My last visit to France (this year)

The Roche Parstire, just over 2000m

Just back from Ecuador and now it's a long car journey to the Savoyard to help carry Sam and Lucy's gear back to Thorney. Margaret didn't come (we thought Holly had spent enough time in kennels during June) so I was on my own, which means that every time I arrived at a toll booth on the Autoroute, I have to get out of the car, run round the front, push the button, get my ticket (or pay) and then run back round to the driver's seat and jump in.

It was always a bit of a worry in case there's a time limit on how long the barrier stays up. Being France, where drivers are less than patient, I wouldn't be surprised if there was a 30-second time window, but I always made it back on time and only got hooted at once.

I've driven quite a few miles in France this year and I'm getting quite relaxed and confident about where I am; so much so that, when an accident closed the autoroute near Chambery, I was happy to nip off down a slip road and navigate my way around the blockage. I arrived at Villaret a couple of hours later than hoped, but it was still light, and interesting to see the village in mid-summer, rather than the depths of winter. The main changes are that there's a faint smell of manure everywhere (because the cows are out) and there are thousands of flies. Not quite the Alpine idyll that I expected, but this is an important area agriculturally.

It was interesting to stand on the patio and look across the valley towards Les Arc and La Plagne. Where ski runs came down during the winter, everywhere is now green. Blue runs have turned into foothpaths, golf fairways and tennis courts. All the passes are now open and there are lots of cyclists (and motorcyclists) riding the steep roads.

I'd planned a longer stay, but the trip to Ecuador meant that I had to cut short my stay. We had a couple of days "holiday" before we had to start work packing for a day and then coming home. There were lots of things that I wanted to do but hadn’t been able when the snow was on the ground, but little time, so I had to be selective.

I wanted to go up the Cormet de Roselend, which is a narrow pass leading from Bourg to Beaufort and we did that on our first day. It starts in a deep gorge, which widens as you climb up and the scenery is spectacular. You get amazing views back into the Tarentaise and an opening panorama as you climb towards (and reach) the head of the pass.

The road was fairly quiet, there were a few motorcycles about enjoying the twisty roads and the scenery, but far more cyclists. Sometimes they ride the passes solo, sometimes in groups. Often, a club will have a van waiting at key points, so everyone can get home more easily.

We passed a place called Les Chapieux, which I was interested to see because we had stayed at a refuge there when Sam, Max and I did the Tour De Mont Blanc about 12 years ago. We’d come down from the Col de Bonhomme and stopped at a high refuge for some hot chocolate. When we came out there were three collies waiting for their owner. They were so excited and eager to start work. When he came out, they were off like the wind, heading for the flock of sheep they were herding. It’s fantastic to see a proper working dog in action.

That day had been a little misty and rainy and we’d got to Les Chapieux quite late. The hostel was quite basic – not the nicest place we stayed – but I was keen to see it again. This time, the weather was glorious; it would have been a great day to do a leg of the TMB.

Sam and Lucy at the Barrage de Roselend

Instead, we carried on up the D902 towards Beaufort, but then turned off at the Barrage de Roselend, a large dam which is used for hydro-electric power. Sam and Lucy had planned a ridge walk, which they’d done some weeks before and is a little circuit, ending at the Col du Pre. We stopped off at the Barrage for a look and then drove on for a short way, parking at a lay-by and heading off on a track leading up to the ridge.

The views are marvellous, with Mont Blanc visible through its curtain of surrounding peaks. The ridge we were walking leads up to the line of mountains (much higher) which separates the Tarantaise valley from the Beaufort valley. If you walked up from Villaret and kept going past the fort, this is the line of mountains you’d reach.

I really liked seeing the wild flowers. Spring comes much later at higher altitude and so we were seeing flowers in bloom that had bloomed a month or two earlier at Bourg-Saint-Maurice. I particularly liked the anemones, which were more splendid growing wild in the grass than they were in carefully tended pots back in my garden.

