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An observation deck on one of the two needle-nosed spires that make up the Aiguille du Midi has an expansive view. (Rhoda Peacher) |
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Neither guidebooks nor snapshots and not even long-ago memories prepared me for the intimidating beauty of the French Alps. As our tour bus pulled into the Chamonix Valley, there they were — a jagged row of snow-covered peaks that hovers over the legendary town like a wall of colossal teeth.
Why had I not felt this awe during my group's warmup trip to a nearby Swiss ski area the previous week? Why, after all these years as an advanced skier, had a mass of mountains in bright sunlight frightened me just a little?
About 20 of us — some friends, some not — were on a 10-day Alpine package tour that had begun at Geneva's airport. Fewer Americans seem to be heading for the Alps these days — the exchange rate, the distance, the occasionally questionable weather and the political overtones since the Iraq war are all conspiring to make us think twice before booking such a ski trip. Besides, nothing beats North American snow. So I had almost forgotten Europe, returning to the Rockies or Sierra instead.
The first order of business was to find our rooms in the big Hôtel Alpina, close to the center of Chamonix, then hustle down to its basement to rent a pair of skis. As I surveyed the Alpina's small room and single beds, I realized that this would be not so much culture shock as culture orienteering, a bit more complicated than translating euros into dollars. (The most attractive hotel I found was the deluxe Hameau Albert 1er, set in a lovely park, http://www.hameaualbert.fr .)
Dragons and witches
A fierce history hangs over Chamonix, with its tales of dragons, St. Bernards and maniacal British climbers. The valley, once considered extremely cold, inhospitable and hard to reach, is hemmed in by immense, slow-moving glaciers, rivers of ice that slice through chinks in the walls of hills. Mt. Blanc, at 15,771 feet the highest mountain in Western Europe, dominates the region.
Until the 18th century, Chamonix was inhabited only by a small population of farmers. Europeans believed that witches lay in wait for outsiders and that dragons lurked in Alpine caves.
Not until the middle of the 18th century did visitors identify this shivery world as a destination worthy of the hardships endured to reach it. A pair of British tourists paved the way in 1741 and told others of the awesome landscape, precipitating the arrival of French, Swiss and English pilgrims and scientists.
The myths about dragons receded, and soon there was a steady stream of summer explorers. But few actually dared to climb the towering peaks until August 1786, when a local doctor, Michel Paccard, and his guide, Jacques Balmat, achieved the first ascent of Mt. Blanc.
Skiing was introduced in Chamonix around the turn of the last century and the town hosted the first Winter Olympics in 1924. As the popularity of downhill skiing grew, Chamonix was well positioned. The British led early enthusiasts to its growing number of hotels.
Fast forward to 2004; French tourists dominate in the winter. The English far outnumber Americans and Canadians. Although many locals spoke English, our little band needed the first day to adjust to the town's slower rhythms.
"This is ridiculous," I thought, stuck in my ski boots for half an hour in a line that snaked up the stairs from the basement rental shop, which was small (and, as we were to learn, often closed). The shop was so lacking in its selection of skis that my roommate trekked into the center of town to find a better-equipped shop. I worried because the cellar's staffers seemed casual about adjusting bindings.
Thankfully, the valley transportation system, we discovered the next morning, was efficient. Free local buses take people to the three principal ski areas of Chamonix: Les Grand Montets, Le Tour-Vallorcine and Brévant-LaFlégère.
That first ski day, after a 20-minute ride, the bus dropped us at the hamlet of Le Tour-Vallorcine (sometimes called Balme). Undemanding, with wide, gentle slopes, it boasted one section of tree runs, atypical for the French Alps, where most runs are above the tree line. All were marked by rows of colored "lollipops": green for easy, blue for intermediate, red for high intermediate and black for most difficult.
The weather was warm for February; the skies were cloudless. The pistes, or designated runs, that snaked down the mountains were long and pleasant, except that we encountered hordes of schoolchildren.
Generally, our fellow skiers and snowboarders were graceful and disciplined, although when approaching any lift, they behaved as if they were on the subway at rush hour, stepping all over everyone else's skis in a chaotic crush toward the lifts.
In Mt. Blanc's shadow
Our tour operator had arranged for guides from one of two major companies offering instructors in the valley, the Compagnie des Guides de Chamonix.
Our chief guide was Vincent, an unflappable 30-year-old Paris-born fellow who spoke English. He had come to Chamonix to be a climbing guide. "It's my passion," he said, then assured us that he was equally at home on skis.
