Cabane de Bovinette and Pointe Ronde

A friend’s birthday was the perfect excuse for a group getaway to the Cabane de Bovinette. The summer car park beside Champex-Lac was completely free of snow, and driving a very urban Skoda Octavia up the forestry road turned out to be the most adventurous part of the weekend.

By the time we arrived, the cabin was warm and welcoming, putting to rest any worries about the cold. The evening was clear and still, and the sight of multiple planets aligning across the night sky was spectacular. It was a special night—made even more so by our friend’s six-month-old daughter, a reminder that parenthood doesn’t have to mean missing out on mountain adventures.

Stars above Valais

We were a diverse group, and the ascent of Pointe Ronde presented no real obstacles. The day remained calm and clear, and from the summit, we admired the Aiguille du Tour and the Grand Combin in the foreground, with the Dent Blanche, Weisshorn, and Matterhorn standing proud to the east. One of our group, a trainee opera singer, treated us to a few Catalan mountain ballads at the top, accompanied by slices of chocolate cake.

Sunrise over Catogne

Grand Combin in the distance

The first 600 meters of descent were glorious—fresh snow over a firm base on the north side. The final 400 meters, down a frozen track, weren’t quite as enjoyable but still made for a fun ride.

Back in Chamonix, we capped off the day with a well-earned celebratory beer.

Stats:

Depart 09h19, Summit:13h00, parking 15h45

11.46 km 1104m+

 
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Jesenice to Durrës

I'm writing about this trip more than ten years later. While many of the details have faded over time, the chronology remains as vivid as if it happened yesterday—and the finer points don't really matter, because all my lasting memories of this journey are positive.

For context, by then my partner (let's call her L) and I had been together for about six months, and her time in France was coming to an end. She was heading home to finish her studies, and we had one month to "mess around" before that happened. I sensed we would stay together despite the distance, but at 22, the practical challenges of a long-distance relationship with no definite end in sight loomed large. So I embarked on this trip determined to savor every moment. With the university term over and both of us wrapping up our internships in Grenoble's university labs, I was buzzing after my first year in France, and my French was really beginning to improve. Money was tight—aside from the small sum I had managed to save from my 600€ stipend over three months of internship—so we decided to do a bike trip through the Balkans. Our only planning consisted of reserving a train from Chambéry to Turin and booking a flight from Milan to Zaragoza a month later. In between, we planned to decide as we went, with the idea of cycling through Slovenia, Croatia, and Albania.

With our limited budget, I ended up buying a 30€ Motobecane bike—probably from the 80s—on Leboncoin, while my partner splurged a little more, paying about 45€ for a beautiful yellow Peugeot from the same era. We hit up Decathlon to find the cheapest tent and cooking equipment available. We already had inexpensive sleeping bags, so to save even more, we skipped on camping mats. All in all, our total spending was probably around 80€ each.

We initially tried to set off from Grenoble, only to be thwarted by a replacement bus service between Grenoble and Chambéry that wouldn’t accept our bike. Forced to cycle to Chambéry, we consequently missed our TGV to Turin—though that might not have mattered much, as I was unaware that the TGV wouldn’t have accepted our unreserved bicycles anyway. Eventually, we made it to Modane on that first evening, where we set up camp hidden away behind an old, secluded fort.

Views of Modane from near the first camp

The next morning we caught a regional train into Italy and spent the entire day traversing the country by train. By the time we reached Udine, it was midnight, and we had to wait until 4 a.m. the next day to get to Gorizia, right on the Slovenian border. At that ungodly hour, while crossing the border on our bikes, we waited for the train to Jesenice that would take us up the Soča Valley. By then, L could barely keep her eyes open, dozing on a bench at the station. I decided to grab a coffee from the kiosk and chat with the locals. The young woman behind the counter, speaking in broken English, asked what I was up to. I clearly remember her asking where we were headed, and when I answered “Jesenice,” she looked at me almost in disgust and retorted, “Jesenice? Very ugly city.”

Nova Goricia train station in the early hours of the morning

We caught the first train at around 7 a.m., and by then I’d already downed three Italian espressos, leaving me wide awake. Poor L, not used to this roughing-it lifestyle, slept through the entire journey along the Soča Valley—we still plan to return someday. When we arrived in Jesernice, I found the town quite charming—not so much for its architecture as for its mountainous setting, which provided the perfect backdrop for the start of our cycling adventure. We set off from Jesernice train station at about 10 a.m. With no clear destination in mind except a vague direction toward Bohinj—a famous lake I’d visited five years earlier—we didn’t ride very far. I can’t remember exactly where we camped that first night, but I have a feeling it was somewhere in a forest near Ukanc. Our evening routine was delightfully simple: find a place for a refreshing swim, cook a basic meal (usually potatoes and vegetable soup on a portable stove), and enjoy a beer. I had no mobile phone and no need for electricity.

