Le Franco Phoney

Pictured below is the map of where some crazy unranked skiers and snowboarders will be doing cool tricks and daring descents right here in La Clusaz tomorrow in the lead-up to the Radikal Mountain competition. Those who qualify will get to do it all again at the weekend further over on the l’Etale peak with some of the world’s upcoming freeride champions. After the Candide Invitational stopped a few years ago (although Candide Thovex still lives here and is still awe-inspiring to watch as he flings himself with ease over kickers at La Balme on random days), La Clusaz has struggled to come up with a worthy replacement. Evening jib sessions proved the most popular and accessible for locals and tourists alike, but last year’s Radikal Mountain was a major let-down — mostly due to the lack of snow. Although it was probably more challenging for the riders and perhaps more likely to show who can really ski in any conditions, its position on a peak near l’Etale made viewing a bit difficult. As the map below shows, this year’s qualifying competition will take place up at La Balme, in the Torchere valley, allowing a better view of the action. It’s a pity the final competition isn’t taking place there too.

With more than two metres of snow at the altitude of the competition (and even more up higher!), the whole area has turned into a winter sports haven for all of us. No new snow is predicted for the weekend which is unfortunate, but with so much snow already there, the competition is already likely to be ten times more interesting than last year. You’ll find me camped out nearby with a sandwich and some awe.

Let me introduce you to Dave. Dave was born Wouter Otto Levenbach in the Netherlands, but has remained relatively unknown in his home country despite having a few chart hits in France. One of his first big hits in the 70s was Vavina, which you may recognise this clip to the left.

For those of you who don’t recall the song, including my French friend who until last week thought it was a Dave original, it’s actually a Frenchified (yes, I made that word up) version of “Runaway” by Del Shannon, recorded in the 60s (also to the left).

Okay, the 70s seemed to be the peak decade for musicians to switch song languages, with The Four Seasons’ “December 1963 (Oh What a Night)” being covered by Claude François as “Cette Année-Là” (“That Year Then”), while his song “Comme d’Habitude” is more famously known as the the translated-into-English “My Way”, sung, but not written, by Frank Sinatra, and good old Johnny Hallyday covered all sorts of songs including “Long Tall Sally” as “Oh! Sally” with French lyrics. The list goes on. Again, I promise to write about Claude François one day: his story is a good one.

So back to Dave. Good on him for taking a hit song from the US and turning his translation into a hit in France. But you may ask why on earth I’m bringing this up now. This is why:

Dave has done a cover of his cover. He’s really taking recycling to new levels. Apparently, it’s a surefire hit, with French TV and radio stations picking it up, and Dave starring as a panelist on France’s talent show “La France a un Incroyable Talent” (“France has an Incredible Talent”). So as we say in Australia, “good onya, Dave”: you’ve done well. And you haven’t aged badly either.

Last week, I returned to England for a few days of work mingled with a few days in London and Cambridge to catch up with friends. Opposite the Turnham Green tube station is this Chinese restaurant — with its name slightly altered for the worse. Obviously someone’s idea of a joke, I wonder how long the sign has been like this and how much longer it will remain.

London done, I headed to Cambridge, where I was greeted by pirates, adults in nappies (giant babies) and a whole variety of other costumes as part of the Chinese boat races held for charity last weekend.

Pictured are the pirates and some men dressed as women. It’s always amusing to see men decorate themselves as their idea of a female: a 1960s housewife, complete with a dodgy dress and a scarf over their hair seems to be the norm.

I don’t remember ever seeing a woman dressed like this, but top points to them for making themselves as dowdy as possible, then adding the biggest pairs of boobs that will fit in their dresses, as if to counteract the frumpiness.

The next day, a restaurant just outside of Cambridge provided a laugh for us all when we went to the toilets. The walls and doors were made of frosted opaque glass, although outlines were still possible to see if someone was close enough to the glass. Out in the communal hand-washing area, a toilet seat was raised off the ground as a bin for hand towels. The thought that this (hopefully repainted and thoroughly disinfected) throne probably started life collecting a different type of waste made me shudder as I opened the lid to place my hand towel inside.

Thankfully, my trip returned to happiness with some cupcake goodness. Friends of mine in France go on about how lovely those French chocolate ‘cake’ slices — made up of layers of mousse and pastry and something sweet and crispy — taste, but I’d prefer a cupcake any day, and I’ve yet to see any decent ones here in the Aravis region of France. So, I made the most of it, sampling both the lemonade cupcakes and the chocolate cupcakes offered by FireFly Cakes which provided me with the sugary-soft and moist sponge I’ve been missing. I’m having cake envy just thinking about them now. They all went within the day.

