31 March 2013

Happy Easter

chez nous, by Juan
difficult to start eating, then difficult to stop...
A day of squally, chaotic weather; shiatsu; cooking...
our first attempt at "French" apple tart is a bit funky, but an outstanding success - we think!
 ... and the absurdly drawn-out decision-making process that I specialise in. I finally drive to Gresse en Vercors to return (and not buy) the nordique skis hired for the season.

30 March 2013

winter bites one more time

As rain and snow swept across Europe we kept part of our Easter weekend plan, driving up a godforsaken valley south of St Jean de Maurienne for a night in a B & B (600 sq m of converted barn!). After a rich and boozy supper I was surprised to find myself giving shiatsu to a fellow guest on the living-room floor, responding to the concern of his (very assertive!) wife.

Spring (not) at the Chalet de St Roch
The next day we ventured out on snow shoes, trying to glimpse the iconic Aiguilles d'Arves. There was great excitement when the Tête du Chat loomed, gigantesque, through the cloud.




At St Sorlin d'Arves we had tantalising views towards the Aiguilles, once again - and here was yet another place we'd like to return to in more clement weather...



25 March 2013

over the border again

Juan had kept me away from his Swiss bachelor pad for over 4 months. But I was keen to touch base with the place that takes up so much of his time and energy. (And, who knows, this could yet end up being my home, too. So at least a bit more familiarisation seemed pertinent.)

Despite drear weather, and the "crowding" effect of an additional person and her paraphernalia in Juan's 40 sq m, we had a good weekend. I had thought I was saving Juan time and energy, myself driving. But I now understand his weekly trips to France are a choice: clear blue water between work and play. Everywhere we went was new for both of us. But whereas I was in tourist mode, for him it just felt a bit weird - why was he there at the weekend...

On Friday Juan finished early and we took advantage of the best weather of the weekend to go cross-country skiing in the Jura, near Ste Croix, 20 minutes west of Yverdon.
Rebecca: But if you like walking, and enjoy the fun of traversing a winter landscape on skis, and know that you need some exercise, and the place is empty, and it doesn't cost anything... why don't you like cross-country skiing?
Juan: I do. I did it.
Rebecca: Yeah, but you'd had enough after 30 minutes...

So Juan went on strike and I found myself on my own for the second part of the short circuit.

On Saturday we joined John, Matilda and Sophia at Les Mosses - a family ski resort an hour NE of Lac Leman. Our ski gloves hadn't made it (my imperfect packing). So, whilst John and the girls downhilled on empty, mushy, late-season pistes, Juan and I snow-shoed up to the café at the top of the resort.


... crossing paths with family Pannell on the way down:


On the Day of Rest Lausanne, under leaden skies, was dead as a door nail. But we enjoyed an exhibition:


... that was more varied than might have been expected from the theme: from 17th century Dutch still lives, with tiny windows reflected in wine glasses, to a 21st century photo project of people staring anonymously from their New York flats.

electricity installation by gallery car park
We took the long route back to Yverdon, through the Jura once again, this time via Le Pont, a chillsome spot by Gad:



Back at the flat Juan allowed himself to be bullied into a yoga session, using one of the stack of DVDs Kelli has lent me, opting in and out as he felt so inclined.
Juan: I can do this bit.
Rebecca: But the point is to hang on in there and explore the bits you can't do, not cop out.
Juan: That's enough. I did half of it.

By the end of the weekend I think Juan was beginning to get used to having me around. But he'll be happy to reclaim his bed tonight (gentlemanly, as ever, he took the cheap IKEA sofa-bed option for my 4 nights).

20 March 2013

"The Rose"

Kelli gave me this poem by Mark Strand.
It's very unusual for me to read poetry. I like how literal, word-by-word decoding has to be abandoned in favour of an intuitive leap into the unknown.

The sorrows of the rose were mounting up.
Twisted in a field of weeds, the helpless rose
felt the breeze of paradise just once, then died.
The children cried, "Oh rose, come back.
We love you, rose. "Then someone said that soon
they'd have another rose. "Come, my darlings,
down to the pond, lean over the edge and look
at yourselves looking up. Now do you see it,
its petals open, rising to the surface, turning into you?"
"Oh no," they said. "We are what we are - nothing else."