We passed by the ever-popular Bled and headed south through the tranquil, picturesque Slovenian mountains near Triglav National Park, eventually reaching the small stretch of Slovenia’s coast at Koper.

After a leisurely swim at lunch, we decided to climb a bit in search of a quieter campsite for the night. By evening, we had identified a few promising spots and headed to the only bar in the small town of Šmarje. We struck up conversations with some of the patrons—who spoke Spanish—and ended up sharing several drinks and a pizza. When it was time to choose a campsite, the spots we had scouted earlier would have been hard to reach in the dark, so we asked our new friends for a suggestion. After some lively debate, they proposed we set up camp on the bar’s terrace. Initially, we were hesitant, but I was easily persuaded, and we began unpacking our things.

At then, the waitress—who had been serving the bar all night, had just finished cleaning up and didn’t speak any Spanish—signaled for us to stop and follow her. We quickly reassembled our bikes and trailed her car as it sped downhill—an experience that felt even more outrageous after a bottle of local wine. We had no idea where we were headed, but after about ten minutes of descending, we arrived at what appeared to be her home. She showed us to a bedroom and left towels for us to use in the shower. We slept like logs and awoke at 7 a.m. to a silent house. After gathering our belongings, we searched for any sign of her but found nothing. Instead, we discovered a magnificent breakfast spread of coffee and assorted treats left on the kitchen table. We waited an hour, hoping she might return so we could thank her, but by 9 a.m. we decided it was time to be on our way. I never got the chance to express my gratitude, but her gesture of pure kindness has stayed with me ever since. I hope to return one day, either to meet her again or at least to enjoy another pizza at that charming local establishment.

Lake Bled looking up to Blejski Grad

Camping in between vines

I remember clearly that my original plan—looking back now, somewhat naively—was to follow the Croatian coast all the way to Albania, with a possible detour to visit an undiscovered Dalmatian island. We completed all the border formalities at Plovanija and entered Istria, where we headed due west toward the Adriatic coast.

Immediately, the coast had a different feel: wider roads, more heavy vehicles, and numerous large caravans. We trudged on, rather miserably, to Umag, where we stopped for the night. The area was extremely busy, and there was no obvious spot to pitch a tent, so we ended up at the only campsite we used throughout the entire holiday—a place I remember being outrageously expensive at the time. After picking up some evening supplies, we devised a new route, deciding it was best to head inland and avoid the hordes of tourists flocking to the beach. My dreams of camping on a hidden beach had to remain just that—a dream for now. I had never been to Croatia before, and I vividly recall being taken aback by the prevalence of 3‑liter plastic beer bottles, even though I had no way of keeping them cold.

Our new route took us across Istria. It was hot and surprisingly beautiful—more so than I had expected. I haven’t been to Tuscany, but Istria evoked a similar charm. It was also the first time I encountered and tasted a fresh truffle. A simple dish of spaghetti with fresh truffle, paired with a local white wine, was absolutely perfect. It felt a bit extravagant, yet it was inexpensive.

Entering Croatia

Church somewhere in Istra, Croatia

The bikes still holding up

Our bikes held up well as we left Croatia behind and ventured spontaneously into Bosnia. The border region was a stark contrast to the coast—run down and still bearing the scars of the conflict in the 90s. It’s disheartening to think about what happened here, especially since this region is as authentically European as any other.

We entered Bosnia after spending a day at Plitvice—a place I’d known about before. Although it was very busy, the water was a brilliant blue. We passed through Ličko Petrovo Selo before heading into Bihać. I had no particular expectations, but I quickly fell in love with the town. It was young, vibrant, and real—a student town with rough edges, where some buildings still bore the marks of past violence. People were swimming in the river and music drifted from the terraces; I would have loved to stay longer.

Yet, the life of a bike tourist is always on the move. With little time to explore further into Bosnia, we headed due south. The countryside was rural and beautiful—mostly flat with the occasional climb. We were advised against camping due to the presence of unidentified landmines, so we mostly stayed in guesthouses, all costing under ten euros a night.

Valleys of Bosnia

Landmines meant camping was not advised

The journey through Bosnia was bookended by a night in Mostar. L got stung by a bee while riding down into town on her bike, leaving her chest red and swollen. We stayed in a guesthouse in the town center with a friendly man named Mike, who was curious about our journey. After sharing a beer and chatting for about an hour, we set off to explore. The town buzzed with energy. I had only seen the famous image of the old bridge's destruction during the conflict, so I braced myself for chaos. Instead, Mostar was vibrant and beautifully restored, teeming with both tourists and locals. That day was the hottest of our trip—I clearly recall a pharmacy or temperature sign reading 50°C, though it was likely in the mid-40s.

