Now I know why we're in Chamonix

Anna and I have both cross country and downhill skied since we last spoke. We cross country skied in the classique style which basically entails lunging over and over wearing skinny skis and toe clip bindings. Great fun and a wicked work out. My bum and thighs feel firmer already. We had an awesome day downhill skiing at Les Grand Montet on Saturday. We have had an incredible amount of snow in the past week, our morning ritual has been to dig out the van and scrape the 20 cms of snow off it. The powder on the mountain was light and deep but a little tracked out. The locals here ski hard and it does not take long before lines are snaking their way down every skiable face. I have given in to temptation and donned a skiers cap for the winter. My goal is to catch up with Anna, sometimes literally, as she is a season ahead of me on skis.

Richard`s jobs seem to be getting more and more obscure; A few construction items were stolen from a work site he is involved with so the next night I was promoted to head of security operations. This basically involved sleeping on site, at a location I cannot disclose for security purposes, and doing god knows what if anyone actually did turn up to steal anything. Thankfully the night was uneventful and spending and hour and a half at a wine tasting evening just prior allowed me a fairly deep sleep. That morning I was packing up my sleeping bag when the tradies arrived, I quickly turned from staunch security guard to, what must have seemed to them, a hobo enjoying some shelter from the cold as I could not explain in my terrible French why I was there.

Anna is recovering well after her wee tumble down the stairs in our apartment, her black bruises are fading to yellow. Thankfully nothing was broken and she now approaches the stairs with the caution of someone in their 80`s.

We have been welcomed with open arms and seemingly endless shots of Jagermeister by the ‘locals.’ We are chuffed at being included in rounds of shots shouted for the locals by Dave, the peoples barman. With every new person we meet there is the obligatory introduction to their dog, who is usually playing rough and tumble with another dog in the bar, at the owners feet or sniffing someone’s crotch as they try to enjoy a pint. All the intricacies of the pooches breed, personality and toiletry habits are unashamedly exposed by their doting owner to practical strangers. It is great to put names to the faces we have been walking past and ‘Bon jouring’ for the past month, the funny thing is they are all English which makes our spirited ‘Bon jour’s’ seem a little off the mark.