How perfect. How ancient. How past repair.

16 March 2013

Les Signaraux revisited (yet again)

Juan arrived back from Spain on Friday, after a satisfying but draining trip. I was almost as tired, after a day of shiatsu at the MCPA, and neither of us could stay awake beyond 9pm. It raised questions about how viable our lifestyle is - we sometimes feel burned out with the non-stop planning, whether it's food supplies for Juan and his toing and froing to Switzerland, his work trips, my trips to the UK, me going to Switzerland for weekends - forever planning. This sounds feeble and spoilt-brattish.

Anyway, it's Saturday: a sunny day above Les Signaraux, a route equally suitable for rando and nordique skis, and the blissful liberty of making our own path across an almost empty landscape - and life is perfect.
This place always makes my heart sing - something about the familiarity, the scale - I know it well and feel safe in the gentle hills and valleys.

man in red
At the top the wind howled - as it usually does up there - and blasted us with stinging gusts of powder snow. But it meant that the atmosphere was blown clear of the smog that has hung low over the whole region for much of the winter. Wonderful to see in crisp detail the surrounding peaks.

man in blue
And then, coming down, we found a sheltered spot at the edge of the cross-country piste to picnic...


We then headed down, off-piste again, on difficult, icy snow - and I didn't break anything. We were way too speedy - it was all over in a couple of hours. But it meant we could enjoy the rest of the lovely sunny day in the garden. How to bottle up the memories, to last me through the ups and downs of life between blog entries...

At the end of the weekend we walked around the garden and Juan said goodbye to Vaulnaveys for 3 weeks (I will be in CH next weekend and we'll be away for the Easter weekend). Will he see the forsythia and magnolia stellata poised to flower? I think not. Choices choices...

11 March 2013

spring? - kind of...

During February, while friends were getting spring fever, I resisted - there was unfinished ski business, and   winter is a long affair; I didn't want to be seduced into false optimism. But now we've had irises, primroses and crocuses in the garden; 19 degrees; and the birds are going ballistic. Whatever snow the gods might throw our way between now and May, spring is starting its journey from the valley upwards, and I can feel the sap rising...

 

So it was strange, this Sunday, to leave spring behind and re-enter winter, only the longer daylight hours signalling the change of season:


While Juan took a flight to Madrid and enjoyed lunch with his family in Salamanca prior to a week of meetings in Spain, I went out with the CAF ski nordique group. As we tramped up to the Grand Rocher, the topic of conversation was what supplies to take on the trek to Norway later in the month. The argument wasn't about whether cheese was suitable (complete agreement there) but whether Comté (45% fat content) was better than Beaufort (48%).





Coming down, Chantal's Level 1 outing became more of a rando event. But my newly acquired downhilling confidence gave me a feeling of indestructability as I slid down slopes that would previously have completely phased me:


I'm happy that I've made it out with the CAF at least once this season (on nordic skis hired for the whole season... hmmm).

05 March 2013

Clare D goes skiing

We'd been planning this trip for over a year. Me feeling just a little nervous about whether Isère was going to offer Clare anything like the experience she'd had during family holidays in wilder terrain in Norway. This was half-term and the Arcelle plateau, beautiful though it is, was not a deserted wilderness. The buzz of skiers and toboganners gave it more the atmosphere of a beach than the mountains. But I needn't have worried: wonderful weather and and dramatic Alpine horizons were more than enough:

the Arcelle plateau - Clare: where are your skis?!
The following day we revisited Les Signaraux, scene of Black Friday (see blog entry "Happy to be alive"), climbing through a thick layer of fog...

Clare practising snow-ploughing 


... to emerge on the superb cross-country piste looking towards the Ecrins and Dévoluy:



That evening we feasted on Tartiflette - between us eating a whole Reblochon in a 24-hour period:


Juan had a longer than usual week and didn't join us until Saturday evening. 
The next day the three of us walked up Beauregard (our all-seasons local hill):




... Juan chivalrously lending Clare his snow shoes, and slowed down as a result...


... Clare finding bum-shuffling more effective than walking:



What with yoga sessions, a trip to the flea market, shopping at the Vaulnaveys market, and chats galore it was an action-packed and convivial weekend. Come back soon, Clare!