The next leg of our adventure took us back to the sea. We knew the coast would be busy, but the extreme daytime heat made the nearby water a welcome relief. We spent a few days in Slano, a small and picturesque town on the Dalmatian coast, enjoying swimming and leisurely explorations. We had rented a modest apartment for 40 euros a night—though I dread to think what it might cost these days. Not wanting to miss Dubrovnik, we took a bus into the city. It was more crowded than I could have imagined. While Dubrovnik is undeniably beautiful, the overt mass tourism—with streets littered with tacky souvenirs and a harbor dominated by a massive cruise ship—left me feeling a bit disenchanted.

Slano bay

Dubrovnik downtown barefoot

New Dubrovnik

Dalmatian sea

Montenegro was next—and in hindsight, it’s the part of the trip I wish I’d explored more thoroughly. We mostly stuck to the coast, missing out on the country’s rugged mountains, which I believe would have offered an entirely different kind of adventure. I’d love to return someday and explore on foot. The atmosphere was distinctly different; everywhere you looked, the influence of Serbian and Russian was evident, and the vibe felt a bit more edgy than Croatia. Drivers were more aggressive, and road rules seemed more like suggestions than mandates. Yet I appreciated this shift—it felt as if we’d stepped outside the familiar European sphere.

The Bay of Kotor was breathtaking, and the small town of Budva was a blast. We spent late evenings in a local bar, sharing beers and somehow communicating in our own unique languages, even though neither side spoke the other’s tongue. Our routine quickly fell into a comfortable rhythm: we’d have dinner, sleep, and then wake to the sunrise. Without watches—and without mobile phones (I didn’t have one, and L’s phone was reserved for quick calls home due to her non-negotiable Spanish family commitments)—we gauged time by the heat of the day. Looking back, it’s almost comical that a simple paper map showing the main roads and a general direction south was all we needed. I often say I’d love to go back to that spontaneous, unannounced way of traveling, even though it’s likely far more challenging now that we have every modern tool at our fingertips.

Kotor bay

Montenegro sunset

After a brief stop in Podgorica, we set off for Albania the final stretch of our cycling journey. This leg of the trip was both the best and the worst. The worst, because the roads we chose were far from ideal: large, chaotic semi-highways with cars unpredictably veering onto the wrong side and the ever-present sight (and smell) of roadkill. Pressed for time, we took the most direct route, though in hindsight, exploring the mountains along the Kosovo border near Theth would have been far more rewarding. That’s the trade-off with an unplanned trip I hadn’t even realized that option existed

But it was also the best part of the journey, culturally speaking. Albania had an energy unlike anywhere else we had been, a mix of vibrancy and just enough disorder to make it fascinating without becoming overwhelming. It was incredibly affordable, and we lived (relatively speaking) like royalty. Each city had its own character: Shkodër, with its stark communist-era concrete architecture, felt like a relic of the past, yet its streets were lively, full of people and movement. Tirana, in contrast, had the buzz of a capital on the rise; young, fast-growing, and dynamic. On our last night before heading to Durrës, we hopped from bar to bar, chatting with locals of all ages, gaining an insight into a country often misrepresented in Western Europe. Yes, the omnipresent Mercedes and scattered bunkers were reminders of Albania’s unique recent history, but it felt like a place on the cusp of transformation, one that could easily integrate into the wider European community before long.

The final ride to Durrës came with the only mechanical issue of the entire trip. L’s shifter cable snapped after a fall, forcing her to ride the last 50 km on a single speed. Fortunately, the terrain was flat, so it was manageable. We ended the journey in a resort town that wouldn’t have been my first choice for a holiday, then boarded the overnight ferry to Bari. Remarkably, after weeks of clear skies and not a single drop of rain, that night a torrential downpour hit, with three month’s worth of rain falling in just five minutes. As we waited for the ferry, it felt almost apocalyptic.

We spent two days in Bari before taking the train to Milan, where I was once again reminded of my dislike for traveling with bikes on high-speed trains. From there, the journey was over. I flew to Spain and on to Pamplona for the first time- a city I now know extremely well and will likely call home in the near future. I celebrated my 23rd birthday there.

Reflecting on this trip twelve years later has been a rewarding process. Some details may have faded or shifted in memory, but writing it down has been a fulfilling way to revisit that time. One can never truly go back, nor should they attempt to recreate an experience from another stage of life, but I do miss the simplicity of those days. Everything was straightforward-no stress, no over-planning, just the road ahead. Travel has changed, as has life in general, but the lessons from this journey remain. It shaped me in ways I couldn’t have predicted and opened my eyes to the unique joy of bicycle travel- moving slowly, without a checklist, letting the experience unfold. I hope the spark ignited on that trip continues to inspire me to explore by bike for years to come.

