A dash to Camberley

We had known for some time that we would need to be at Royal Military Academy, Sandhurst (RMAS) for an Old College Sunday family service. We guessed wrongly on the dates when we fist planned our trip, many months ago, which then necessitated a dash for Camberley; we weren’t going to miss this for anything. Our last night in Alagna did however prove to be quite exciting as we dined in a mountain restaurant with access only by Ski-Doos. (Don’t ask me how to spell this! MOG nick named it the snooter…). Meeting our driver he advised us to have a ‘ molto forte’ drink…we would need it! He was right; especially on the return journey as our driver had also had some ‘forte’ drinks! The food was typically mountain style and Male Old Git (MOG) had to brush up his Italian as “not a lot of English was spoken up there”.

FOG on Ski-Doo with Stafano...



We left Italy in clear blue skies and sunshine to arrive at Gatwick under a thick carpet of cloud. It’s good to be home! Two nights with the elder sibling comprised of dashing to the shops and collecting suits etc from friends to ensure we looked smart for the main event. We booked into the hotel and spa and a few hours later the younger sibling and now budding officer arrived…, much ‘slimmer’ and looking tired but sporting a broad and warm smile of someone enjoying themselves. The etiquette lectures at Sandhurst had obviously left an impression as he stood up when his mother came to the table! He issued us with our clearances and ‘orders’ for the following day and then had to depart for more preparation for the Sunday service.

We couldn’t wait for the following morning and apart from MOG leaving his camera in the guardroom, all went well. The taxi was taking us up to the Royal Memorial Chapel when marching down the road, (They don’t walk around Sandhurst) came a young man who looked vaguely familiar…it turned out to be our son. The transformation was breath taking; even his ever cynical elder brother was impressed.

Attention! Out side old college in ‘Blues’ (Notice the boots!)







The day passed quickly and after a demonstration of their newly acquired drill skills we enjoyed the morning service in the chapel.








On parade...







The service was very moving, with the turning of the page in the “Roll of Honour” and a full military band accompanying the organ. The highlight for me was the hymn “O Trinity of love and power”, which has the same tune as “For all those in peril on the sea”…, I had more than a lump in my throat and FOG had a tear in her eye. A short silence preceded a deep drum roll causing the young man by me to brace, as did all the other 270 cadets. The national anthem was sung with a fervour that would have quelled Twickenham on a Saturday afternoon…



FOG and younger offspring: her "little one"!





















The elder sibling admitted to feeling a bit of a ‘shortie’, or words to that effect, as all the cadets, especially in our son’s platoon, seemed to tower above us.


Who's the big brother now?



















After lunch and a tour of RMAS he was allowed to ‘fall out’ and we headed back to our hotel.

In front of Old College in ‘suit dress’




The young man chatted for awhile about his experiences and especially an exercise called ‘Long Reach’; which is the toughest challenge of the whole course. 60km in 24 hours with a heavy burgher...; carried out on the week Britain was paralysed by the snow. It meant hiking waist deep in snow so the route had to be shortened…it is now called ‘Short Reach’ or ‘Within Reach’ by the other intakes! There is no quarter given inside the army; not for the sensitive! Finally he fell into a deep sleep in a lounger by the pool; the chance to relax overtook him and he was spark out for several hours. After a good meal and glass of wine it was time for him to return to Sandhurst and the elder son back to London; embraces and a little bit of the stiff upper lip came into play: it will be a day the Old Gits will never forget. My lasting memory will always be of seeing a young officer cadet standing ram rod straight, sporting a confident smile; with the tear jerking last line of the hymn “O Trinity of love and power…” ringing in my ears:

“…Thus evermore shall rise to thee,
Glad hymns of praise from land and sea.”

Excursion to Champoluc: A challenge but worth it…

Our hosts came up for the weekend and we were informed that an early night was needed as we would leave early in the morning; it apparently would be a long day. Champoluc was three valley’s away and about as far at the edge of the piste map as we could go. We arose to bright blue skies but bitterly cold at -14oC in the village and -20oC on the mountain which would feel chillier as wind was forecasted…gulp. We were however equipped with extra clothing such as balaclavas and the party set off well before the madding crowd have surfaced. The problem with Alagna is you have to walk to the lifts and this causes a considerable increase in your body temperature but as soon as you alight from the cable car at the top of the mountain the sweat freezes to your body; not a pleasant experience for us 'softies'.

