Archive for the 'France' Category

Monday, January 19, 2009, Barrèges, Haute-Pyrénées, France

The French for hitch-hiking is “faire du stop,” and even with a nearly 6-foot long snowboard it was relatively easy to do so this morning. That is until, sadly, I was unable to get a ride over the Col (Pass) du Tourmalet. This was not for a lack of generosity on the part of French motorists, however: “c’est fermé, too much snow, avalanches, that sort of thing,” informed me my ride, a middle-aged French man on his way for an afternoon of skiing.

“Is it possible to hike over the pass?” I asked, not particularly intending to try. We had just pulled into Barrèges, the little village just before the ski resort of La Mongie which is, it turns out, the end of the road until Spring. In response to my question he laughed, and abruptly pulled back into the road.

“Let’s go up the road a bit and then I’ll come right back down into town, ok?” Zooming off already, that was clearly not much of a question.

He asked, “you know the Tour de France? I hear many Americans don’t care much about cycling.”

I confirmed by saying that I indeed didn’t care too much about cycling. But I assured him that I’d watched the Tour de France a few times.

“Well, the Col du Tourmalet is maybe the most difficult pass in the race!” He pointed up the road, made a thwooping sound, and swept his finger back down the valley. “Lance Armstrong” (and do be sure to read that name in the strongest of French accents) “descended down this same road. You know Lance Armstrong” (remember, accent) “right? I hear some Americans don’t know him…”

“Yeah, some probably don’t. But I know of him, yeah.”

We agreed he was a very good cyclist, and a liar for planning to ride again. I was not surprised to hear that the French are getting very bored with him winning.

The discussion of cycling ended as we came around a slight bend and the narrow alpine valley turned immediately into a high expanse of ice, rocks, and snow. We’d reached the base of the resort, about two miles from Barrèges. He pointed at what looked like the end of a narrow ski run. “That,” he said, “is the road to the pass and that,” he waved vaguely at the ridge high above, “is the pass.”

It was a very effective way to convince me not to try hiking over the mountains. I didn’t much need the convincing, but I thanked very much for the ride. He dropped me off back in the village only to turn right back around towards the resort.

Looking at the road map of the Pyrénées that I bought only this morning I feel (somewhat) justified in not quite taking these mountains for what they’re worth. The map shows Tourmalet Pass at 2,115 meters. In the Sierra, that’s an altitude at which things only start to get interesting – not to say anything of Tibet. But for whatever reasons of climate and latitude, treeline in these parts is probably only about 6,000 feet. The Pyrenees jut up very abruptly from the green pastoral hills to their North. By the map they are clearly not the biggest of mountain ranges, so my expectations had them far less steep and pointy than they have turned out to be.

Spiky as the peaks are, the valleys are deep and green, and unlike anything in the American West, dotted with little ancient villages. Those near ski resorts, such as Barrèges, have converted to ski shops, restaurants, inns, and real-estate offices. But the stone buildings still look centuries old – and many of them likely really are. It is strikingly different from American ski towns, built after ski resorts, with their homogeneous over-sized condos and slushy snow in the parking lot stripmalls.

I’ve decided to stay in Barrèges tonight. Rather than see myself thwarted by the snow up there, I hope to spend tomorrow morning sliding down it before taking off in the afternoon on my way South and East, should anyone be so kind as to faire me du stop. I’m hoping to pop down into Spain and across to the Principality of Andorra, where the best Pyrenean skiing is said to be found.

I’ll check on the passes better this time.