Le Franco Phoney

I’m sure you’re aware that Europe has been getting a big dump of snow due to some Siberian winds travelling further south than usual and meeting up with warm, moist Mediterranean air. The result? The photos above.  St Jean de Sixt has a swag of beauty to offer, making photography far easier for an impatient person like me than it should be. As you can see from the usual mannequin photo, all the lady’s friends below the balcony have taken shelter from the cold conditions, but a fake flower shop has appeared to keep her company — perfect shop type for these chilly days. Enjoy the photos.

As you can see from this photo I snapped last week, winter has arrived and covered all my flowers in snow. This particular flower is now under about 60cm of fluffy snow. Because of the snow dump, the La Balme area of La Clusaz was open for skiing last weekend, and I was there for first lifts on Saturday morning.

The powder covering the hill was untracked, but after a few runs in snow that was falling sideways due to very strong (and cold) winds, my friend and I stopped for a hot chocolate to warm our chins and toes. I was lost in my hot chocolate when a guy came over and asked something in French which I paid no attention to, concentrating instead on the steam from the cup in my hand. My friend answered in French then poked me out of my relaxed state. My snowboard, the guy said, had fallen off the ski/snowboard rack in the strong wind, then taken itself further down the hill and off the piste entirely. Nobody could catch it and nobody could see it. He pointed to the track it had made under the telecabine, which disappeared within metres, and my friend and I started searching. We decided to stop because the snow was as deep as our legs. We took the telecabine down to see if we could see where it had landed. We didn’t. We found a piste security man named Gilles who said he’d look for it, but that it was probably buried under the light, fluffy snow and wouldn’t be found until spring, presuming it wasn’t stolen when it did reappear through the snow. The snowboard is old and worth little, but it’s been a great powder board that responds well, and the bindings are comfortable and cost a bomb when I bought them, so I didn’t want to lose this board. Going back up the telecabine, one guy said if he found it, he’d keep it. Another guy said he’d lost his skis, and whoever found them handed them in and he’d do the same too.

I pointed out the last track of the snowboard to Gilles and he surveyed the angle of the snow and picked his path. He said he’d meet us at the bottom. Back in the telecabine, my lovely friend offered to come back during the week and snowshoe to the top of the telecabine (a couple of hours at least) so that we could continue the search on foot if Gilles didn’t find it. We watched him from the telecabine on our way down as he climbed with his skis over rocks, damaging his bases. The longer he was gone, the less chance of seeing my snowboard again. Seconds felt like minutes and minutes felt like hours etc. I’m sure you know that numb feeling where time is standing still for you, while everyone else around you is oblivious to your crisis and you wonder how they can carry on. About ten minutes later, Gilles arrived – with my snowboard! He found it! I hugged him, I kissed his cheeks and I shook his hand. I told him in French that I loved him. He seemed used to this reaction but I didn’t care: I was grateful beyond his comprehension.

The snowboard had slid under the snow and travelled around 100 metres before it hit a tree and rested. The only sign of it was 1cm of orange binding that acted like a tiny beacon which he spotted after some time searching nearby. My resolves from the experience:

1. I’ll never rest my snowboard or skis on that particular rack again; and,

2. I owe Gilles gingerbread too (along with the guy from the post office who I mentioned recently).

I’ve written about Tignes a few times. It’s a handy place to go for some summer skiing when desperation for the white stuff kicks in. I spent four days there last week for a pre-season ski test and I think I’m finally bored with non-winter Tignes. It seems that there’s always a t-bar that’s broken down with people stuck on it for ten minutes or more while they try to restart the power. Okay, I know they stop a ski lift when someone falls, but I’m not talking about a minute or two here. I’m talking about everyone vacating the t-bar because their legs are aching so much while waiting for the lift to take them to the top.