The walk looked quite scary, starting the ridge at a high point called Roche Parstire, which at 2109m was much lower than I’d been during my travels in Ecuador. It was a splendid walk with a little exposure on the ridge – just enough to make it interesting – and we then dropped down a path to double back parallel to where we’d walked on a lower path to the Col du Pré. I’ll say nothing about Sam’s navigation skills except that we did walk further than we needed to. Nevertheless, it was a fine day’s walk and it was great to sit at the Col du Pré on a picnic table in the sun. When we’d been up there a couple of months earlier, the road had been blocked at that point by three feet of solid snow.

Back in the car, we drove down through Beaufort and then on to Albertville, stopping off at the mediaeval town of Conflans, which overlooks modern Albertville. This is a really pretty place and a cafe with a beer capped a fine day.

The next day (Saturday) we were back in Albertville (briefly) on our way to Annecy. I’d bought some swimming trunks (lime green) at Super U so we could swim in the lake. I was assured this would be lovely and warm (not something you’d expect in an Alpine lake) and you could hire a pedalo with a slide on the back to swim from.

Annecy has a massive lake and the town sits at the north-east tip. It’s a nice place, very picturesque, and Sam and Lucy hadn’t lied about the lake – it was warm and also quite shallow even a long way out. I enjoyed my swim, although my Chinese-made trunks were not the best fit and, most interesting, they were made from some kind of magic fabric where a pattern appeared as soon as they got wet.

Sunday was a packing day ready for the long drive on Monday. I think it was quite sad for Sam and Lucy; they’d spent seven months at Maison Blueski in Villaret and the old lady from the farm next door came round to say goodbye and bon voyage. The drive back was uneventful, we made Calais in good time and P&O put us on an earlier ferry (always a bonus). Sam and Lucy were staying at Lucy’s parents’ second home in Ramsgate, I was heading back to Thorney with a car full of boxes and bags, wondering where everything would fit.

Sam has some locum work lined up in Jersey, which should be a good earner, and the plan is that they’ll live with us for a while until he and Lucy find work. Neither of them want to return to working in London.

Lucy and I walking up to the Roche Parstire

Lucy and Sam - iPhone panorama from the ridge. The Mont Blanc massif is to the left, above the lake.

Skiing holiday - the journey home

I set my alarm for 3am to give me chance to have a cup of tea and not be rushing around too much. I think I'm so used to early mornings with my commute, that it's really not too much of a chore. Margaret's dad always got up before 6am (the result of years of early starts when he worked on farms) and was always ready for bed at 9pm. It didn't make him healthy, wealthy or wise, but you do get into a routine that's hard to break. Even when I'm on holiday, I find myself awake at 6am.


We got the car packed and everywhere tidied up for a prompt departure and Sam took first turn at the wheel. I think he was a bit sad at the holiday ending and it is also a bit depressing starting that early. Still, traffic was light and we were making good time - so good that Sam got flashed by a speed camera (here's hoping that he won't get a ticket).


I swapped with him at the first petrol stop after about 100 miles and Sam had a snooze while I drove. It was obvious that the sat-nav was taking us back a different route and Lucy said it often did. It had found three different routes back from Nat and Tibor's. I stuck with it as it was still showing a respectable arrival time in Calais, but I would have taken a different autoroute (the one we came down on in fact). I got more and more concerned as we got closer and closer to Paris until, in the end, we could see the Eifel Tower and the Sacre Cour. Those south-east suburbs of Paris are bloody depressing, thank heavens I don't live there. How can the centre of Paris be so beautiful and the suburbs so grim?


Eventually, we hit the Boulevard Periphique for about 10 miles and took the A1 for Lille past Charles de Gaulle airport and Gonesse, where we stayed years ago when Tom and Sam were quite small. The idea was that we'd get the train into Paris, but there was a French rail strike that week, so we visited Versailles instead. That's definitely not the route I would have chosen - all the way up the Autoroute de Sol to Paris then A1 to Lille and Calais. We changed driver at 310 miles (quite a stint, but easy driving) and Sam finished off the last leg into Calais, where we were able to get an earlier ferry.


His sat-nav was definitely having a laugh - when we got off the ferry in Dover and I set off for the M2 to London (a route I've done lots of times), the sat-nav wanted me to turn around and go via Canterbury! I can't say too much because we bought him the sat-nav for his birthday. We were back in London just after 4pm (12 hours door-to-door, or 13 if you count the clock change). I was able to get the 4.28 back to Peterborough from Finsbury Park and was home about 6pm. It was definitely worth setting off early, we didn't hit any traffic to talk about and it might even be worth going overnight another year.