We first of all skied over the Passe Salati and down into Orsia, just outside Gressoney. Then we climbed again to Colle Bettaforca, where the majestic Cervino, or we would know it as ‘the Matterhorn’, stood guard, sinisterly surrounded in a thin layer of swirling mist. This was when the wind hit us and my eyes watered so intently, despite the goggles, that I could hardly see and one of the contact lens ‘floated’ out; I never did find it. The sight of the Matterhorn made me take off my gloves to extract my camera, much to my host’s surprise who pleaded with me to put them back on quickly. However in those few seconds I realised the camera was still lying on my bed, so I had broken the cardinal sin of every budding photographer; never go out without your camera. Cursing at my forgetfulness, well I am an old git; I just managed to pull on my gloves before the frost bit had eaten into my fingers. Fortunately FOG had brought her mobile phone…which has a better quality lens and pixels than my camera!

Male Old Git (in foreground) attempting yet another black

The skiing down to Frachey was so beautiful I was glad our host had the habit of taking many breaks due to a broken rib. (Yes, he skies with a broken rib and I have to give him over 15 years…humbling). One sight that did warm my heart was our host gliding gracefully, seemingly effortlessly, down the piste, shadowed by his 7 year old grandson. He is a lucky man indeed especially as his daughter, who always came up the rear just in case one of the Old Gits hit a problem, made up the middle generation and is very close to her father. Real Italian life as we know it …..

Our hosts accept the intrusion of an English photographer

We arrive at Champoluc, which is yet another pretty village snuggling into Monterosa’s side. After a well earned coffee we start the trek home, and although the original idea was to have lunch there, the winds were picking up and, as we had already experienced, the weather can change within minutes. Tiredness started to nag at the thighs but we skied on regardless hoping the wind would not stop our lift or it would be a three hour bus ride home! Finally descending towards Alagna we pulled into a mountain restaurant, known by our hosts…cold and hunger was now starting to take the edge off the scenery! We fell into the crowded room, but as our hosts knew them they basically helped the struggling staff and in a few minutes table was laid and Ilaria was organising drinks. As she came back towards the table with a laden tray she slipped on the tiled floor and glasses, carafes and bottles flew everywhere. Fortunately she was tough and it was her pride that had been dented, but not for long for the flooded floor saw many more nearly follow the same fate.

Glad to see Alagna again

Our host had enjoyed the day, that was evident, and we donned our ski wear for another tour of around 250 metres…to another bar; where I had a Grappa, with tiny strawberries. Grappa normally feels like drowning the remains of paint thinners left after you’ve cleaned the brushes, but this…well, we just had to have another! Weaving home on an icy piste stretched the skiing ability to maximum…but MOG made it with a smile on his face. Our hosts then treated us to a cold beer and after much ‘fiddling’ with mobile phones informed us we had skied over 40 kilometres that day…, there are some days you’ll never forget.

Alagna: Pistes, bells and hospitality

Typical ‘street’ in the old part of Alagna.

Alagna is not for the feint hearted; serious skiing goes on here. Our boys, with their passion for off-piste, would love it. We often saw skiers gliding through virgin snow in remote ‘vales’ almost to themselves… It must be a very special experience, but you need to know what you are doing as the danger of avalanches in this area is very real. So much so they have a helicopter on some days which goes up and drops ‘bombe’ on the vulnerable areas before the skiers arrive.

Snow’s a bit thick in places…; this is actually a three storey house in the summer!

After a day’s skiing we often saw many professional skiers strip off a few layers to sit and relax with a beer. It is then you see how much equipment they have had to carry. The backpacks are stuffed with spare clothing and enough rescue equipment to start a shop; they all wear body armour, helmets and radio transceivers strapped to them. There was MOG moaning about having his pockets full chocolate bars…!

One day our venture over the mountain resulted in a rapid change in the weather. Once again we found ourselves in high winds but this time they were so cold our eyes were streaming; inside the goggles. The trusted “il grande pompon nero”, well we are in Italy now, was not sufficient to prevent my ears suffering from severe frost bite! At the top of the mountains the chill factor can be as much as -20˚C; if you add that to the ‘real’ temperature of -5-10˚C…that’s ruddy cold by anybody’s standards. One problem MOG has had to overcome is the thought of a ‘cioccolata calda’ laced with some other warming substance is now off the menu; it needs every bit of concentration to ski..., ohh for the gentle slopes of Les Gets!

