Morzine Avoriaz

parlez vous français? - we learn oui (Shannon)

Two weeks of French immersion camp at Alpine French School in the Haute-Savoie. We headed out after our first night in Villard de Lans to trade our VW rental van in for a tiny Dacia sedan in Grenoble, and started north. 

Roads were well traveled this route as well, and we made a few false turns that required doubling back and to be honest, none of us were really at our best after several rental car hiccups in Grenoble. The heat is quite a bit higher than expected everywhere in the northern hemisphere it seems, at home and here alike. 

But Morzine. We climbed a perilously winding road out of the valley into the mountains where Morzine is nestled among a constellation of other smaller villages. It is very near the border of Switzerland, and the architecture might as well be Swiss or Bavarian; chalet style with carved wooden trim, a blend of wood and concrete painted white or a stucco, and always a focus on the color red.

Our Air BnB is out of town on the opposite end from our French school which has gifted us (ahem) with the opportunity to walk literally miles everyday getting around. The streets are crowded with mostly British families and huge groups of downhill mountain bikers like hordes of warriors in their full body armor and full face helmets. The biking scene is a bit much, to be honest. You take your life into your hands just walking to dinner, with youngish men fully suited flying through the streets on their mountain bikes. 

Half the restaurants cater to British "bangers and mash," though we've found several to enjoy-- multiple Savoyard salads laden with meats, cheese and more, have been my favorite. Salads are served with toasts with slightly melted cheese-- I usually choose chevre. The moutains are so beautiful it is hard to get up and go to class each day, and I envy Peter getting out for long hikes instead.

Thanks to a classmate, a runner and strategy consultant from London, we discovered Les Linderets and headed there after school midweek. And this is when we discovered the Morzine we will love is about the villages clustered around it at least as much as it is about Morzine. The short route to tes town took us through two other tiny villages, marked by the stone churches and steeples adorned by metal crosses in the center of town, and quieter than the hub below. The small Lac du Montriond was crowded with people sunbathing, swimming and kayaking, and what a perfect place to be on such a very hot day. And at the end of the road, at last, Les Linderets. It's only a small portion of road with another walkway of shops, all old structures that must have been the houses of shepherds one time, and goats-- perhaps three or four dozen! roaming freely through the streets. 

What is it about how we come out of ourselves when drawn by other creatures? The boys had been bickering, and now immediately turned their attention to these animals. The females all had udders heavy with milk. As we joined the couple of families watching the goats and feeding grass and feed (which could be purchased from any of the neighboring shops for 1Euro), a young man came out with a bucket and began to milk the goats-- not as a tourist attraction though it certainly drew attention. He squatted below one after another, and they came to him, perhaps ready to be free of their burdens, and he filled one bucket after another.  The boys fed the goats throughout the late afternoon, sharing feed with the young French children. One little girl cried— the goats frightened her. But most were absolutely gleeful in the connection.

Dinner was outside enclosed by a fence in perpetual danger of violation by the goats, which remained hopeful and stubborn, as you might expect, and we drove back down the winding road to our apartment with hearts lifted by high mountains and fellow travelers on the journey.

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