Some Times You Get Chicken Livers or Flat Chickens
By Adda Quinn
Foreign travel is always adventurous for us. Despite months of advanced planning, calls, and correspondence, communication can be interesting! We learned early on to be prepared for changes, and not to be disappointed by not getting exactly what we "thought" we had asked for. In Europe for instance, I have on a number of occasions, ordered pate (which I love) and gotten chicken livers (which I hate). C'est la vie!
We had planned an extended vacation to return to the French Department of the Haute-Savoie in the beautiful Alps above Albertville for September 1997. We go there every other year because of the spectacular scenery, hiking, food, and pas cher (cheap) cost.1
Each visit, we try something a bit different. This year's excursion was to ride horses from chalet to chalet with Madame Marie Odile Turrell in the area of Beaufort.2 Letters were sent, calls placed, maps reviewed, trails selected, three friends from London invited (met previously on a horse back ride in Hungary3), and itineraries exchanged. Just before we got on the plane to France, we called Madame to reconfirm all was ca va (well). Five days before our rendezvous, we had a French friend call Madame for precise instructions where to meet. Madame told us that she had been kicked in the leg by a horse, but that "Felix" would take us riding. We were to meet Felix at the Place du Arreches in front of the Eglise (church) at 10:00 am on Saturday. We would know Felix by his "distinctive" truck.
After two solid weeks of gorgeous weather, on midnight Friday, a torrential rain began which was to last 15 hours. We met our British friends at the Hotel du Grand Mont in Beaufort at 9:00 am Saturday where we accused them of bringing their nasty English weather over with them. We were unanimous that riding was out of the question unless there was a break in the weather. We called Madame to explore options and she met us at the hotel and had us follow her to Felix's to decide a course of action. We piled into our respective vehicles, and to our amazement headed in a direction opposite of our carefully plotted maps, plans and tidy little chalets. We ended up at Les Saisies, a newish ski station (resort) developed in the early 1970s, in contrast to the quaint montagnard villages everywhere else in the Savoie.
Felix was leaning against a wall casually awaiting our arrival. He was obviously a character and wanna-be cowboy. The only English he knows is OK! which he uses often and robustly! He is also an entrepreneur, owning Le Saloon (the hottest restaurant in town), the Hotel Le Very4, numerous other establishments, and about 30 horses (names like Utah!). In his late 50's, adorned in a cowboy shirt, topped with a fishing vest, covered by an Aussie oil skin short coat and matching chapeaux, he cut quite a handsome Marlboroesque figure. He and Madame parlons Francaise back and forth with bits coming out in l'Anglais (English) here and there which caused initial confusion and consternation:
We must have had eyes big as saucers. In our fractured French, we explained that at no time had we been instructed to bring sleeping bags, and furthermore, we had no intentions of sleeping in accommodations where bags were de rigueur (required)! Felix pondered this Anglo-American alliance for a moment, shrugged his shoulders and said pas problem (no sweat)-we would ride horses to the Refuge, return to town with him in the truck after dinner, then go back in the morning to continue our promenade du cheval (horse ride) back. That solved everything but the rain. Again, pas problem-with great certainty he assured us the rain would stop at 2:00 pm. Skeptical, but now booked in warm environs with linens, we ate lunch at Le Saloon, settled our luggage into the Hotel Le Very, and took a nap. At 2:30 pm a phone call advised us that the rain had stopped and to reconvene at Le Saloon. It was then that we met the "distinctive" truck.
To say that this old Renault had seen better days would be too effusive praise. The doors were secured by ropes, wires and an old undershirt. The tiny front bench seat accommodated Felix as driver, Harold (our 71 year young Brit friend whom we deferred to strictly on account of his good looks and multi-syllabic learned vocabulary), and one lucky third person. The rest of us survived by holding onto bits of rope protruding here and there from the enclosed rear cargo area. We shared all trips with Felix's delightful, but flatulent, black retriever, Jazzy, assuring certain asphyxiation by either le chien (dog) or exhaust fumes which poured through the holey wooden floorboard.
Our inaugural truck ride was mercifully short. We could almost hold our breath the entire trip to the pasture where we captured 13 mounts and lead them back to the stables through ankle deep water and mud. Apparently, there would be more than the five of us riding. About 3:30 pm, a passel of French showed up to claim their steeds. All were novice riders but one; all had sleeping bags.
The horses were very sweet tempered with blood lines a melange (mixture) of breeds. There were sturdy Appaloosas and elegant Andalusians with manes so thick they parted down the middle of the neck falling equally and heavily on both sides. One of the French drew a mule which dashed off back to the stable within a minute of hitting the trail, its novice rider wondering how to duck far enough down to clear the low barn door.
The higher we climbed up the mountain, the thicker the clouds became until we were riding in light rain by 4:30 pm. We had some good canters which the excited French treated like a stampede. We arrived about 6:30 pm in twilight and drizzle at the Refuge Le Croix du St. Pierre (Cross of St. Peter) at the Col Joly to welcoming smoke pouring out of the chimney. The weather had impeded all views of the countryside.
