think they were all emptied into that massive steel boiler with other bits and pieces to form a quick vin chaud. Judging by the loudness and activities coming from the marquee, the boiler was empty by the time the race began. The guy in grey had a megaphone and those thick, leather belts around some of the others’ waists have cow bells attached at the front. You can see one on the far left.

That guy was not just ringing the bell when the competitors passed. No. That guy was doing giant, drunken, pelvic thrusts to make the bell ring any time a girl went past. Others joined in. The people near the marquee looked on bemused or embarrassed.

But let’s get back to the action. Poor Callum Watson! He was trailing the pack towards the end of the first lap.

Callum was the only Australian competing in the race, and everybody seemed confused by the green outfit in a field of reds, blues, whites and blacks. Who was this person? One person near me said “He must be the Australian” after hearing me yell “Go Aussie” as he went by. Others shrugged. A few people clapped.

For me, it was an odd experience. Us Aussies are normally successful at sports, but snow sports aren’t quite as accessible in Australia, making our champions few and far between. Callum was trailing behind the pack and was clearly in last place. If this event had been in Australia, those around me would have been clapping and cheering on every single competitor, regardless of where they’re from or their place in the race. In fact, the further behind, the louder the cheer!

Callum was cheered on when he rounded the popular corners, but most of the spectators elsewhere just watched. A couple of people around me gave him an encouraging clap, and I shouted encouragement each time he went past, but the air was uncomfortably silent. I wonder if the lack of enthusiasm that us Aussies are used to receiving hampered his race. He only completed two of the four laps.

Meanwhile, Ivan Perrillat Boiteux had an entire field of snow devoted to him. As you may have guessed by the name, Ivan is pretty much a local. His home town is Annecy, and he’s a member of the Le Grand Bornand cross-country ski team. Today, people had photos of him printed on their t-shirts, and his name written on their skin and their cow bells. Everyone was banking on Ivan. Ivan came 55th out of the 69 men who finished the race. Bigger love hearts required next time. I might make a few for Callum too.

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Cross-country skiing. What a dumb thing to do when there are chairlifts that take you to the top of a hill so you can enjoy the slide down. And that’s why it’s taken me until this year to try it — a week before the lift system opened in La Clusaz. Had the lifts been open, I would have been on them, and a friend and I were so desperate to go skiing, we thought we’d try this ski de fond thing out. To give the sport a fair review, let’s pretend that downhill skiing doesn’t exist.

Pictured is the reason why downhill skiers get laughed at when trying to cross-country ski. First of all, riding ‘switch’ (backwards) isn’t really possible thanks to the scales on the bottoms of the skis: my friend pictured is actually standing still, with his best switch pose (along with another pose later for ‘off-piste’ which really doesn’t work with skis as thin as slices of bread). Without trying, we both managed to slip backwards on the up slopes so we’ve blown that ‘impossible’ theory out of the water. Also pictured are typical items of downhill skiwear: waterproof, baggy skipants and thick snowboarding mittens. Cross-country skiers sport lycra leggings, thin gloves and bum bags. We did well to leave our jackets at home at least, and to wear sunglasses instead of goggles. Alas, our loud skipants ensured that we didn’t fit in and I could almost hear the aged French men who lapped us cackling to themselves about our appearance and lack of ability.

We chose the easy piste at the top of Les Confins (La Clusaz) to start with, which involved uphill and downhill segments, and although the uphill parts challenged my respiration, the downhill slopes were the hardest. On normal skis, I would have thought them almost flat. On these french fries, the slopes were like massive cliffs. I survived them thanks to a technique as wrong as my outfit: I used my poles to slow me down by poking them in the snow in front of me. My arms ached for three days after all that jolting, but the views and the decent exercise made up for it. Meanwhile, the old French guys lapped us for a second time.

After our first lap (and as the old French guys went past us for a third time), we agreed to stop, in case it got dark before we did another lap. We had all afternoon, but we pretended it was later than it was. We had the photos to prove we’d tried it so we left. The single lap was enjoyable from an exercise perspective, and I’d consider trying it again.

Now, let’s return to the world where downhill skiing does exist. Give me downhill or telemark skis over these weird uncooked spaghetti skis any day! They have no edges and the bindings are fiddly. Even the pros look like they might wobble and fall over at any point. I’ll leave it to them to look unstable while I take my fat skis off-piste at the top of the chairlift.

