Snapshots of France ~ Lyon to La Grave
Date: January 2004
Camera: Nikon CoolPix 5000
Images: straight out of the camera (except the composites)
Hops: Chicago - Amsterdam - Lyon - La Grave
1/17/04 14:00 CST
Arriving at the International terminal I find a line that is looking to be an hour and a half long to check in at KLM. That would not be too big an issue except that my flight leaves in 2 hours. Dragging a dually and a split roller through the maze is entertaining but I’m starting to stress as the clock ticks away. Once checked in I cut the line for the baggage screening and shove the gear into the inspection area with negative time on the clock. KLM whisks me through the security checkpoint and in a blink I’m seated in 22d bound for Amsterdam.
8 hours spent sharing a row of four seats with a 20 year old marine heading back to Iraq offered up little insight into the war on terror as this jughead left little wonder why he was a grunt in the desert. Free 25cl Heineken’s were keeping him entertained and allowed me to get some needed rest. Arriving in the Netherlands I was hoping to fire up the cell phone 1 2 3 as T-mobile had told me days before it was not an issue. Wrong. Whatever, I seek out coffee and find just what I need at the gate for my connection to Lyon. I order up a double espresso and balk at the bill when some Dutch dude acting French tries to stick me for 2 doubles. I guess he’s not used to Americans that can count and after some heated debate regarding his mother he coughs up the right change.
1/18/04 10:30 CET
The flight to Lyon goes according to plan and with 6 hours to kill until my bus to Grenoble @ 16:30 all I have to do is collect my luggage and find a corner to catch some Z’s in.
Luggage streams onto the conveyor and passenger after passenger grabs bags and goes on with their lives. When no more bags are coming out I realize there’s a problem. I find the French chick in charge of KLM baggage services and we begin the dance. After a bit of linguistic sparring we find a common ground and she starts filling out the forms. Seeing as how the baggage tags have bar codes you’d think that KLM would be able to figure out what airport my baggage was last scanned at. Nope.
The next flight from Amsterdam arrives at 16:00 and so I wandered the airport seeking someplace to curl up and snooze away a few hours. One thing you quickly learn in Lyon is that French public restrooms are perhaps the nastiest places on the face of the earth. Couple this with an extraordinary number of third world middle eastern immigrants moving through Lyon (any disbelief as to what side of the war on terror the French are on is quickly put to rest here) and it would seem that the vast majority of toilet users are squatting near the can rather than on it. I chose to clench the sphincter rather than risk the maneuver and the unavoidable contact with biological agents unknown.
At 16:00 I return to the baggage claim area hoping my gear made it on the next flight. No dice. I ask the KLM chick what the deal is and she says KLM has no idea where my bags are and that they will call me as soon as they do. Great, except I don’t have a phone that is working and only sort of know what the place we are staying at is called. I give her my cel number and something close to the “Chalets De La Mieje” in La Grave (which she had never heard of) as an address and head for the bus to Grenoble.
Pulling into the Grenoble bus / train depot around 18:00 it’s dark, cold, raining and half of France is trying to catch a train back to wherever from their weekend skiing at Alp Duez. I wander toward the ticket window and try to find out when the bus to La Grave is leaving. “NO BUS TO LA GRAVE! Go find hotel”, was all that was said before moving on to the next person in line. Some quick recco work reveals that the pass just beyond La Grave is closed so the French refuse to run the route at all, brilliant.
I scramble to try and find a working pay phone (tougher than it sounds) and pray that the credit card calls go through. I ring my friends from the UK that are already in La Grave, and feeling pity on this weary yank they offer to drive the 90 minutes to come and fetch me. I also ring my folks back home and inspire my dad to call T-mobile and get my phone working, which he does (right on Dad!) and the first positive thing to happen in hours is celebrated with more espresso and a pack of Camel lights which were most delightful for this non-smoker to indulge in.
A charming train platform open air urinal ~ Grenoble
Andy arrives in a spiffy Opel and we are off to La Grave, but not before a stop at McD’s. **** the French and all the crap they spout about American cuisine, those bastards love that happy meal as much as anyone. A royale with cheese and some pomme frittes later we are rolling uphill on roads traversed by the gods of the Tour De France.