The sound of church bells is synonymous with Italy as cappuccino and spaghetti. Alagna is graced with a fabulous church, the north facing wall being decorated with some impressive murals.

Church & Mural

The priest here is described as a ‘character’ and, from the stories I have been told, sounds more like an English eccentric; but make no mistake this man is truly admired and an important corner stone for the local community. I had the pleasure of meeting him after the service and his eyes revealed everything you needed to know; sincere but full of mischief! Our apartment overlooks his house where he has converted the small courtyard into a volley ball court; with flood lights, and netting to stop the ball from crashing into the surrounding apartments. The other story goes that he happens to support Juventus football club, (whoever they are…! I did refrain from telling them I support Liverpool!), and when the team wins an important match he can’t resist “peeling the bells”. On one such occasion he rang them so loudly, and for so long, people up in the surrounding hills thought something was amiss and made their way to the church post-haste; only to find the priest still smiling with delight at ‘una vittoria di Juve’.

Another small church, almost ‘chapel like’, on the outskirts of the village

To say the people here are hospitable is an understatement. Last Thursday morning we awoke to find a small local market parked outside the apartment. We kitted ourselves up for skiing and stomped out and through the stalls being careful with our skies…well we are not in France anymore. FOG, of course, couldn’t resist examining the stalls and her head was swivelling around like an umpire at Wimbledon when, crash, she didn’t notice some ice and she went one way and her skies went flying into a stall laden with flower arrangements, or they were arranged before the skies hit them. La signora comes round and helps FOG and despite my beloved apologies and offers to try and clear up the mess she was shooed away with smiles and reassuring, “Niente, niente…”

Likewise in the local bars owners and locals alike are genuinely interested in you. I have had a problem in trying to explain OGGY, especially the “old gits” part. They have insisted the strict translation is “vecchi pensionati”. Pensionati! Not on your life, we’re keeping the gits, well something very similar. There is an old Italian adage that says, “Why use one word when two will do”. This is actually a fact. One of our hosts was trained as a translator and she estimates Italian takes three times as long to say something than English. Well here goes OGGY in Italian:

“Il anno di pausa durante il quale ‘vecchi giti’ viaggiano o lavorano”

IADPDIQVGVOL, doesn’t quite have the same ring to it… Plus what’s all this lavorano; isn’t that something to do with work?

The family hospitality has been so immense the Old Gits are sometimes lost for words, but were treated to a special surprise the other night.

View of Alagna from the balcony

We were asked to dinner by the youngest son and his girlfriend. We met in one of our local bars “Mario’s” for a pre-supper drink, apparently essential for the journey to the house, we folded ourselves into a Fiat Punto and proceeded up a tiny track covered in a layer of ice…the snow ploughs don’t reach these parts. The snow was so thick we had two walls of solid snow both sides and all I could remember was our host informing us of the constant danger of avalanches in these parts…, however we made it. A hamlet of four ancient houses crouched in the snow, the scent of log burners mingled with the aromas of cooking.

Raclette was being prepared as we settled into a room that could have been the film set for Hansel & Gretel. We wined and dined the night away in surreal surroundings. I was grateful our host had a responsible job and was flying in a couple of days so he had volunteered to drive us all the way home which meant it was MOG doing most of the ‘wining & dining’. On the journey down the mountain a young deer jumped into the road in front of us; the walls of snow each side preventing her escape. Our host slowed down until an opening appeared and the animal could escape ‘the run’; it may look idyllic here but it a harsh life for man and beast.

La Dolce Vita

We left Portes du Soleil in another snow storm and the journey back to the motorway took an age. Old Gits, or more accurately, MOG was suffering from a self afflicted headache after an excellent night with our landlords. Firstly I must apologise to Mercedes. A good friend of mine, who is a much better driver than I, told me to disenable the ESP system. I have no idea what this is, or what it does, but I did find the button and the car behaved very differently and responded well to the conditions. We only just made the Mont Blanc tunnel by the skin of our teeth as the motorway was becoming snow bound and at one point being coned off, but €33 later we found ourselves in Italy. The cloud cover was so dense we could not call in to Courmayeur as it would have been pointless and MOG was becoming anxious as he had heard snow was falling at our destination point of Alagna.