The Refuge was an old stone building with a heavy slate roof. It had no bathroom, no electricity, no running water and was heated by a fireplace in the "livingroom" and a small wood stove in the bedroom (20 old mattresses laid side by side on a raised wood ledge). The wall with the fireplace on it had chinks of stone out to create a draft to keep the fire burning. The result was that you did not want to stand any taller than the fireplace or your upper body froze. We all hunkered down around the benches and table in front of the fire. The French had checked the place out three weeks prior. They delightfully and accurately described it as "tres sauvage" (wild, primitive). A half dozen candles set in empty wine bottles augmented the fire and provided the only illumination other than the flashlight Felix used to cook and serve by. The atmosphere was actually quite cozy and inviting once you were down at fire level. We barely had our jackets off when Felix began cocktails-all the white wine with cassis that we could possibly drink. Next came the wonderful Tomme de Savoie local cheese. The French, who were from just south of Lac Leman, produced bread and a huge wedge of a cheese unique to their region called Abundance. It too was delicious. Felix placed a huge salad of couscous on the table for us to work on while he grilled spicy Moroccan Mergaze sausages and pork chops over a grill on the fire. Between turnings of meat, he would flash over to the corner of the room to a gas stove top where he boiled whole potatoes and melted Reblochon cheese for a paysenne (peasant) tartiflette (open the potatoes and dress with a melted cheese/garlic sauce). Felix literally had to walk around with a flashlight in his mouth since both hands often held platters of good things to eat or pitchers of red wine. Dinner was followed by more cheese, fresh peaches, pear-filled pastries, a high octane local alcoholic beverage similar in taste to slivovitz, and finally La Grolla. La Grolla is part of Italian cuisine, but you see them all over the Savoie. A grolla is a flat wooden bowl with a lid and 4-10 odd looking spouts coming off of the top. You put your two thumbs in the outer 2 of any 3 spouts and drink from the one in the middle. The drink is a concoction of coffee and half a dozen liquors. When you have done drinking, you pass the bowl on to your comrades. And so, La Grolla circles until emptied. Somehow ours was a bottomless. Whoa cheval! Then the jokes began. The French were charming and attempted to entertain us in both French and their fractured English. They explained that in France, the brunt of ethnic jokes were the Belge (Belgians) and related the following:
A Frenchman was driving through Belgium and smashed a chicken absolutely flat with his car. There being only one farm house near, he carried the flattened fowl to the door and tried to offer apologies to the Belgian farmer who replied: "It can't be my chicken. My chickens are not flat."
No one was the least bit cold or unhappy when we walked out at 10:00 pm. If it hadn't been for Jazzy and the unbelievably bad dirt road full of pot holes, we would probably not have even stayed awake. Given the roads, it is a marvel that the old Renault runs as well as it does!
9:00 am next day back up the mountain in the truck. This time, the clearing clouds exposed the magnificent peaks and valleys of the Beaufortin, dominated by the immensity of Mt. Blanc. Stunning! A circuitous four hour horse back ride home discovered spectacular mountain ridges, plunging green valleys, and panoramic vistas all around us. Riding the third day was clearer still, accentuating the landscape.
We bid adieu to Felix and headed back to explore Beaufort for future horse riding outings5. We stayed in a neat little B&B much more typical of the Savoie than we had seen in Les Saisies. It was called the Hotel Pension Vailleret6. We had beers on the patio and cleaned our boots. The innkeeper came out and sat with us to enjoy the sunshine. She clearly did not understand English or even identify it as such. We nearly died laughing when she asked us in French: So are you Belge? That evening at dinner, another house guest told us that the French government is about to impose strict codes for all of the Refuges in France. While we would never have wanted to sleep at the Le Croix du St. Pierre, the experience we had there was marvelous. So if anyone is adventurous, book with Felix asap before they electrify, standardize, sanitize and modernize. It is a totally unique adventure.
Our thanks to Nancy and Gordon Brown for putting us on to the Beaufortin by their excellent article and subsequent guidance. To Harold Ehrenberg, Terrina Narbett, and Adrian McAndrew for being such good sports about being sold a bill of goods for one trip only to have it torn away from them on a rainy Saturday. And finally to Felix Corbaz, his daughter Delphine, Jazzy, and the nice horses which slogged us safely through the mud and muck.
Tres jolie! Grand bon temps! Viva la France et Savoie!
(1997 prices)
1 Maison Combelouviere/Doucy a 2 bedroom apartment looking down into the Val Morel ski station costs $23 a night off season. You must clean. Bring own towels. Telephone: 33-4-79-22-94-17 Fax: 33-4-79-24-19-43. Ask for Catherine who is and speaks English.
2 The San Mateo Horseman "Reflections on Horseback Riding in the French Alps" by Nancy Brown, Fall 1996.
Marie Odile Turrell 73270 La Mappa. Telephone: 33-4-79-38-12-15. Call her to book horses for the Beaufort-Arreches area.
3 San Mateo Horseman "Who Are Those Crazy Horsemen? Why do they ride so fast?" by Adda Quinn, Fall 1993.
4 Hotel Le Very** 73620 Les Saisies-Hauteluce. Telephone:
33-4-79-38-90-46. Fax 33-4-79-38-91-21. Ask for Delphine who speaks English. Rooms en suite with mini kitchens for two about $50 per night. Book horses through this location to ride in Les Saisies under Mt. Blanc.
5 Refuge l'Econdu near the Barrage St. Guerin looks like a good overnight ride destination for future reference. Not all Refuges are as primitive as Croix St. Pierre, we discovered. Book with Madame Turrell for this.
6 Hotel Pension Villaret "Le Bersend"** 73270 Beaufort sur Doron. Telephone and fax 33-4-79-38-33-65. No English spoken, no en suite. Excellent home cooked food and good wines. About $50 per night plus dinners. Either this, or the hotels in Arreches, are good staying spots for rides in the Beaufortin.