Le Franco Phoney

Here, you see a big chicken on a roundabout. The big chicken has several significations for me personally. Firstly, let me point out that the name brings back fond memories. We nicknamed a guy The Big Chicken years ago when I lived in Les Allues. He was a very overweight man who worked on the ski lift there, and when he saw some friends of mine devouring a whole chicken for breakfast on their way up the ski lift, his eyes were bulging with envy, and so, he became known as The Big Chicken.

But even before I knew of The Big Chicken in Les Allues, I had passed this particular big chicken many times. The metallic sculpture lives on a roundabout above the toll road that takes you towards the Alps. The first time I saw it, I was in a bus, so demanding a detour for a closer look was out of the question. The next time, I was driving as part of a convoy, and I had no way of stopping without losing my friends. Every time since, I’ve been in a hurry to drive back to England or back to the Alps and I’ve never taken the time to stop. That is, of course, until last week, when the road trip was much shorter and therefore more relaxed on timing. Now, I finally have my snap of the big chicken and I cannot describe just how happy this makes me.

You may be wondering why there’s a big chicken on a roundabout. Like many French roundabouts I’ve written about, this one signifies the produce from the region — Bresse. The area breeds good chickens for eating, and with their AOC status, they fetch a higher price than other chickens. The locals are very proud of their chickens, as this roundabout might suggest. The roundabout is visible from a great distance as the metallic sculpture is much higher than most roundabout decorations. Check the size of the car against the giant chicken. I wonder how many parents have had to stop after their kids have cried: “I want to stop at the big chicken.” Or is it just me? Before setting off, the obligatory photo of me standing in front of said big chicken with my best chicken stance (one leg raised, hands on hips, neck unnaturally forward) was taken. Now, if only I could get a photo of the Les Allues Big Chicken doing the same…

I’ve just come back from a quick visit to a friend in Zermatt. What an experience. After an amazing drive through the Alps (including an odd roundabout stuck in the middle of a two-way road, without any other intersecting roads), we arrived in Täsch. No, not Zermatt. Noooooo. No, to get to Zermatt, you must park your car (pay), then take a train (pay for that too) to the resort. Without your car, you might need a taxi (a battery-run car — not free either) to your accommodation, and if you’re skiing in summer, you’ll probably need a taxi (more money) in the morning, rather than walking uphill through town with ski boots on. Once you’re at the lift office, you’ll experience wallet shrinkage as every last Swiss Franc is squeezed out of it to pay for the day pass (CHF90) which is only valid for skiing until early afternoon, and if you can still afford a taxi back to your accommodation, perhaps you can use one of the other lifts to really feel like you’ve got your money’s worth out of the day (but remember to subtract the cost of the taxi home in ski boots).

Okay, apart from Zermatt being far too expensive, the place itself is great. The Matterhorn — or Cervino in Italian or Cervin in French —  dominates the town’s views, and it’s hard to find a postcard that doesn’t include it. The people are friendly and the food is varied. The village is pretty, relaxed and full of watch shops. One watch shop proudly advertises a watch brand with the quote: “Master of complications” and how true that is. Some cost more than €100,000 for the luxury of complication! The summer snow conditions were the best I’ve experienced, with a great cover that was a firm in the morning, but not rock solid, and softer later on, but not slushy. With only t-bars on the glacier, our legs — unaccustomed to skiing in summer — were tired before midday, but we kept at it because the snow was so good, dodging the racing teams and watching the few snowboarders on the piste do great things in the snow park.

Getting to the glacier for skiing involves three separate lifts: one telecabine then two telepheriques. So, after a morning of skiing, we then had to stand in two telepheriques before finally getting to rest our legs in a telecabine. Worse still, the connections between lifts are more than a few metres, making tired legs ache that little bit more between lifts. By the time we reached home, we were too tired to take any scenic lift rides, and it was too late in the day anyway.

