Friday 10.8.2010

Up, Up and Away

We have a 9:00 am rendezvous this morning for our mountain adventure. That is, a rendezvous with sure death. Mary shakes on a step stool, Pat needs a 747 to get more than two feet off the ground and John doesn't even like being this tall, and yet this morning we warriors are going to ride in a gondola strung to a piece of wire up two miles to the top of Aiguille du Midi and pay for the privilege.

The air is certainly crisp and clear this morning as we start hiking toward our fate puffing out clouds of breath. We find a patisserie and an outside table for our morning ration of chassons du pomme and croissants, all the while staring up at the beast. The base of the cable is at a ticket station about a 15 minute walk from our hotel, and while this is supposed to be one of the most popular attractions in the Alps, there aren't many people around. The gondolas, each smaller than our kitchen, allegedly hold 72 people standing, but there aren't 72 people here this morning. Just as we are ready to board, each wishing someone else would chicken out, a group of 12 year old school kids join us to fill up the car. We're all nervously smiling at each other as we start to climb, but the smiles fade after a few minutes. A few thousand feet up we pass the first support tower and that causes the gondola to start to swing front to back. We pass the tree line when we get to the second tower and start the swinging again and finally the third tower makes you feel like you're on a carnival ride a mile above the ground. After a couple nervous giggles, even the little kids shut up.

We get off at the first stop, Plan de l'Aiguille, and the kids take off on some adventure while we prepare to board the next gondola for the ride to the top. Pat is walking from stranger to stranger sternly saying, "I did not enjoy that at all. Not at all." John and Mary are green. There are no evil-finger towers to rock us on this leg as we are pulled elevator-like straight up another mile to the top. Aiguille du Midi, with its peak at 12,600 feet, is a spike hanging around like Mont Blanc's kid brother. There are multiple viewing platforms, summer connections to gondolas into Italy, exits onto the mountain for the adventurous and a creaky elevator to take you a few more feet to the very, very top.


We spend a while just getting our land legs back, hanging out at the lowest viewing level. The sights are spectacular and in retrospect we will swear that it was worth the ride. We are surrounded by fellow Alps, all about our size, with snowy peaks in every direction, and just downhill a bit from us is the Glacier Bosson gradually inching its way down the mountain. From below, the mountain feels close enough that you could reach way out and touch the top, but from above, the valley floor and the Village of Chamonix seem miles away, perhaps because they are.

We start to relax a bit and work our way up to the top viewing platform where there are mounted photos with the names of each of our neighboring and distant peaks. Just below us para-gliders are spreading their wings on the snow and every few minutes, to the cheers of the others, one will run off the side of the mountain and begin the gradual drift back to earth. Now we're bouncing from platform to platform checking out the best view of Mont Blanc, picking out the distant cable towers at the Italian end and welcoming mountain climbers as they return to the platforms after a morning of cheating death. As our eyes adjust to the surroundings we can pick out ant-like figures out on the snow fields moving to and from distant ice caves and a few probably heading to the top of Mont Blanc. When you can see for miles there is a lot of stuff to look at, and by the time we leave we will have spent over three hours at the top with about 50 pictures to document the event.

The ride down is much less threatening. As the car started to move, John mentioned to Pat that this would all be over in just a few minutes, one way or another. Our descent takes us from 25-degrees to 70-degrees in a few minutes which makes a really cold beer sound like a good idea. Boccalatte Brasserie, a block from our landing site, is calling our names with frosty Heineken pints, pizzas and pastas. We are falling into the Italian food trap again, but at least you can see Italy from here. It is after three by the time we finish lunch which means some downtime is in order (it's the stress that wears you down) and Mary pulls off a bit of shopping.

We meet on the deck (with a view of the defeated mountain) for cocktails at 6:00 and then into town for a casual supper. It you have ever heard that there are no bad French restaurants, let us correct that notion right now. We would like to introduce you to Restaurant Potinierre, the worst restaurant of our trip (so far). It's a big touristy place where Mary had a burger that would have embarrassed White Castle, Pat had a Tortellini that was sauced with bath water and John had the Waffle-House steak. Oh well, we're fed and it was a wonderful day (in retrospect)


The mountain air with the River Arve outside the window makes for really good sleeping.

Today's weather: Sunny and hazy, low 25 (mountain), high 73 (valley)