It’s been a few years since I mentioned the Fete du Reblochon, but watching the parade the other day made me realise it’s time to bring it up again. Where else in the world would you be ‘chased’ by a stuffed wild boar on wheels, led by a man dressed as a country bumkpin?

The boar was projectiled towards the crowd that had gathered for the parade and the man directing it seemed pretty happy with his job. Other highlights of the parade were the kids throwing hay and some sort of seeds that stung as they hit bare skin, and the men carrying an enormous amount of hay on their heads (like massive grass affros), the deafening bell ringers and best of all, the free samples of Reblochon cheese. The Fete du Reblochon is a really enjoyable day offering all sorts of rural entertainment. It swaps the Ferris wheel for a donkey race, the target shooting for wood chopping, hot dogs for local diot sausages, the man selling that amazing kitchen chopping device that peels, grates, chops, dices and more for the woman explaining how cheese is made, and the showbags of sweets for bags of cheese. It’s a great day out.

Now, back to the boar. Spain might have the running of the bulls and Rio might have Carnival, but La Clusaz is possibly the only place in the world that has the stuffed boar on wheels. And at least one person (the guy pulling the boar) thinks that’s a win.

When I was a kid, a pony ride involved getting on a pony and having some horse-loving teenager lead the pony around a paddock. I always wanted to gallop off by myself, but I was far too young to know how to. No worries in France. These are your options.

First up, we have the Northern version. These poor little ponies get attached to a piece of metal where they walk around and around on asphalt with overweight kids on their backs. They looked so bored. Worse still, the beach was just down the road, and I imagined their little pony eyes seeing the water and imagining running free on their little legs along the sandy beach.

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At the other end of the scale is La Clusaz. Even if the helmet is oversized, at least it was offered here, and it seems nicely co-ordinated colour-wise. Pictured are my visiting friends who were told to follow the path of the other ponies through a trail amongst trees with stream flowing beside it. The slight risk of getting lost was far more enjoyable for both rider and pony than the version up North.

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Meanwhile, here in St Jean de Sixt, we’ve by-passed ponies altogether and gone instead for donkeys. For one day only, the donkeys were available for hire. Rather than riding the donkeys, the kids had to direct them around a small course (such as the wooden logs pictured, which the donkeys were meant to walk over). This donkey was more interested in the tasty weeds than walking, but the kids seemed pretty amused.

The great thing about living in the French Alps is that the local villages put on all sorts of entertainment for families to lure them away from the beaches or from other mountain resorts. At the moment, four of the villages (St Jean de Sixt, La Clusaz, Le Grand Bornand and Manigod) are holding the Aravis et Compagnies festival (ending tonight), which involves various sports or physical activities for kids and adults to try. So, why the birds?

St Jean de Sixt is holding “air”, which means trampolines and wind-powered mini-boats and lots of jingling and clanking from wind-powered instruments. I checked it out and found the birds just sitting on their respective hay stacks, looking a bit scared by the commotion around them, although the owl looked a bit high.

The security was typically French, with just one blue rope keeping the birds and kids safe from each other. It worked, and it was great to be so close to the birds without anything hampering the view. When the birds were brought out to fly, the public were given very clear instructions on where to stand and what to do. One kid didn’t listen. The eagle flew from the woman back to the man (pictured two left from the red flag in the top photo), and a kid ran towards the man just before the eagle reached him. The man had the microphone and yelled at the kid and pushed him back forcefully while the eagle landed on his arm. Obviously, he pushed him back for the kid’s own safety, but I’m not sure the kids around him understood, with their mouths open in horror as the man yelled over the microphone. Maybe a blue rope would have been useful during the exhibition.

Meanwhile, in La Clusaz, a mini mountain bike course is open to all (they’ve got “Cycle” this year), while Le Grand Bornand has high ropes all over the place (“cords”), and people can turn into hippies up at Manigod with “nature attitude” providing information on herbal remedies from local plants, yoga and more. Pity it’s ending just as the sun is due out.

Musilac music festival was held last weekend in Aix-les-Bains, and the crowd had that lovely festival feeling.

The usual weirdness of a festival, such as this rubber chicken on a stick that was waved around near the front of the stages for most of the day, was present, along with a few other notable things. The view from anywhere was glorious, ranging from the lake and boats to jagged mountains and rolling green slopes. For a change, a music festival had some geographical ambiance — a nice change from the usual converted farming fields. I wasn’t expecting fireworks between the acts, nor the crowd’s reaction, as if it were the first time they’d seen fireworks. The applause after the fireworks was longer than for half the acts on the day! The acts, although limited in number, were generally fantastic, and yet the French influence endured through the night, with a guy called Philippe Katerine taking to the stage after Eels, PJ Harvey and Chemical Brothers.

