Charmonix, Mt. Blanc
My mother was actually excited about something I was excited about. “Aimee, did you know Lyon is near the Alps? You must go to Mt. Blanc.” Honestly I can’t say if that’s a direct quote… it’s close. She may have asked me if I wanted to eat oatmeal or if I had laundry to do. But the jist of the message is this: Mt. Blanc is AMAZING. And it was.
Up in the snowy Alps I was taken aback. While Everest literally took my breath away with the altitude, the views of Mt. Blanc from the cable car were unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Mama – you done good.
Ideally my mama had intended a trip to Charmonix as a weekend trip amidst 3 months of nannying in France but sometimes things don’t work out. I’m glad it was my stint with the family and not the mountain.
Reading through Lonely Planet I discovered that not only could I take a cable car up the moutain but that I could actually take three in succession and end up with an Italian viewpoint. This would cost a little more but I was dead set on it.
As for paragliding, eh, I didn’t really care one way or another about it. If I did it I did it. If I didn’t, whatever.
I had caught the early train to Charmonix, intending to get there at approx. 1 pm. Well I rolled in after 4 pm due to an unacceptable rookie travel error. Got off the train at the wrong stop… I had been busy reading my Lonely Planet but I could have sworn that those 3 hours had been too quick. IDIOT. So I lunched for 3 hours while waiting for the next train heading to Charmonix. It was actually quite pleasant and I had an amazing salad while fooling around with manual settings on my camera.
My first stop in Charmonix was La Maison… Bascially it helps you organize anything sporty that you’d want to do. And there’s a lot. I decided I’d just ask about paragliding since I was there. The cable car tickets would have to be bought at a different location. I ended up walking out the door 110 Euros down and committed to a 9 am date with disaster for the following morning. I couldn’t wait!
I was off to find a place to rest my head. Unfortunatley the international youth hostel was outside the main town and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hit up the Vagabond, a british run hostel complete with pub and probably lots of obnoxious boys. With the help of someone at the tourist office, I decided to suck it up the 40 Euros and get a hotel room of my own. Now 40 Euros is just over $50 but when you’re traveling for long periods of time, you’ve gotta cut expenses. Lodging in Lyon was 18 Euros a night. It had to be. My conscience slowly creeped around and steered me in the direction of the Vagabond… just thought I should check it out IN CASE. A friendly Brit greeted me when I walked into the side door of the pub. I kind of indicated that I was tired and didn’t want rowdy roommates. When staying at a hostel you have to be ready for ANYTHING. He assured me that the two guys in there seemed to be pretty lax, especially since they themselves had to get up early to do some climbing. After a few minutes of deliberation I told him I’d take the room. I was not disappointed.
I was quite pleased to ditch my pack. Walking around with it for probably 2 hours as I tried to navigate my way around little Charmonix had made me rather weary. I had waaay too much stuff for 2 days but I knew I’d be in the mountains and that the temperatures could really drop. And well I like to have choices…
Before paying for my lodging, I went into the main part of town (the kind britt let me leave my load behind the bar for the time being) in search of a payphone to cancel my 40 Euro dream paradise. Then, to be safe, I invested in ear plugs, some powerade, and a surprisingly delicious sandwich. No luck with an alarm clock. I contemplated seeing a French movie but then told myself, A, you’re in the ALps, and B, there are no subtitles in this theater.
I spent my evening chatting with the bartender, a guy named Ben who was my bunkmate and an avid climber, and a random paragliding junkie who had some excellent stories about the risks of G-force. My other roommate klunked out early. He was from… Sweden? He had a huge blonde fro and a kind smile. Certainly not the frat boy nightmares I had been hesitant to face. Sometimes a girl just needs her sleep.
I woke around 7 am, my mind set on getting over to the cable car office as soon as it opened at 8 am in order to avoid the long queues (a word non-American English speakers use instead of “lines.” Also note, queue is french for “line”). It was at the ticket window that I encountered one example of what might be considered a rude frenchman. Woman actually. She had not an ounce of patience and absolutley no desire to make herself clear. I had been told I could buy tickets all the way through Italy. She rudely told me I’d have to wait until 8:30 am to buy the cable car to the Herbonne portion. She gestured to the building and said I could buy it “upstairs.” So I kept myself busy with a breakfast croissant until 8:30 before going in search of this other office. Turns out I would actually have to be up THE MOUNTAIN to buy the next leg of the journey. I guess the moral of the story is that when you go upstairs in France, you are climbing a mountain? I was slightly annoyed since now I had to hurry back to the hostel to lock up my things and then to another cable car station for my paragliding date.
I double layered my pants and triple layered my shirts in preparation for my plunge into the green Alps. It turned out the lift was a little further than I thought and I found myself sweating up a steep road. I arrived 15 minutes late which I feared could really cut my time short. Christopher, pronounced in the most French way possible, quickly led me to the cable car and soon we were up on Brevaunt preparing for our jump. It looked easy enough and I wasn’t the least bit frightened. Not like when I had to muster every ounce of courage to go bungee jumping in Korea. I still can’t believe I did that. No, this was a nice gentle easy ride.
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