Day one, Thursday, was an excellent day with 40cm of fresh powder off-piste and of course flattened pistes for the downhill racers who tend to take over huge areas of the glacier. If every day were like that at Tignes, I wouldn’t mind. Here’s a video taken by one of my friends (the lovely Julien):

But after much rain and wind on Friday, Saturday morning was a nightmare. We arrived just after 9am. The queue for the furnicular railway to the glacier was huge due to high winds preventing the glacier area (and furnicular) from opening on time. Apparently, the wind at the top must have affected the only working chairlift in Val Claret, which was also closed until 10am. Hmm… By 11am, we had finally reached the glacier. We queued for the telepherique which was due to open at 11am. 35 minutes later, it opened and our legs and backs were already sore after standing for more than two hours before any skiing was done. We lost almost the entire morning to queuing, but refunds are not offered even though the glacier was due to close at 3pm. Over the course of the day on the piste (the whole three hours), various lifts stopped for extended periods of time. The stopping of the chairlift that goes back to the furnicular — and to the only toilet on the glacier — was the final straw for me. The other nearby chairlift wasn’t running at all (why? Who knows), so my best option was to head down the piste to a toilet at the bottom. It’s only when you have a stomach bug that you realise just how limited the toilet facilities are on the glacier. Now in pain, I skied as fast as I could to Val Claret and to the heavenly image in my mind of a golden throne with wings, complete with the singing of angels, a roll of toilet paper and some soap. Of course, there was no soap in the toilets I found, but one of the three toilets did at least have toilet paper. No points to Tignes for toilets, nor reliability of ski lifts. I think I’m over it.

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.

Wandering through Le Grand Bornand the other day, I came across this art installation (click on the image for a bigger version) by Miguel Chevalier. The image shows just half the room of digital snowflakes, projected on three walls of a darkened room, and apparently interactive. Interactive? Yes, well, apparently. The information plaque says that the more movement and people there are in the room, the more active and numerous the snowflakes. A friend and I tested the activity scale by running in circles and waving our arms around in a darkened room (much to the surprise of others in the room). We had some success in making a snowflake twirl in reverse and much faster than previously, but that’s all we could muster.

We sat for some time prior to that, watching all sorts of snowflakes form, drift, enlarge, blur and disappear. This is enjoyable art!

Little did I know, it’s actually just one of many other art installations around the Aravis region that I’ve noticed but haven’t paid much attention to — and they’re here until August. I hadn’t realised that the ice rink in La Clusaz, which now has various colours painted under the ice, is one of those installations. Nor did I realise, way back at Christmas time when I drove along the valley opposite Dingy St Clair, that the giant red bulbs hanging hundreds of metres down an invisible-at-night rock face were more than just a Christmas decoration. They looked like lights dangling from the ski they were so high up, and so seemingly unattached to anything but the darkness. I haven’t seen it up there since and I presumed the police had arranged its removal because it was dangerous for drivers, who might divert their attention from the road to the strange red lights dangling from the heavens!

So, here in St Jean de Sixt, what do we have? Artisinal artwork, according to the Aravis art installation website. I’ve yet to see any of it, but apparently, the local baker has made a tree out of baked pastry goods.

Someone very close to my heart participated in last weekend’s Defi Foly and he did his runs with his waterproof camera stuck to various places. The video from his snowboard is rather bumpy! This one, however, taken from a stick in his hand, proved quite stable, but unfortunately made it harder for him to balance once he was in the water (I think he was more concerned with keeping the camera balanced than himself!). So, if you want to experience the speed of the snow ramp at around 65km/h, click on the video below.

He left from the first height out of three. Imagine how much faster the speeds are from the top height without any turns. I guess the force of hitting the water from just the first ramp is enough for most contestants.

The weather in the French Alps is changeable at the best of times, so organising a BBQ while the ski lifts are still running is probably a bad idea. However, as you can see from the first photo below, the weather last weekend for the Defi Foly (I wrote more about it last year, here) was great! People were burning from the hot sun as they chowed down on some BBQed goodness, watching the stunt paragliders in the sky between the crazy people zooming across the lake on skis, snowboards, monoskis or snowscoots. See photo below for a sample of all that sunny goodness. The ramp in the background is in the sun and the snow was melting quickly. Our flagpole helped my friends find our group in amongst the crowds of people.