We did call into a large ‘supermercato’ well before we ascended into the Monterosa area. The displays of fresh fruit, vegetables, meats and fish sent the Old Gits into a buying frenzy. Why we bought enough food to feed a battalion of troops is still a mystery to the both of us, but we did. Alagna is a good hour’s drive and although the roads were clear the snow was piled up so high that at times it felt as if you were driving on a bob-sleigh run. The family with whom we were staying had for many years bemoaned the lack of snow, well God must have heard the Old Gits were coming and made sure snow was aplenty.

The hospitality on arrival was typical of our hosts and soon we found ourselves with ski passes in hand and settling in for a few days ‘serious’ skiing. The first night we frequented a local bar with our friends and the first people we met came from a village only a few miles away from our home in Cheshire. It is a small world… We had an early night as we knew the next day would test our new found skiing skills, especially as the family who would guide us around had now informed us they had all been skiing since the age of four.

The next day brought bright sunshine and powder snow. We ‘warmed up’ on a couple of long reds and then took the cable car right up to Passa Salati, at nearly 3,000 metres.

FOG and stunning backdrop

FOG and hosts start a day’s skiing

The views were breathtaking and this was a factual experience as well as descriptive as both the Old Gits were totally out of breath. It wasn’t only the altitude but the long walks between pistes and cable cars swathed in layers of thermals... We skied into the next valley of Gressoney, and it must be said here, before the post lunch disaster, that it was not only the most beautiful scenery we had encountered but the best skiing we had ever experienced.

Lunch was taken at a restaurant, which I have to confess I forgot to obtain its name…I was too shattered when we arrived! Any way it is on Col d’Olen, right on top of the mountain and the one right at the edge of a steep drop! The only way to this restaurant is via a tiny and very uneven ‘ski-path’ which to the Old Gits was effectively ‘off-piste’ skiing.

The route to the restaurant

This ‘path’ may not look much but MOG managed to fall over and as the snow was possibly 5-10 metres thick I was up to my waist before I knew it. Fortunately a friend of the family, who is one of the top mountaineers in the world, waited just in case I ‘dug myself into a hole’. The things MOG does for a beer.

The view from the balcony of the restaurant:

Customer escaping ‘il conto’

The lunch was excellent but maybe the grappa to finish with didn’t turn out to be one of MOG’s best ideas. The runs in Alagna are very long (the vertical drop alone is 2,000 metres), and we had to tackle a black to reach the village…there was no choice. Unfortunately everyone else was now heading home, and with the sun warming the snow the run had turned to moguls. It was a steep, narrow black teeming with skiers and the result was predictable…MOG went ‘arse over tit’ on more than one occasion. All the training evaporated as did the confidence. FOG helped by shouting that I shouldn’t have had the beers and Grappa; very useful advice as MOG dragged himself out from yet another snow drift… We did make it home but not without the aide of our hosts who looked a touch bemused at the level of deterioration of MOG’s skiing.

A hot shower revived the damaged pride and as our hosts left for their home we were left to fend for ourselves. Fending is however hardly a word I would use. The apartment is right in the centre of the village and with 5 bedrooms and fully equipped with everything you would ever need, we felt rather pampered. MOG decided that a walk around the village in the remaining evening light would be beneficial. FOG knew the real reason and she was right we fell into the first bar; An Bancher Win Bar…excellent. Try the Miacci, a thin pancake with cheese…too die for. Two things struck us. First was the village itself was not only charming and attractive but the bars and restaurants were of a very high standard and excellent atmosphere. Secondly the prices were half of Les Gets / Morzine and the quality twice as good. I will refrain from any further comment as France has already been given a tough grilling by the Welsh Rugby team…my heart bleeds!

