Chamonix this winter feels like spring. Many of the ski stations in the Alps have next to nothing for snow yet the self proclaimed home of alpinism has been able to deliver the goods. As it has for almost a hundred years skiing continues in the Haute Savoy.
My window promises great things. Mornings deliver news of the movements of the snow and the clouds. Heat cooks the south facing glass 1 til 4. Then at dusk the mist of the town fades into dazzling fusia billowing off the peaks.
The daily dance of the valley follows the same tune but the steps are always different. For the locals who remain seen and not heard, the way they like it, the predictability becomes an art of timing.
As the interseason starts to fade with all those fall jobs still needing to be done Christmas, or the holidays, comes around. Streets are packed with all things white. A new year bowls over and games begin. A month to kick out your deadbeat flat mates and by now you’ll know if that job you got will last. You got the job the same way you bought the idea of moving here in the first place. Hung up on the idea of a little pain for the pleasure of your passion. Then you skied 25 days in January only knowing it was February by the bills to be paid. The French are coming for their holiday and its time for a road trip or two. France ain’t pretty she just looks that way. A spring that smells like summer will come at some point in the next few months. Those who wait around will get a spring shower that if you look high enough will be a delivery of snow. Then it’s May and all your high alpine plans and dreams can come true. Your winter pass ends as the beach calls and you’ll make plans that will become the jobs for fall.
After a storm it becomes a negotiation between you, the mountain, the weather and every one in sight. The first bins are a must. Lovers quarrel and enemies reconcile. As much as you can as fast as you can. The next few days are left exploiting favorite pockets somewhere somebody hasn’t been yet. The Aiguille du Midi gets all the attention of the prom queen at the after party. She hurts a few but the stories of the champions are wickedly good.
My advice for a seasonaire is to work the holidays, in the evenings, especially on the weekends. Go against the tourist flow, eat vegetables and don’t do too much blow.