We decided to go swimming. Zermatt has no public pool, so we went to a health spa. You might not think that CHF20 (€13) is worth it for a quick swim, but this pool was not just any pool. There’s a heated indoor pool, plus an overheated indoor/outdoor pool, complete with alternating water seductions such as bubbles for your feet, a whirlpool, bubble beds with mountain views, various water jets, some water fountains you can get a back and head massages from and two separate spas. The entrance fee includes a towel, which is handy, as we had left ours at home to save weight when carrying our bags between the car, the train and our accommodation (not far away enough to warrant a taxi, but far too far away to lug skis equipment and clothes). We stayed until closing, two hours later.

A French reader of my blog sent me these photos of a roundabout where he lives, based on my previous posts about ornate French roundabouts. He said: “April, I thought you’d like to see my local roundabout since you write about French roundabouts on your blog. I’m sure you can find something funny to write about it if you decide to put it on your blog.”

Actually, I’m so impressed with this roundabout that I don’t know if I can find anything funny to write about it! What’s not to love about this roundabout? It’s in Morbier, which is why there’s a giant Morbier cheese (appropriately with a section cut out of it to show the layer of ash that runs through the centre), and although I don’t understand why there’s a grandfather clock in the middle of this roundabout, I do appreciate that it’s made mostly of plants. How can this be? How cool is this clock? It looks like it has a coffin lining of satin which is a little freaky, but this roundabout really illustrates just how well the French do roundabouts. Not only does it have a decorative clock and cheese, but it’s also very informative. It tells you what time it is, and it tells you where you are (Haut Jura, as it says on the right). It’s also a friendly roundabout, as it says “Bienvenue” (”Welcome”) on the left. Does a better roundabout exist? I challenge you to find one.

If you’d like to see a bigger version of the roundabout, click on the photo.

Just a few weeks ago, almost a metre of snow sat outside my door here in La Clusaz, and the sunny, south-facing hill behind me was still covered in snow too. As I look outside my door right now, I see green grass. Further in the distance, the snowmen and the kickers have melted into the thin layer of snow that’s acting as a piste for now. Spring arrived with a snap less than two weeks ago, and the warmth of the sun is melting the snow faster than I remember in seasons gone by.

Fortunately, I took some photos of some ice formations underneath the Fernuy telecabine (aka bubble/gondola/egg, depending which country you’re from) before they melted away. Now, the stark, brown rock shows no sign of the pretty ice formations that grew throughout winter.

But first, let me start with a photo of the St. Jean de Sixt roundabout. As you can see in the photo below, taken about a month ago, it’s festive, and wintry, and it has been like this since December. The decorative lights have gone, the snow has melted, and the roundabout awaits new adornments for spring. You can click on the image text below for larger images.

The final photo shows a sunset from last week after the last snowfall we had. I haven’t altered this photo: the sun really did make the trees orange like that, helped, obviously by the snow sitting in them. The clouds at the top have made the mountain vanish into the sky while the sun changed the colour of the trees until they finally darkened with the night sky. The photo really doesn’t do the scene justice. You’ll have to take my word for it, or see it for yourself next time. It really was magnificent.

Last week, I did a quick road trip to Nice, opting for the mountainous roads over the fast, but further-away highways.

I left La Clusaz and took the Col des Aravis down to Albertville. It was a mistake: it took longer than the Annecy route as the windy roads were wet and slippery. From Albertville, I took the toll road (€7.20), where I had the option to take the Frejus tunnel through to Italian motorways — the fastest route, but probably the slowest given my inability to understand Italian road signs — so I opted to go towards Briançon, which took me through a town called ‘Bonnuit’ (’good night’), over the top of many mountains and quite close to the mystical La Grave, then through Serre Chevalier, and though Barcelonnette, which leads to the Cime de la Bonette — the purported highest road in Europe at 2802 metres high. The narrow, but freshly resurfaced and empty roads were breathtaking and the French are rumoured to have added an extra loop of road at the top to make the route an extra 50 metres higher in order to claim the title for the highest road. I really recommend this road — part of the Route Napoleon — for the natural views. However, the cloud was so thick at one point that I was keeping up with the motorbike around 15 metres in front of me, but the tail-lights were only visible from time to time. Just beyond the peak was an old army barracks, now turning to rubble, and apparently complete with cartoon murals inside. Alas, I had no time to stop, so I continued past the region of pink rock closer to Nice before arriving in the traffic-laden, hot city itself. Gelati topped my list of needs while I waited to meet my friends to take me to their apartment.