And then there’s that big cloud that dumps rain down amazingly quickly. This is what happened just after I had reapplied sunscreen to my burning shoulders. A friend who had an umbrella to protect her skin from the sun merely grinned as the rest of us ran for cover. The wind picked up and I feared the flagpole might fall, so with thongs/flip-flops/jandals/whatever-you-like-to-call-them on my feet, I slipped and slushed over the new mud to reach the pole. It’s actually just a fishing pole which slots into itself to reduce in size, and while I shrunk the pole, all my friends decided I made a good religious photo opportunity. Some have named me the flag-loving Romanian lady, and others are now calling me Mary. What you’re actually looking at here is a grass skirt, bikini, and flower lei hidden by a hoody and scarf to soak up the rain. Within five minutes of the rain starting, people had cleared off en masse. You can see just how empty it looks compared with the photo above. What strikes me most about this photo is my friend in the foreground who hasn’t noticed the rain at all due to his heightened interest in a box of cookies.

Meanwhile, the guy who won the Defi Foly, Philippe Troubat, broke all the previous records by reaching 155 metres — almost the width of the lake! That’s ten metres more than the previous best time of Freddy Quenet, who is normally the clear winner every year. Next year should be good. I might bring a rain coat.

Hooray! After months of no action on the St Jean de Sixt roundabout, we finally have some mannequin action! They used to change so regularly, but I think this is the first time this winter that they’ve come out. Where else in the world would you find a roundabout with French ski school instructor outfits on it? There’s even a white ski slope, skis, poles goggles and hats, and a judge mannequin in the background. Why the judge? Read on.

The judge is there because these mannequins represent the French ski school version of a nativity scene. Each year, around 3000 members of the French ski school compete against each other in all sorts of snow-based competitions, and this year Le Grand Bornand are holding it for the second time in the competition’s sixty-year history. It’s a bit of an honour for ski resort really, and that’s why the roundabout has been decorated for the event. The judge shown on the roundabout could be judging anything from a boarder cross competition, to downhill skiing. This covers all their disciplines, so telemarking, cross-country skiing, and even freestyle competitions are included. More info, in French, here.

Apart from the competitions, there is loads of entertainment, and I’m pleased to see that the Radio Meuh DJs will be pumping out some grooves between the other DJs, bands, booze and cheese tastings on offer for free. So, thank you, St Jean de Sixt roundabout, for alerting me to the festivities of next week, which may have otherwise passed me by.

I’ve been away in Méribel this week, which is why it’s taken me until now to do a blog entry. Méribel is far more bling than La Clusaz or Le Grand Bornand, and I was expecting to be totally out of my element despite spending many seasons there as a ski bum. Apart from a group of young chalet hosts who drove me away from where I was seated with their attempts to impress each other at how hungover they were, I was pleasantly surprised overall. First up, CoreUPT skis were everywhere! Candide Thovex apparently has more of an influence on the bling kids than I thought! Another surprise was seeing the artwork of Charlie Adam, who I wrote about just the other day, on the front of the Méribel piste map and on various bits of resort advertising. It seems that La Clusaz is having more of an influence on Méribel than Méribel is on La Clusaz! I’d never have thought that possible, and it makes me proud to live here. Here’s some Candide action, although I recommend you go directly to candidekamera.com and watch it in full screen mode to really get the most out of the vid. Enjoy.

Snow. White cold stuff, right? In French, it’s neige. Snowflakes are called flocons de neige (or just flocons). In the past week, I’ve seen snowflakes, rain and bright sunshine. The rain down lower was heavy, and the French saying for heavy rain is “Il pleut comme vache qui pisse” (It rains like a cow that pees).

The pistes have turned from poudre or peuf (powder) to soupe (erm, soup). There are also icy patches underneath like a patinoire (ice rink). Conditions have gone from hard-packed to soft and mushy, to avalanche-prone, then powdery, and now back to soggy snow, all in less than a week. And if you want to have a chat with any French person about the conditions, you really do have to know more than the word for snow. Otherwise it’s plain confusing: “What’s that? You were stuck in soup? You hit the ice rink? Then a cow peed?” These are just a few examples of snow-related talk that you probably need to know.

This photo of an avalanche (you can figure out its size by looking at the big pine trees) shows how a thin the layer of snow can transform quickly from a patinoire to soup, and then collapse under its own weight. Apart from the obvious faux-pas moment of misunderstanding someone who mentions getting stuck in soup, it’s pretty handy to know from a safety point of view, especially at this time of year. If someone is talking about a fondue, chances are they’re talking about melted snow and not cheese. Snow fondue is by far the less attractive type.