Climb every mountain… in the French Alps

Lunch in the French Alps. An enormous roquefort and walnut salad. Sadly no wine as I’m en route to Monte Carlo.

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I love food.

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…

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Hmmm. Yup. I really am going up the side of that mountain in a rickety carriage…
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At the top of the mountain was a fine little inn where I sampled a (small) beer and lots of cheese 🙂

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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

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It was as rickety as it looks, but great fun!
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A world away from reality…and I liked it…

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.

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Hang gliders leap off the top of mountains surrounding Mont Blanc…one day I might join them…
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Definitely more Swiss than French. At the top of the mountain…

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.

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Author: awidowswanderings

I became a widow at the ripe old age of 40. It wasn't expected and it changed my life. Ignore the Kubler-Ross 5 stages of grief. It doesn't work. She also forgot about the stage where you develop an irresistible urge to run. I thought I'd fill the gap. I've been a widow for nearly 6 years now. Except I'm no longer alone. I have a widower love to travel the road with me. Two wanderers. Two wonderers. Two colossal sets of baggage. And four dogs...

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