Having embraced snowboarding in Switzerland’s famed Alpine resort of Verbier several months ago, I had a good idea of what a little village covered in snow has to offer. Skiing, snowboarding, bum-boarding, tobogganing, ice skating, cosy little pubs with fireplaces, gluhwein, hot chocolate and of course, the infamous aprps ski. But what do they do in summer? Never one to miss a travel opportunity, I jumped at the chance to join a friend in the French Alps as Europe opened its heart to the summer hordes.
Chamonix is a popular winter-sport resort at the foot of the majestic Mont Blanc, and has played host to the Winter Olympics. In summer, it’s the most gorgeous little slice of paradise. Flower boxes on windowsills exploding with colour and dreamy fragrances, enchanting forests and glacial rivers, meadows and fields all make for a complete sensory overload.
In fact, my sense of taste was completely overloaded here. What is it about being on holiday in a foreign country that just compels you to try almost every decadent treat you can get your sticky hands on? It’s not as if we don’t have ice cream, pastries, pancakes or hot chocolate at home! Maybe it’s because they’re suddenly called names like glacms, religieuse, crrpes and chocolat chaud I indulged. Without reservation.
Thankfully, being someone who loves to keep healthy and exercise, I investigated possible running routes in Chamonix to work off my overload and was directed to a nearby forest trail — a 5km track that ended in the village of Les Bois. That, or I could keep going and make it as long as I liked.
At this point, I need to add a footnote: I suffer from Extreme Directional Disease. In fact, it’s a constant source of wonder that my trusty GPS doesn’t utter profanities or have meltdowns. So finding the start of my running route was challenging, but I put it down to a good warm-up for my run.
The path wound its way through the most enchanting fairytale forests, following glacial rivers and streams, up hills and down valleys, past meadows keeping fat, healthy, brown and white cows happy, vege-table patches and perfect little storybook chalets. After two hours (amazing how, when you’re exploring and discovering, the pain of running is somewhat lessened) it was the steep climbs that got my heart
racing and my lungs burning, rather than the scenery taking my breath away. That was long past Les Bois.
Yep, I was lost, and found myself heading towards the next town, Argentirre. I eventually ended up at a little creamerie (our closest equivalent would probably be a tea garden) right in the heart of the forest. Here, I noticed a signpost that read “Point de Vue” (view point) and thought it would be the perfect destination to end my (by now) two-and-a-half-hour run. So off I headed.
Forced to walk rather than run up a gradient that could put your back out, I learnt later that this was a black ski slope piste. It twisted and turned up the mountain as unrelenting as my stubborn determination to keep going. Did I mention that I’d skipped breakfast that morning out of eagerness to get going, that there was no lunch (obviously, as I was literally on the trot), that I carried no water, and — having left a wet and wintery Cape Town — hadn’t even considered putting on sunscreen before I headed outf The unhealthiest recipe for exercise you can imagine.
I began passing the occasional hiker, armed with steely Alpine sticks, seriously hard core hiking boots and backpacks, and realised the error of my ways. But at least I was travelling light! “Vous ites trhs sportive!” (“You are very sporty”) commented one as a group stared curiously at me slipping and staggering up the piste in my Asics running shoes, T-shirt and cycling shorts.
This is when it suddenly dawned on me that the 2h35 next to the words “Point de Vue” on the sign post was obviously referring to the amount of time it would take to reach the top. Oh boy! Driven by a die-hard attitude, never quitting and determined to reach any goal I set for myself, not even starvation, dehydration, exhaustion or sunstroke was going to stop me.
To cut a long hike short, I got to the top, crossed-eyed, to admire the spectacular view through a haze of delirium. And then started the descent, slipping and sliding all the way down.
The second attempt at an easy jog was also epic, getting caught in the heaviest downpour I’ve ever seen. I was blinded by white rain and hopped around puddles the size of Jacuzzis. Lightning flashed all around me, while I desperately tried to remember which was the safer option: standing under a big tree, or standing in the middle of an open field. Of course, the answer is neither, they’re both very bad options. Merde!
This time, my leisurely jog turned into a sprint through the last section of the forest and finally through town. After pouring water out of my running shoes, peeling off my clothes and wringing out my ponytail, I had one of the best hot showers I’ve ever had, followed by yet another almond croissant and a mug of hot chocolate.
Even after the fifth time I did my 18km run (leaving out the trek up the piste), I’d take a wrong turn here or there, but each would take me on another discovery — a bubbling brook, a perfect moss-covered rock to sit on and take in the moment or a patch of luminous wild flowers. These detours kept reminding me of the DH Lawrence poem “The Road not Taken”.
Taking a day trip to the neighbouring village of Annecy was filled with delights of its own. The road there climbed up the Alps, showing the most breathtaking views of snow-capped peaks, hills and valleys and culminating at the crest with a perfect little chapel. Its inscription reads “Saint Anne Prot gez les voyageurs” (Saint Anne, protect the travellers).
Annecy has two very distinct parts — the old village and new city — separated by a river. The old part has cobbled streets, flower boxes and quaint, character-filled cafns and restaurants. And over the bridge, I indulged in a bit of retail therapy at all the hip-and-happening boutiques. July’s the perfect time for shopping here, as there are sales galore.
Chamonix in the summer is all about picnics, hiking, white-water rafting, running, helicopter flips, rock-climbing, mountaineering, and paragliding to name but a few. Then there’s also a t leph rique 3800m ride to the winter wonderland of snow, ice and views of Mont Blanc, which will stay with you forever.
You’re asking me when you should go, in winter or in summer? Well, pack your bags and go see for yourself! Au revoir and bon voyage!
How to get there
SAA flies Cape Town–London/ London–Geneva.
From Geneva, an hour-long bus ride will take you directly to Chamonix.
Visa requirement: Schengen
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