A marmot flavoured suitcase?

In the time it takes to drive from Canberra to Melbourne I had ticked off four countries…Wales, England, Switzerland and France as I embarked on a farewell weekend at chateau de Stafford. After such a journey I was pleased to go to the beach, with sand and waves and everything, all in the middle of landlocked Europe, have a paddle and follow up with an afternoon nap and an ice cream. Leman-sur-mer.





It was back to business as usual over the following days, taking in mountains and food and mountains of food, commencing with a trip to the foot of Mont Blanc itself and the Mont Blanc tramway, an almost impossibly inclining old fashioned hunk of junk rising from St Gervais to Nid d’Aigle, some 2380 metres above la mer.



Around this way are rocks and goats and big drops below, not to mention the odd glacier, plummeting down the mountainside and fragmenting into jagged blocks of ice and water and rocks.





It’s wild country round here, which makes the arrival of a tram high up on a piece of rock in the middle of nowhere all the more surprising. Many use the stop as a starting point for climbing the mountain, meanwhile the less intrepid among us stop off at a little café in the sun to chomp on a stale baguette to recover from a little scramble across the rocks.

After such strenuous efforts (eating stale bread), it was little surprise that the downhill crawl on the tram should lead to eyes closing, slowly drooping and shutting before popping open at the occasional open vista.



Off the tram and into the car, we moved on to Chamonix and well, you guessed it, more mountain scenery and food. Ice cream followed by a scarily steep climb on a cablecar with the occasional gust of wind is not really recommended, but got us nonetheless to a point on the other side of the valley to old Mont Blanc itself which, by this time of day, was mostly obscured by cloud. The same cloud thwarted our attempts to ride in another thin metal box on a flimsy rope across a massive crevice, but hey ho, the views up here were good enough for the marmots so that’s good enough for me.

Every other shop round here stocks cuddly marmots, some of whom have been skilfully stuffed with a small speaker by a tiny woman in a Chinese sweatshop to emit a whistle when you walk past. Apart from underlining the futility of global consumerism, they are hardly an accurate depiction of what is quite a chubby, dour looking creature. The high pitched whistle when you stand too close, however, is not so far off.

Back down in Chamonix, avoiding high pitched whistles and souvenir shops, there was one final stop at Mademoiselle Cakeface, some takeaway for after dinner, the literal icing on the cake.



More mountains and mountains of food followed again the next day, though the ones made of rock were obscured somewhat by cloud for the most part. The town of Samoens provided a fine base for ambling and eating, what with its little parks and cosy streets and selection of local sausages.



Further up the road we took a jaunt around the wonderfully named and probably spectacular in clear weather Sixt-Fer-a-Cheval. This appears to be a magnificent valley enclosed by towering rock and jagged peaks, dissected by a number of waterfalls. Despite the peakless views for us, it was still a rather impressive place and one to come back to in the future I should think.



The final day offered a change of pace – the mountains of food continued but big chunks of rock were replaced by rolling Swiss countryside, fields of burnt sunflowers and vines and many flowers around the nearby agricultural college-come-park. It was a good chance to enjoy some warm sunshine and chill out, a sometimes rare opportunity over the last couple of months.





And that was about it, from my memory and recollection and sketchy notes about what I did on that final long weekend in France. As always, very well looked after and tour-guided around by the family. The only other vague memory was getting up at some godforsaken hour and being transported through a number of tunnels to a large bright institution to be taken away on a flying machine, a journey for which I will forever be indebted!