Pictured is the memorial set up for the local resistance fighters during World War 2 who lost their battle and their lives. A quick overview: the Plateau des Glières in the Aravis mountain range of France was the perfect location for the allies to drop a supply of ammunition and weapons for the resistance. However, the planes dropping supplies needed a full moon and good weather, so timing was limited. In February 1944, the first drop was planned, but the weather prevented most of the supplies from being dropped, and the locals had to wait for the next full moon a month later. By that time, the Nazis and French Vichy government supporters were moving in. The March drop was made, but the deep snow made it difficult for the French resistance fighters to get to their new supplies before they were killed.

Information boards are dotted around the Plateau des Glières to explain some of the horrors and joys in more detail. The original French chalet that was used as a hospital was burnt down by the Nazis, who also shot the sick and injured as they tried to escape. A single white cross in the middle of the cross-country ski circuit marks the spot where one of the injured French resistance fighters was shot as he escaped from the hospital.

Apart from the information boards, the Plateau des Glières shows few signs of such horrors. Nature trails take visitors through fields of cows, entrusting them to close the gates after them, and the views from the hills of the plateau are beautiful. A number of refuges are open for lunch and overnight stays, and with today’s calmness juxtaposing the calamity of 1944, I felt like staying for more than the day.

The memorial pictured was built in the 70s after a competition was held for the best design. This one shows the shoulders and head of a person, with one arm raised and the other cut off, hampered by opponents. Outside are two black statues of people curled up — a stark contrast to the white, straight edges in the background.

Getting to the plateau is possible from Annecy or a back road near Entrémont, just down the road from St Jean de Sixt. My recommendation would be to take the road from Annecy. The back road is narrow, steep and scary enough in summer without the snow to make it slippery.

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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.

Last weekend, La Clusaz hosted the world cup of cross country skiing, or, in French, le coupe du monde de ski de fond (which rhymes quite nicely).

The high wind on Sunday closed any higher parts of the resort that had snow worth skiing on (although the wind blew that away too), a friend and I decided to check out the world cup. Please understand that I have no interest in cross-country skiing: I have tried it (once, in a competition for my university, and even the people who knew what they were doing fell on the downhill sections and looked unsteady at the best of times), and I think downhill skiing or telemarking is far more enjoyable – both for participation and watching.

But with nothing else to do, we walked to the hill in the distance of the photo and tried to figure out which countries had which outfits; we established, much to the horror of my French friend, that France had the terrible black and yellow lycra, perhaps inspired by the nasty Burton one-piece from a few years ago.

The highlight of the day was this guy carrying the flags of France, Norway and Sweden. I know, that’s not much of a highlight. I just can’t hype this sport. Anyway, the reason it was a highlight is because he seems to be hedging his bets pretty well there. I mean, those two Scandinavian countries are always going to do well in this sport, and it makes sense to carry a French flag in the somewhat Xenephobic environment of the Aravis region of France.

Meanwhile, I carried around my tiny plastic ‘Annecy 2018′ flag, but chucked it out when waving it caused the plastic support stick to bend.

Now that the sun has finally arrived after months of rain and even some snow on the peaks of La Clusaz last week, Annecy is getting excited about the Winter Olympics. Annecy is one of the three final candidates for the 2018 Winter Olympics, so to celebrate officially, Annecy laid out some winter sports for people to try — sans snow.

Pictured is the massive ramp for skiers to slide down and try flips, twists and backward landings. No worries if you can’t ski: there were some giant inflatable rings for zooming down the ramp on instead. Kids and adults were all keen to try the ramp, with ski boots and skis available for use. There was one guy who, according to his mates, was going to try a double back-flip, except he leant back too far at the moment of take-off and bumped the back of his helmet-clad head onto the ramp before falling in a heap on the inflatable cushion. I think the impact knocked his helmet off completely, as it was nowhere to be seen. Paramedics put him in a neck brace and carted him off. Regardless, the queue of people to try the ramp grew while they waited for the paramedics to clear the area. I think it would have put me off, but I’m not very Savoyarde I guess.

Other highlights of the day included various French celebrities dotted around being interviewed by news reporters, a hot air balloon with the Annecy 2018 logo on it wafting past, a stage with lots of entertainment, a whole swag of local food to try, and of course, some other winter sports.