Vincent's most important role was to prepare us for the Vallée Blanche, a daylong, 15-mile journey across a glacier in the shadow of Mt. Blanc. He spent the day assessing our skiing.
Why had I not felt this awe during my group's warmup trip to a nearby Swiss ski area the previous week? Why, after all these years as an advanced skier, had a mass of mountains in bright sunlight frightened me just a little?
About 20 of us — some friends, some not — were on a 10-day Alpine package tour that had begun at Geneva's airport. Fewer Americans seem to be heading for the Alps these days — the exchange rate, the distance, the occasionally questionable weather and the political overtones since the Iraq war are all conspiring to make us think twice before booking such a ski trip. Besides, nothing beats North American snow. So I had almost forgotten Europe, returning to the Rockies or Sierra instead.
The first order of business was to find our rooms in the big Hôtel Alpina, close to the center of Chamonix, then hustle down to its basement to rent a pair of skis. As I surveyed the Alpina's small room and single beds, I realized that this would be not so much culture shock as culture orienteering, a bit more complicated than translating euros into dollars. (The most attractive hotel I found was the deluxe Hameau Albert 1er, set in a lovely park, http://www.hameaualbert.fr .)
Dragons and witches
A fierce history hangs over Chamonix, with its tales of dragons, St. Bernards and maniacal British climbers. The valley, once considered extremely cold, inhospitable and hard to reach, is hemmed in by immense, slow-moving glaciers, rivers of ice that slice through chinks in the walls of hills. Mt. Blanc, at 15,771 feet the highest mountain in Western Europe, dominates the region.
Until the 18th century, Chamonix was inhabited only by a small population of farmers. Europeans believed that witches lay in wait for outsiders and that dragons lurked in Alpine caves.
Not until the middle of the 18th century did visitors identify this shivery world as a destination worthy of the hardships endured to reach it. A pair of British tourists paved the way in 1741 and told others of the awesome landscape, precipitating the arrival of French, Swiss and English pilgrims and scientists.
The myths about dragons receded, and soon there was a steady stream of summer explorers. But few actually dared to climb the towering peaks until August 1786, when a local doctor, Michel Paccard, and his guide, Jacques Balmat, achieved the first ascent of Mt. Blanc.
Skiing was introduced in Chamonix around the turn of the last century and the town hosted the first Winter Olympics in 1924. As the popularity of downhill skiing grew, Chamonix was well positioned. The British led early enthusiasts to its growing number of hotels.
Fast forward to 2004; French tourists dominate in the winter. The English far outnumber Americans and Canadians. Although many locals spoke English, our little band needed the first day to adjust to the town's slower rhythms.
"This is ridiculous," I thought, stuck in my ski boots for half an hour in a line that snaked up the stairs from the basement rental shop, which was small (and, as we were to learn, often closed). The shop was so lacking in its selection of skis that my roommate trekked into the center of town to find a better-equipped shop. I worried because the cellar's staffers seemed casual about adjusting bindings.
Thankfully, the valley transportation system, we discovered the next morning, was efficient. Free local buses take people to the three principal ski areas of Chamonix: Les Grand Montets, Le Tour-Vallorcine and Brévant-LaFlégère.
That first ski day, after a 20-minute ride, the bus dropped us at the hamlet of Le Tour-Vallorcine (sometimes called Balme). Undemanding, with wide, gentle slopes, it boasted one section of tree runs, atypical for the French Alps, where most runs are above the tree line. All were marked by rows of colored "lollipops": green for easy, blue for intermediate, red for high intermediate and black for most difficult.
The weather was warm for February; the skies were cloudless. The pistes, or designated runs, that snaked down the mountains were long and pleasant, except that we encountered hordes of schoolchildren.
Generally, our fellow skiers and snowboarders were graceful and disciplined, although when approaching any lift, they behaved as if they were on the subway at rush hour, stepping all over everyone else's skis in a chaotic crush toward the lifts.
In Mt. Blanc's shadow
Our tour operator had arranged for guides from one of two major companies offering instructors in the valley, the Compagnie des Guides de Chamonix.
Our chief guide was Vincent, an unflappable 30-year-old Paris-born fellow who spoke English. He had come to Chamonix to be a climbing guide. "It's my passion," he said, then assured us that he was equally at home on skis.
Vincent's most important role was to prepare us for the Vallée Blanche, a daylong, 15-mile journey across a glacier in the shadow of Mt. Blanc. He spent the day assessing our skiing.
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