Last week we went with family visitors to le Lioran, a nearby ski resort in the Cantal, which is about an hour and a half/ two hours from our house, depending on whether you drive likea girl racer [me] or a pensioner [him]. Le Lioran is very popular with French people, but less well known outside France. I have never skied, haven't been to a ski resort and had no idea what a big deal all this snow business is. The Cantal is the next department to ours and the resort is a snowy bowl inside a ring of mountains, with pine forests, pristine snow fields and craggy edges.
It says on the Le Lioran website that there are 42 pistes: 11 greens, 12 blues, 14 reds and 5 blacks. I assume somebody will know what that means. There's also a cable car up to the highest peak, drag lifts and chair-lifts onto the pistes - plus,according to the website's English version, a telebaby,[no idea] a big air and a lot of nature.
Him and me hadn't got skis, and it being half term, there was no possibility of us having ski lessons, so, for a while, we did our city yokels -gobs open impersonation again and just wandered around looking at the hordes of people being hauled up the mountain and whizzing back down again. There were lessons going on, mainly of tiny children, only marginally younger than some of the kids skiing down on their own, apparently fearless. We also joined the other hordes sitting in the sun and drinking chocolat chaud and vin chaud, and eating cheese and chips. Can't get Frencher than that, can you?
We went up in the packed cable car to see the top of the mountain which was spectacularly mountain-ish - a bitter wind, blowing hard, spinning sharp cold snow off the peak into our faces. There's such a holiday mood at the bottom, drinking and sunglasses and clever ski outfits and stuff, that it was a bit of a shock to realise that there was actually serious weather up there. The wind became so strong it looked as though the cable car might not be able to get down again and we'd have to walk down the ski run, [mmm, sounds great], or toboggan down on our bottoms or something, but the wind dropped for a few seconds and we got down. Still, we were glad of this minor thrill as watching other people being active and whizzy began to make us feel envious and a teensy bit old.
This was galling as both of us have done lots of walking, including [him not me] serious stuff in high mountains. [He made me add that. In case anybody thinks he's a pensioner. And unfit. Which he is not. Enough already.]
Him and me hadn't got skis, and it being half term, there was no possibility of us having ski lessons, so, for a while, we did our city yokels -gobs open impersonation again and just wandered around looking at the hordes of people being hauled up the mountain and whizzing back down again. There were lessons going on, mainly of tiny children, only marginally younger than some of the kids skiing down on their own, apparently fearless. We also joined the other hordes sitting in the sun and drinking chocolat chaud and vin chaud, and eating cheese and chips. Can't get Frencher than that, can you?
We went up in the packed cable car to see the top of the mountain which was spectacularly mountain-ish - a bitter wind, blowing hard, spinning sharp cold snow off the peak into our faces. There's such a holiday mood at the bottom, drinking and sunglasses and clever ski outfits and stuff, that it was a bit of a shock to realise that there was actually serious weather up there. The wind became so strong it looked as though the cable car might not be able to get down again and we'd have to walk down the ski run, [mmm, sounds great], or toboggan down on our bottoms or something, but the wind dropped for a few seconds and we got down. Still, we were glad of this minor thrill as watching other people being active and whizzy began to make us feel envious and a teensy bit old.
This was galling as both of us have done lots of walking, including [him not me] serious stuff in high mountains. [He made me add that. In case anybody thinks he's a pensioner. And unfit. Which he is not. Enough already.] So next day we hired snowshoes, raquettes they're called, like big crampons, and we went for walk along a path around the perimeter of the site. It was good to get above the crowds and to actually walk in snow through the woods. I was just thinking to myself how wonderful it was to get into big nature, to be one with the elements et cetera, when we arrived at a clearing and R received a phone call from a friend. While I was waiting for him to finish the call, I thought I'd take the time to ring somebody else and tell them about the perfect blue sky and the shiny snow, and as I paced about the place, speaking, I spotted a woman sitting on a bank under trees, also on her mobile. You will get the point here without me having to labour it. All three of us. On phones. Seriously sad.
Still, we thought it was an amazing place. Brilliant for people with kids. Lots of chalets and flats and apartments for people to stay in. Nearby villages with hotels and restaurants. A relaxed atmosphere. Loads of fun and energy. R and me intend to go back when it's not a school holiday and we don't have to show ourselves up in front of five year olds, and have a proper skiing lesson. See if we can break a leg or two.
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