Apart from the ski ramp, there was a cross-country ski track — made of plastic so that the hot summer day didn’t melt any snow. I can think of nothing more boring than forcing my feet into ski boots on a warm day, then attaching skis, then putting those skis into blue plastic tracks like reverse railway tracks, and moving my feet along. However, the kids seemed to love it, so again, it’s probably because I’m not very Savoyarde.

The luge looked like fun. Yes, there was a luge! It too functioned without actual real snow. It used wheels on rails set in concrete to keep the luge on the short flat track. The kids loved it too. To top it all off, BMX courses were set up for different levels of ability, which, of course, the kids also loved. I have no idea what BMX biking has to do with the Olympics but nobody there was complaining.

The Winter Olympic Games (les Jeux Olympiques in French) are in full swing, and I’ve been following the sports on French television. The French athletes have been a bit unlucky so far, and at first the commentators blamed it on badly-made courses. I think they’ve given up on that angle now but they certainly haven’t stopped saying: “Ooh la la”, nor the variation: “Ooh la la la la”, nor the variation of the variation: “Ooh la la la la la la”. Seriously, the commentators are la la laing so many times that I’m losing count. As the Men’s Cross-country Relay went on (and on and on)  last night, the commentators became more and more worried, using more “Ooh la la”s, when the Norwegian approached from fourth place, and eventually made it to second place, ousting the French team to fourth place. Vincent Vittoz from La Clusaz was in that team, and it was pretty much his last chance of winning an Olympic medal after many years of trying, so the commentators were hoping for him as much as I was that he would get at least a bronze. There’s still a chance he might get one because the French team have complained about Sweden (or is it Norway?) bringing two pairs of skis instead of one. If their complaint is successful, Vincent and the French team will move up to win bronze. And the commentators are sure to la la la themselves into oblivion if that happens.

Between the Ooh la las, it’s often difficult to hear much else because the commentators like talking over each other. During the replay of some figure skating last night, I wondered if they’d forgotten to turn off a few microphones as there were no less than four people talking at the same time. Really, I’m not joking: four people at once. The French do seem to have a knack of being able to talk and listen at the same time in everyday life, so such commentary probably shouldn’t surprise me as much as their moment of absolute silence when Ladies’ Downhill hopeful Marion Rolland hurt her knee and fell just seconds after she started her run. The French commentators had been excited about her run and they switched directly to her when she was getting ready to leave the gates. Bing! Off she goes! As she veered directly to her right and off the course, only one commentator let out a single, sad “Non”. Ten seconds must have passed before any of them could muster up the ability to speak. The catastrophe of another French athlete going down was just too much.

As I write this, the French are ranked equal sixth in the medal tally. Compare this with my native Australia — a country renowned for producing sporting champions, which has a whole three medals, putting them in sixteenth place. We’re better at summer sports really. Us Aussies are rapt with our best ever winter Olympics medal tally despite it being nowhere near the top-ranking countries. So, France, don’t fret: you’re doing alright. And may Vinny get that bronze.

The cross-country World Cup was held in the Les Confins area of La Clusaz last weekend, so I went up to check it out on Saturday afternoon. Of course, as soon as I arrived, the competition ended for the day, but I was surprised at just how many people were there to watch a sport which I find, well, completely boring. Don’t get me wrong: I participated in a mini World Cup for cross-country skiing once (okay, it was inter-varsity ski week, where I was given a pair of cross-country skis from the 70s and told to learn during the competition: my university needed some extra points; I learnt quickly but was happy to get those quasi-skis off my feet).

Clearly, some people do enjoy both participating and watching, and La Clusaz had gone all out, putting up this lovely hot air balloon, and even a big screen so the people at the back of the crowd could see the action. I got there just in time to see that a Norwegian won the women’s competition. The French bell ringers decided to stand next to me, and as you can see from the photo of them, the snow was still hurtling down from the sky after days of snowfall. The weather was sunny on Sunday, but I was too busy going down a hill in La Clusaz on a snowboard to bother checking out the people going around in circles on funny skis at Les Confins.

A friend of mine was talking about the World Cup, which he had also had a quick look at. It inspired him to try it out on Monday, when the crowds had left Les Confins — along with the big screen and the La Clusaz balloon. He had access to all the equipment he needed, so he headed over to a flat area and strapped in. Top marks for trying, but his verdict? “It’s boring,” he said with a shrug. That’s good enough for me. I’ll stick to going down hills and will no doubt marvel at mini-extravaganza of next year’s World Cup when it comes back to this part of France.