The next day saw more sun and the Old Gits ventured up the mountain. Our first run was the notorious black from the previous afternoon, and to our surprise it had been pisted and we sped down with our confidence increasing with every turn. Then we also skied into the next valley despite the wind starting to increase…only to return to see our run home roped off due to high winds! It transpired that this was to prevent people going down to Alagna and wanting to return as the cable car had now had to cease. Although the run home may not have had the moguls and was all but empty, we had to contend with some biting winds. FOG fell this time while MOG continued obliviously unaware whilst struggling with the blinding conditions caused by the snow being whipped up in the ever increasing winds. FOG’s comments on this MOG's indiscretion were, again, unprintable…

That night we cooked a huge chicken, (we don’t know why we decided to do this, especially as we were in Italy!), and although very tasty, it did leave a scent of roasted chicken through out the apartment; FOG urgently trying to dispel the unfamiliar aroma… The English have arrived!

Carving & Goodbye to France, for now…

If I had been asked if I could carve 8 weeks ago I would have assumed they were talking about the Sunday roast. On our last day skiing I finally had, as our ski instructor would call it, a light-bulb moment. Carving on skis necessitates the body to bend sideways like a banana; not easy for a stiff old git. Yesterday the body creaked and the banana shape happened but then I put my arms out and looked like a 5 year old pretending to be a plane. To skiers of note they would be rolling on the floor slapping their thighs in hysterics, but finally I felt the edges of the skis carve through the snow at a rather alarming speed but, and this is the crux, I had total control. It only took 20 lessons and 2 months of constant skiing: Female Old Git (FOG) on the other hand had been doing this weeks ago…; I’ll refrain from further comment.


It wasn’t just Male Old Git (MOG) that was full of hot air in the Alps!











We come to the end of our stay at Les Gets / Morzine and there is a tinge of regret at leaving as it has been exactly the type of area that suits intermediates like us.

Good memories of the boys' visit, as seen during a quiet après ski...










Despite the sibling rivalry they're good friends…!

The food bill dropped remarked after they left...

There are the lively bars for the siblings and ‘oldie’ bars but a thoroughly enjoyable experience all round, except of course the weak £, but I can’t blame the French for this… well not yet anyway, I’ll wait until I’ve crossed the border. I suppose having the best snow conditions and gorgeous weather in living memory helped!

FOG reflecting on the stay with a glass of something.

We were blessed with the most stunning views:

Luckily we move out of France just before the Six Nations Rugby tournament starts and, with England’s recent performances, I think we stand little chance against any of the Celtic countries let alone France. However let’s hope the new guns like young Ben Foden will change England’s fortunes…; I’ve had to mention that as we know his parents! We move into Italy on the day they make a visit to Twickenham; I just hope I am not tempting providence, but we should win this one…; come on Foden!

Fortunately the Old Gits didn’t need one of these which is surprising but am I tempting providence again?

We are staying in Alagna in the Monterosa ski area and I had better state now I have a very soft spot for Italy. I suppose when you work for the Italians for over 12 years you just can’t help but love the country. Is it the culture, fashion, food, wine, weather or the language that I find so appealing…, I suspect it is everything rolled into one.

Future Blogs will become a little more difficult so we will endeavour to post one at least once a week and then we may have to edit them and add photographs when we have a proper internet connection…

Old Gits have moved on… spot the MOG’s bent pole, caused by one of the many 'wipe-outs'!






For more details visit:

http://www.facts-oldgitsgapyear.blogspot.com/

Getting out and about...

During our stay in Essert Romand we have been visiting other ski areas. In hindsight we possibly should have visited more but the Portes du Soleil area is so suited to us. At our level of skiing, especially as we have had excellent snow, it almost felt as if we had ‘lost’ a day when we weren’t on the slopes.

Our first major excursion was to Chamonix. Nestling under the largest mountain in Europe, the village is large and purpose built, but although the sight of Mont Blanc is truly ‘awesome’, it leaves the town in a dark shadow. We decided to head for the south facing slopes and catch some sun so we headed for the Planprez cable car, recommended in the guide book. It was well signposted until we hit the centre of town but then, as often seems to happen in France, it seemed to disappear. We ended up well outside the town and stumbled onto the Flegere cable car which the guide book had described as “inadequate”, but Male Old GIT (MOG) didn’t care for it was the spitting image of the cable car used in ‘Where eagles dare’, and he had to be on it. We then found out that if we had asked for a ticket when we had bought our seasonaire passes we could have a day pass for €1…as it was we had to pay €66 for an afternoon! Robbing b*****ds.