I am frazzled but glad to be outside of an airport or station for the first time in 36 hours. We roll into town and head toward the glow of the chalet to find a curious looking fellow in turquoise camo and a funny hat sitting at the table hovering over a laptop.
Despite our best efforts to front like hardcore super extremo mountain dudes our vast T-shirt collection was no match for the sharp witted nature tour guide who pegged us for snowshoeing clients of the first degree. After somehow weaseling his way into the chalet a 2 hour laptop slide show sales pitch by a very lonely "Paris meets Grizzly Adams" character was underway when we arrived. According to Blondin, the man in the turquoise camo and funny hat; Chamois, Ibex, Marmot, Squirrel and German Cougars abound in the mountains surrounding La Grave and a day long tour was the crowning jewel in any trip.
"This lady is perhaps not so hot. She is an older lady. A German. But, well, you know..." - Blondin describing one of the 5000 pics we were shown.
To be continued...
Camera: Nikon CoolPix 5000
Images: straight out of the camera (except the composites)
Hops: Chicago - Amsterdam - Lyon - La Grave
1/17/04 14:00 CST
Arriving at the International terminal I find a line that is looking to be an hour and a half long to check in at KLM. That would not be too big an issue except that my flight leaves in 2 hours. Dragging a dually and a split roller through the maze is entertaining but I’m starting to stress as the clock ticks away. Once checked in I cut the line for the baggage screening and shove the gear into the inspection area with negative time on the clock. KLM whisks me through the security checkpoint and in a blink I’m seated in 22d bound for Amsterdam.
8 hours spent sharing a row of four seats with a 20 year old marine heading back to Iraq offered up little insight into the war on terror as this jughead left little wonder why he was a grunt in the desert. Free 25cl Heineken’s were keeping him entertained and allowed me to get some needed rest. Arriving in the Netherlands I was hoping to fire up the cell phone 1 2 3 as T-mobile had told me days before it was not an issue. Wrong. Whatever, I seek out coffee and find just what I need at the gate for my connection to Lyon. I order up a double espresso and balk at the bill when some Dutch dude acting French tries to stick me for 2 doubles. I guess he’s not used to Americans that can count and after some heated debate regarding his mother he coughs up the right change.
1/18/04 10:30 CET
The flight to Lyon goes according to plan and with 6 hours to kill until my bus to Grenoble @ 16:30 all I have to do is collect my luggage and find a corner to catch some Z’s in.
Luggage streams onto the conveyor and passenger after passenger grabs bags and goes on with their lives. When no more bags are coming out I realize there’s a problem. I find the French chick in charge of KLM baggage services and we begin the dance. After a bit of linguistic sparring we find a common ground and she starts filling out the forms. Seeing as how the baggage tags have bar codes you’d think that KLM would be able to figure out what airport my baggage was last scanned at. Nope.
The next flight from Amsterdam arrives at 16:00 and so I wandered the airport seeking someplace to curl up and snooze away a few hours. One thing you quickly learn in Lyon is that French public restrooms are perhaps the nastiest places on the face of the earth. Couple this with an extraordinary number of third world middle eastern immigrants moving through Lyon (any disbelief as to what side of the war on terror the French are on is quickly put to rest here) and it would seem that the vast majority of toilet users are squatting near the can rather than on it. I chose to clench the sphincter rather than risk the maneuver and the unavoidable contact with biological agents unknown.
At 16:00 I return to the baggage claim area hoping my gear made it on the next flight. No dice. I ask the KLM chick what the deal is and she says KLM has no idea where my bags are and that they will call me as soon as they do. Great, except I don’t have a phone that is working and only sort of know what the place we are staying at is called. I give her my cel number and something close to the “Chalets De La Mieje” in La Grave (which she had never heard of) as an address and head for the bus to Grenoble.
Pulling into the Grenoble bus / train depot around 18:00 it’s dark, cold, raining and half of France is trying to catch a train back to wherever from their weekend skiing at Alp Duez. I wander toward the ticket window and try to find out when the bus to La Grave is leaving. “NO BUS TO LA GRAVE! Go find hotel”, was all that was said before moving on to the next person in line. Some quick recco work reveals that the pass just beyond La Grave is closed so the French refuse to run the route at all, brilliant.