Nice to see Margaret, Gravel and Holly again and I was back in time to see the last bit of light before a nice supper and a gin and tonic. I bought two litre-bottles of Bombay Sapphire gin on the ferry (£28 for the two) and it really does make a superior G&T. So much so that I had to have another to make sure.

Skiing holiday - snow, low cloud and sore leg

Wednesday was a great day, but I had clearly overdone it. In the evening my leg was very swollen and sore and next morning it was little better. The fact that there was low cloud, some snow and freezing temperatures was some consolation for not skiing.


Sam and Lucy were in no hurry and we decided to spend the morning in Bourg-Saint-Maurice, doing some shopping and having a look around. After lunch, they'd go up the mountain and, hopefully, find some better weather. 


We went to Super U to get more supplies. Sam loves French supermarkets and I must say that I agree - they are much more interesting than UK ones. We got a number of provisions, including some ingredients for a tartiflette that evening. Lucy wanted to have a look in Intersport next door so we walked across there to look at ski gear. There was a dog tied up outside the next door shop and I was wondering whether to go an give him a pat when this chap in front of us decided to try to be friendly and almost had his hand bitten off. Later, as we were heading back, the grumpy dog gave a young child a gnashing and made him cry. What a mean dog! Maurice and Meribel would never be so bad mannered.


Bourg is a proper town, unlike most ski resorts, which are just a collection of budget-build apartments, hotels, bars and shops. It stands at an elbow in the Isere valley and would have been an important market town and crossroads in years gone by. The Col de Petit St Bernard rises from its edges and crosses the Alps into Italy at 2188 metres. It was still closed due to snow. After Bourg, if you carry on up the Isere valley you come to Val d'Isere (one of the more upmarket ski resorts) and another high pass into Italy.


Hannibal crossed the Little St Bernard pass with his elephants to attack Rome during the Punic wars and countless pilgrims would have taken that route from southern France and Spain on the way not to burn Rome, but to avoid burning in hell. The Little St Bernard doesn't have any dogs or a community of benevolent monks - that's the Great St Bernard - although the monks have sold most of their monastery to a hotel developer and a few years back they announced they were getting rid of the dogs. There was, of course, an outcry and a rich businessman set up a trust to care for them. One of the conditions was that a smaller number were to be kept on the pass to maintain the tradition. Napolean crossed the Great St Bernard pass to attack the Austrian army that was occupying Italy and he defeated them at the battle of Marengo after taking them by surprise in the rear.


Bourg maintains an old-town charm in the centre, although much of the town is now devoted to the skiing industry, including the funicular and large SNCF terminus. We called in at the World Famous Cheese Shop to see if we could buy some Beaufort cheese. I'd read there were three types - summer, winter and farmhouse. Beaufort is a town high in the mountains above Bourg and the summer cheese is said to have a scent of meadows and high Alpine pasture. The place was absolutely rammed with a long queue to buy cheese, so we decided to give it a miss, but it was interesting to see the massive cheeses, like thick millstones, waiting to be cut.


I had a crepe in a little cafe on the main street and also bought Margaret a couple of presents - a pair of sheepskin slippers and a silly ornament for the Christmas tree - a fluffy white bird with a hat and scarf.


Sam and Lucy went skiing in the afternoon, but were not out for long as it had been very icy and quite difficult to stay upright. That prompted Sam to get his and Lucy's skis sharpened and polished at Polaire Star, the ski hire place and workshop at the bottom of the funicular. It's run by a British family - a Scot, his wife and their grown-up son. Poor Sam got a telling off for letting his skis get in such a state. Lucy said he was told that he didn't deserve nice things, but I think she was having a laugh at Sam's expense.


We were chuckling about it all night and I think Sam was expecting another lecture the next day. In the evening, we enjoyed our tariflette, which was very nice and had the advantage of requiring a glass of white wine, which meant Sam and I could polish off the rest of the bottle while Lucy had a snooze. The apartment has a woodburning stove in the lounge/kitchen/diner and I'd lit it earlier in the day. It's very efficient at heating the place up and you soon have to shut it down or it's like a sauna.

