Le Franco Phoney

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.