The next day, we went to Antibes, so I accidentally enjoyed the coastal road to Cannes while looking for signs to Grasse. I found the place and its many perfumeries, but I mistakenly followed the N85 route signs in the wrong direction through town before realising I was heading back to Nice. Don’t go to Grasse unless you like getting lost or you want perfume: the motorways all stop on different sides of town and you have to find your own way through the rather large town that Grasse has become. The road from Grasse was easy and equally as beautiful as the previous day’s taking me up high again with views of a large dam in a valley with amazingly blue water. The road had also recently been flattened out nicely so it too was great to drive on, although a man in a Ferrari looked as annoyed as I felt about the loose tar-covered gravel still littering the road. I ignored the sign-posts and went into the centre of Digne-les-Bains for petrol. I passed the ‘Bains’ part of the town — another amazingly blue lake, with lots of people dotted around it that made me want to join them for a swim on such a hot day. Alas, I only had time to fuel up the car. I continued North towards Grenoble and this was by far the most frustrating part of the journey: a single-lane road that was typically busy for the national route. I took toll roads from Grenoble to Albertville to gain some lost time, then home via Lake Annecy as mountainous roads had now lost their appeal.

Here are some photos, mostly taken while I was driving.

I’m back from my quick road trip to Nice, and a blog entry with lots of photos of the route will follow soon. But for now, here’s further insight into French roundabouts. During my trip, I passed all sorts of interesting roundabouts, but most of the time it was too hard to stop for a photo. I’ve taken some, but here are just a few of the roundabouts I came across (that I remember):

• giant statues of sheep grazing, rolling on their backs and dancing (!?) on a grassy roundabout near Chambery;
• various animal carvings on roundabouts near the Col de Galibier (in slide show in post above);
• a man-sized globe of the earth in Digne-les-Bains;
• roundabouts in various villages celebrating le Tour de France bike race (due to go through those villages within the next few weeks);
• a giant copper perfume distiller in Grasse, the home of many perfumeries; and,
• a telepherique in Serre Chevalier (pictured).

And of course, just before La Clusaz, I passed my local ‘happening’ roundabout in St. Jean de Sixt, which had a mannequin dressed in Napoleonic battle costume, perched on the roof of the little house. It was too dark to take a good photo. I think the man that puts the mannequins on the roundabout might have been drinking a bit before that one…

Years after moving to France, I still find French roundabouts intriguing. Why? Because of the crazy drivers? No. The way that two lanes usually go into a single-lane roundabout? No. It’s the style of French roundabouts that I love: they’re often ornate, or at least interesting in some way. The town of Bonneville (not so bonne despite its name) has hedges shaped like pyramids, while grapes adorn roundabouts in some wine regions, and I once saw a series of cows on bikes on roundabouts in a town that the Tour de France bike race was heading towards.

So it makes me happy that the roundabout in St. Jean de Sixt (pictured), down the road from my house, is back to having mannequins dumped on it. It’s been void of activity for around three months, and I had feared the mannequins may never return to their usual familial scenes, such as Father Christmas on the roof of the hut at Christmas time, an egg hunt scene at Easter time, and a party on the roundabout, involving ring-in mannequins, empty bottles of wine, fake cheese, and wine glasses, during local festivals. Look: there’s even a little baby hiding in the picture.