Sam and Lucy on the terrace - that's Meribel snoozing

Me and Meribel on the terrace

Skiing holiday - an early start

It's a long way to drive to the French Alps, but if there are a couple of drivers it's not a bad way to travel. You have all your things there at hand, you can carry far more stuff and you don't have to suffer the hell that is airports and air travel. Of course, there are French farmers blocking roads and French fishermen blocking ports from time to time, but that is temporary hell - airport hell is permanent.


For Sam, Lucy and I, travelling by car meant an early start - 4am from London, so that we could get the 6.40am ferry from Dover. Sam drove and we got there in good time. It was quite foggy as we approached the coast and for the whole of the crossing. It was a bit slower than we expected, probably because of the fog, and we lost about 30 minutes.


In France, the drive was pretty uneventful. It always amazes me what a massive country France is compared with England and how much countryside and farmland there is. It was the usual Autoroute south, starting through the First World War battlefields, past St Quentin, Laon and heading for Dijon then Chalon Macon. We cut through the French Jura, heading towards Geneva, but turned south before the Swiss border for Annency, Chambery, Albertville. Moutier and Bourg-Saint-Maurice. The cost in tolls was about 75 Euros.


Apart from a short drive in London and the last 10 miles, it was motorway or dual-carriageway all the way. We stopped only for petrol (twice) and Sam's car does around 300 miles before it needs filling. I calculated we were getting 35mpg and with an 11 gallon tank, we would have a range of around 380 miles, but we went by the petrol gauge, which is clearly set to allow a good margin and to encourage you not to run out of fuel.


We were making really good progress until we hit some minor delays in the Jura, but we got going again and it was easy running past Chambery when things slowed down again. The last section of the journey is up the Isere Valley on the N90 and this is the route to the most popular ski areas in France - Val d'Isere, Tignes, Les Arcs, La Plagne, Courcheval, Meribel and Val Thorens. Consequently, it being French half-term, the road was exteremely busy. We were stop start past Albertville to Moutiers and, after Moutiers, the last 10 miles were a real crawl.


We had hoped to get to the apartment before dark, but that hope was soon dashed and Sam was doing a lot of map peering while I drove. We were looking for a road up to the left before Bourg where we could cut across. The map we had was a pretty poor copy and when we did turn off, we made a mistake of turning left too soon because a road was only feintly marked. We soon realised the mistake, but the road we were on (to a place called Vulmix) was steep and narrow and with snow and a drop on one side or the other, it was a while before we could turn. Back we went and found the road up to Villaret de la Rosiere. It was pitch black by now and the road hairpinned up the mountain with a steep drop into the blackness, but we came into the village, which is tiny and built either side of a steep central road. Sam couldn't work out the instructions and they made sense only after you'd done the journey and in daylight. Basically, the further into the village you went, the steeper and narrower the road became. The last bit was a first gear job and the road wide enough for just one car. Then the road turned sharp left and the gradient increased still further. At this point, there was a small space to the right where you could park a car, but no barrier and a drop of some hundreds of feet. Sam got out of the car to have a scout and soon came back to say the apartment was just round the steep bend. At this point, it would be remiss of me not to mention that in the act of doing a hill start on a 1 in 3 and trying to let a Frenchman in a 4x4 get past, I put a minor scratch on Sam's nearside rear bumper where the car was backed against a wall in the pitch darkness.


Anyway, we were there! The apartment was very nice and we were greeted by a very thin border collie from the adjoining farm. She was called Maurice (by Lucy) and we soon found she was top dog of a pack of collies which became regular visitors. It's surprising how a description of a place can be misleading. Sam is thinking of renting this place long term, so that he can spend six months in France for the ski season. He thought it was just outside Bourg-Saint-Maurice (which it is), but he didn't know it was 500 feet above it reached by a road that would be scary for a lot of people in summer and would be mighty scary with a frost or snow (not unknown in these parts). I did find a path down to Bourg later in the week, but it would be a hard route in the dark and snow and quite a climb as well.


Anyway, we were here, unpacked, comfortable and ready for our holiday.