We scrambled into the cable car with Female Old Git (FOG) looking bemused as I kept humming the theme tune to this famous film and couldn’t help muttering, in my best Richard Burton voice; “Danny Boy to Broadsword, do you read me, over.” FOG’s look turned more to concern…maybe the altitude had started to affect the old buzzard.
The slopes were bathed in sun but the pistes were very scratchy and to our dismay this wasn’t ice but stones and rocks peeping through the snow.

FOG with Mont Blanc behind.

We persevered but finally we succumbed to using the piste map where we discovered we could move onto another ski area via a cable car (Liason), which ran horizontally across the mountain. This meant attempting a very nasty looking red, steep and narrow, but as our confidence was high we bravely skied forth. The first half of the piste really challenged us but then it opened out into a wide valley with a breathtaking view of Mont Blanc and Chamonix. Pulling over to absorb the ‘buona vista’ we suddenly realised we were the only people on this vast piste…the silence was almost deafening! Our confidence started to waver as we asked ourselves why we were the only people here; surely there must be a reason. To our relief a small party of youngsters suddenly spilled over the top ridge; it has been the only time I have welcomed the sight of snowboarders!

MOG with the steep ‘red’ behind him!

We arrived at where the Liason Cable Car should have been only to be greeted by two concrete plinths and a pile of rusting gantry metal work. Gulp; the only way back was down the mountain on what was described as a challenging black for experts…fortunately with the aide of reading glasses, (it’s not that we need them it is the very small print…honestly!), we did manage to find a chair lift not too far away.

On the last run back down to the cable car over confidence was evident and resulted in skiing at too fast a speed; well above MOG’s ability. He hit an unseen path and MOG, his skis and terra firma were not as one; he was truly airborne. Just over the lip were several yellow and black hazard poles warning skiers about bare rocks below. MOG landed on the hazard fair and square, sending skis, poles and most anything else that was loose in all directions. MOG continued his journey down the piste, on his back and head first, for over 100 metres. FOG, who had completely missed the spectacle of skiing and aerobatics, stood on the piste muttering as to where the old git had gone. Then she spied his poles and saw the familiar figure, and of course the pom pom noir, in the distance below her, staggering to his feet tottering like a drunk late on a Friday night. A Dutchman, who was still supporting a broad smile, brought over one ski and an 8 year old girl, who couldn’t control her giggles, found the other. We slowly descended to the cable car where MOG still attempted more Richard Burton impersonations. We returned home, after a well earned drink in the quiet and almost deserted village of Les Houches, 3 kilometres from Chamonix.

Megeve was an entirely different prospect. It had a ring of Les Gets about it with a similar open aspect, but this is a place for the very wealthy, and I mean very wealthy. Struggling once again to find the original cable car we were looking for in the centre of town, we followed a ski bus and ended up at Mont D’Arbois cable car, which was quite a way up the mountain. It did however allow us, or more accurately, allow FOG to nosy at the exquisite chalets, standing proudly for all to see. One however was owned by someone who valued their privacy and actually had its own cable car to the chalet. Now that is how to keep ahead of the Jones! I can hear it now over the après-ski; “Oh, you have a chalet here do you. How do you find the maintenance of the cable car? What, you don’t have your own cable car…oh, how strange…”
Utilising our free ski passes, we had now obtained the correct tickets; we skied all afternoon for next to nothing. The slopes weren’t challenging but very enjoyable and we skied both Mont d’Arbois and Mont Joux areas in style with not so much of a skid from MOG.

FOG on the Megeve slopes; once again stunning views.

Descending into this quaint and charming town for our après ski, we found horse and traps for the tourists, and several streets stuffed with shops you would be more likely to encounter in the centre of Milan or Paris. We found a crêperie, ‘hidden’ down a small alleyway in the centre of town and despite the excellent service paid over £20 for two beers and crepes; then to top it all the waiter made an error with the change…, he’s not getting a mention on the ‘Facts-Old Gits Gap Year’ Blog!

For more details visit:

http://www.facts-oldgitsgapyear.blogspot.com/

Facts-Old Gits Gap Year

Just a very quick information posting.

A 'sister' Blog has now been set up for more detail and information on the Old Gits Gap Year.

Visit:

http://www.facts-oldgitsgapyear.blogspot.com/

The facts are laid out and MOG has refrained from his usual banter!