I scramble to try and find a working pay phone (tougher than it sounds) and pray that the credit card calls go through. I ring my friends from the UK that are already in La Grave, and feeling pity on this weary yank they offer to drive the 90 minutes to come and fetch me. I also ring my folks back home and inspire my dad to call T-mobile and get my phone working, which he does (right on Dad!) and the first positive thing to happen in hours is celebrated with more espresso and a pack of Camel lights which were most delightful for this non-smoker to indulge in.
A charming train platform open air urinal ~ Grenoble
Andy arrives in a spiffy Opel and we are off to La Grave, but not before a stop at McD’s. **** the French and all the crap they spout about American cuisine, those bastards love that happy meal as much as anyone. A royale with cheese and some pomme frittes later we are rolling uphill on roads traversed by the gods of the Tour De France.
I am frazzled but glad to be outside of an airport or station for the first time in 36 hours. We roll into town and head toward the glow of the chalet to find a curious looking fellow in turquoise camo and a funny hat sitting at the table hovering over a laptop.
Despite our best efforts to front like hardcore super extremo mountain dudes our vast T-shirt collection was no match for the sharp witted nature tour guide who pegged us for snowshoeing clients of the first degree. After somehow weaseling his way into the chalet a 2 hour laptop slide show sales pitch by a very lonely "Paris meets Grizzly Adams" character was underway when we arrived. According to Blondin, the man in the turquoise camo and funny hat; Chamois, Ibex, Marmot, Squirrel and German Cougars abound in the mountains surrounding La Grave and a day long tour was the crowning jewel in any trip.
"This lady is perhaps not so hot. She is an older lady. A German. But, well, you know..." - Blondin describing one of the 5000 pics we were shown.
To be continued...
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After a much needed horizantal rest I woke to what can only be termed a bittersweet scene.
Views from the chalet
The storm had finally broken, the mountain would be open to 3400m, the skies would be bluebird and over 50cm of untouched pristine icecold smoke would be up for grabs. The stoke level was rising and I had no gear. I was benched. Left to fight it out with the ever so helpful KLM representatives in Lyon.
As the crew left for what was to be the best day in recent years in La Grave I settled in to find my gear. Running up a masive cell phone bill I managed to find the KLM baggage claim rep in Amsterdam. Polite requests having failied miserably, I resorted to the "ugly American" tactic and within hours my bags were on the way to La Grave. Woot woot! It was time to get out and see the sights of this 500 year old village nestled in the deepest crags of the Alps.
Not so bad, this place is magical in every aspect. For a skier, it is the realization of life long dreams to touch the very soul of the sport that has transformed my life. I recalled my first crush with the sport, sitting in history class in 8th grade, never having skied, perusing the trail map a classmate had brought back from a spring break trip to Breck. I was hooked. It brought me to Durango and the best 6 years of college anyone could ever dream of, it brought me to LCC and a mentor named Mark Riley, to the Kootenay's, and now to La Grave.
Sitting in a postcard setting, sipping espresso and rejoicing in the knowledge that my new friends were having the day of all days 6500 feet above me I was happy. Totally and truely happy.
(Sadly I was not there to shoot these images)
Hell, my gear even found it's way to me.
Having weathered the storm of travel and only lost out on the best day of skiing La Grave had scene in over a decade it was time to board the [SIZE=-1]Téléphérique and see what was what.
Self portrait brought to you by Heiniken.
Things got a little blurry after dinner...
...but the Swedish women are still a vivid memory.
La Grave was all that it had been hyped up to be. 1 lift, 7000 feet of vertical and no rules, runs, grooming, patrol, closures or warnings. It's a beautiful, terrifying and rewarding place that rekindles the soul of skiing. On this trip I had planned to spend a day skiing with the legendary Doug Coombs. As luck would have it, the night I arrived his wife gave birth to their son in Grenoble and our paths narrowly missed crossing. Some other time I thought to myself. Sadly that time will not come in this life as Doug was killed in a tragic accident last year in La Grave, adding more mystique to this fabled valley. I look forward to my next visit.
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this is the worst journey thread I have read. "third world middle eastern immigrants"... learn some history. France has a large muslim population. It stems from their time as a colonial power in North Africa.
If you are going to travel leave your prejudices behind you and accept that foreign countries are exactly that.. foreign. I expect this kind of uneducated, uninformed trolling on Yo Momma.
. Wow... you really show your class here, do me a favour, don't visit Ireland
Can it, both of you - move along please.
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