A photo just wouldn’t justify the weirdness. He appeared in a Tudor-style dress and said in French: “I am the queen of England. F**k you!”

After a few dodgy numbers, he stripped down to miniskirt with bi-colour tights and sung along with his four female backing ‘vocalists’ known as “les Katrinettes” — a parody of an old famous French singer (Claude François, who I’ll talk about another time) who had backing singers called the “Claudinettes”. Bouncing boobs a requirement, they danced around and sang to songs including one entitled “Let me eat my banana”.
During that particular song, everything smelt of bananas. No, it wasn’t an artificial banana smell that filled the air: it was the real bananas being hurled towards the stage that were numerous enough to stink out the whole area. The singer stood on stage after the song, arms wide apart, inviting people to hit him with bananas. So many people had brought bananas with them! The (French part of the) crowd loved it.

If you’d like to see more photos from Musilac, Madamoiselle Caroline has plenty.

La Clusaz has just ended nine days of horse competitions, named “Jump’In” which saw a whole lot of massive trucks and temporary stables take over the under-utilised Salon des Dames car park at the entrance of town. I know absolutely nothing about horses or the competitions, but I was impressed at just how high and daintily these well-groomed, heavy animals can jump. Before each competition starts, the riders are allowed onto the course to check out the jumps. As you can see from one of the photos I snapped, a black labrador also got to check out the jumps and nobody seemed to mind. The mountains behind the course provided a very scenic backdrop.

The last three days of the competition saw riders from all over the world compete, with an English-speaking commentator talking alongside the French one (a rarity in these parts). The weather was sunny and humid and I felt sorry for the riders and horses while I sat in the shade with my ice cream. I also felt sorry for the four riders who went down a narrow path littered with pedestrians — on Segways. Everyone just stared while they waited for the pedestrians to get off the pedestrian path so they could continue. Thankfully, they avoided entering the jumping arena, although that could have been quite amusing I guess…

Who knew that Segways were for mountain-loving thrill seekers? According to this brochure advertising their arrival to La Clusaz, a Segway can help you “attack the mountain”. I think I might have to agree with that: the weight of the Segway is surely going to do some damage to it at the very least, and possibly to the riders as they attempt to go “off-piste” for higher thrills. They will inevitably pop over the handlebars when they accidentally hit a rock in one of those cow fields they decided to shortcut through (if the able-bodied are lazy enough to get on a Segway, why would they go around a field?), safe in the knowledge that any poo would remain on the Segway instead of on themselves. Would it be wrong to imagine a couple of cows then coming up and attacking the toppled idiot and Segway with their horns?

Anyway, as the photo of our three cool dudes (complete with new gnarly finger-thumb coolness symbol) shows, this is for radical people who want to take their nature walks to the extremes they’ve only ever imagined! Here’s an idea: walk. Experience all those walks by actually moving your legs and feeling your muscles at the end of the day. I’m now imagining a Segway on the stupid walk I did last week, but I don’t see how it would get past the first road strewn with rocks, let alone the loose rocks at the top or the deep mud on the way back down. Let’s hope they make it to those cow fields extra fast.

Oh, and in case you’re wondering, a 60-minute “walk” will cost €45, but it does guarantee an “intense pleasure”. I can think of better ways…

April Fool’s Day in France is known as Poisson d’avril (April Fish) thanks to a bizarre tradition of sticking paper fish to people’s backs. Perhaps equivalent to ‘Kick me’ signs in English, the fish should only be attached on 1st April, and retailers encourage such behaviour by baking fish-shaped pastries and making fish-shaped chocolates. So how and why did this start? Nobody seems to know for sure but there are many theories, ranging from the date’s proximity to the Pisces astrological sign (although it falls smack bang in the middle of Aries) to when mackerals are good for eating to a French king’s change to the calendar year start date, which had been 1st April prior to his change, with many of his subjects refusing to let go of the day as a deay of celebration. And what better way to celebrate than to stick a fish on your mate’s back?
So, I gave it a go this morning. My cat, Bruno had no idea when I slapped this paper fish on his back while he slept, curled up, on his favourite soft toy (which happens to be a dog – double ‘hah!’). I giggled away and taunted him with ‘poisson d’avril‘ as I took this photo. Then I realised that the fish looks quite like a dolphin and I think the cat may have had the last laugh.

Anyway, I’m off to the bakery to pick up some fish-shaped pastries before they’re gone for another year.