Lunch in the French Alps. An enormous roquefort and walnut salad. Sadly no wine as I’m en route to Monte Carlo.
It’s been a difficult couple of days, widow wise. When I’m not on the road I have time to think and time to miss. So I check in with friends, feel the love and pick myself up by my bra straps…
I went sailing past the Furnicular railway at Saint Helene-du-Touvet, on my way to Monaco. I was half an hour off my route. I seriously contemplated giving Mont Blanc a miss, feeling tired and a bit deflated. Then I remembered that I probably wont get another chance in the next few years to come back. I shouted at myself, turned up Clapton’s Layla, reset the sat nav (obviously, I was looking for a little village, not a bloody town). And I’m so glad that I did…
Moral of this holiday…. keep going. Even when you think you’ve had enough, just push on. The results are usually worth it 🙂
I rode the furnicular railway withsome trepidation. I’ve not got a particularly good head for heights, and this railway is practically vertical. It’s a half an hour ride on a rickety (although I told, safe) truck with windows…. thats the only way that I can describe it.
The little single gauge carriage rattled and clanked its way slowly up the side of the mountain. Mont Blanc hover into view, in all her majesty. We passed waterfalls and streams gushing down the mountain sides. No Eidelweiss but maybe it’s the wrong time of the year
This region of France probably has more in common with it’s Swiss, German and Italian cousins, than its distant relatives in Paris. The people look different – definitely the darker Italian types around here.
I chose the day well. Hot and sunny with a little mist and cloud grazing the top of the mountains. I was glad I had taken the detour. Another part of France which is so completely different to other regions.