Lunch in a park in Shkodër

The storm in Durrës before the overnight ferry to Bari

Evening at the harbour in Bari

The bikes arrived almost in one piece to Zaragoza

Birthday pantxineta in Pamplona

 
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Getting the Tone Right

This week, I had my first Mandarin lessons, and looking back, I feel pretty good about it. Starting from zero is, in some ways, the easiest place to be- everything is fresh, and there are no bad habits to unlearn. But in other ways, it’s the hardest, because every little step forward requires real effort.

So far, my recall of new words is solid, and the grammar at this stage feels manageable. I’m picking up five to ten words per lesson, and I can already introduce myself and say where I’m from. That alone is a win. It’s motivating to think that, before long, I might actually use these new sentences in a real conversation.

From what I gather, If you asked most Western learners of Mandarin what they struggle with early on, pronunciation and reading Hanzi (Chinese characters) would probably top the list. Luckily, I’m sticking with Pinyin for now, which lets me focus purely on speaking. Pronunciation is usually my strong suit in other languages. In Spanish and French, my grammar is just okay, but my accent is solid- I can replicate the sounds well enough to get compliments on it. With Mandarin, though, I have a feeling this won’t come as easily. The language demands a different way of thinking about pronunciation, and I know I’ll need a new approach to get it right.

Getting the tone right, that is challenge. Saying individual syllables is fine once you learn the pronunciation rules. The first and third tones feel natural enough- they’re distinct and easy to recognize. But the second and fourth tones? Those are tricky. The second tone, the rising tone, is like the upward inflection at the end of a question in English, but applying it consistently to a single syllable- without making it sound like a question- isn’t instinctive. Then there’s the fourth tone, which is sharp and abrupt, almost like a command or an exclamation. English speakers don’t typically use pitch in such a structured way to differentiate meaning, so the idea that a subtle change in tone can turn one word into something completely different feels foreign. It also doesn’t help that in normal speech, tones don’t always stay perfectly isolated- they shift slightly depending on the words around them, making them even harder to pin down. When I try to say a sentence, it’s easy to focus on one tone and get it right, but keeping all of them accurate at once, while speaking naturally, is another challenge entirely.

Of course, like anything, it’s just a matter of practice. A lot of hours spent training the muscles in my mouth to form the right shapes, and eventually, common words will start rolling off my tongue without much thought. But I’ll admit, I may have underestimated just how tough tones can be. I’ll say something, think I’ve nailed it, and then my teacher will repeat it with a subtle but important difference. I suspect there will be a lot of that in the next six months- but I’m up for the challenge.

Learning Mandarin is already proving to be a fascinating challenge- one that stretches my mind in ways I didn’t expect. There’s something humbling about starting from scratch in a language so different from my own, but that’s also what makes it exciting. For now, I’m focusing on the small wins: remembering new words, piecing together simple sentences, and getting just a little closer to mastering those elusive tones. I know progress won’t always be linear, and there will be plenty of frustrating moments ahead, but that’s part of the journey. If I can look back in six months and hear real improvement in how I speak, then every awkward mispronunciation and every correction from my teacher will have been worth it.

Tête de la Combaz 25

It had snowed a bit during the week but it was again warm. This seems to be a recurring theme this year. The way up was fine through the forest and after the Auberge de Colombaz it started to really heat up. It was south facing all the way up. A quick change of skins about 300m from the top and that was that.

We only saw three other parties all day and this route is normally well frequented, which probably reflected the condition it was in. Our rather late start meant the slope had been in the direct sun all morning and the snow was destroyed. A quick photo at the top and to the descent. The snow was poor, but enjoyable nonetheless. We encountered one group waiting on a helicopter with a guy lying in the recovery position. I asked if all was ok and they said it was ok and kindly asked us to leave, so we duly did so. Ten minutes later we saw the helicopter flying low over the valley.

A tasty muffin and a coffee at the bottom in Bol d’air and we were back in time for the Osasuna match. They even managed a draw against Madrid, not a bad day’s work.

Way up missing a bit of snow

South to the Montjoie

Dome de Miage

Looking north to Mont Joly from Tete de la Combaz

Panorama of the Aravis

 
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Starting from Zero

When deciding how I‘d go about learning Mandarin I thought about trying to learn it by myself at the start, at least the basics. I read online of people who learnt entirely by doing going through Anki and others that picked stuff up purely by immersion, watching and listening to Chinese content online. I played around with the idea of doing the same and put together a sort of plan that covered off speaking, reading, listening and a bit of writing. It looked robust and with beginners motivation everything looks easy.

I then stumbled across a blog from Jaap Grolleman that really resonated with me. Anyone who has entered the rabbit hole of internet Chinese language learning will be familiar with the author but for me it all just made sense. He didn‘t offer any shortcuts which straightaway for me was a good sign, he simply laid out how he went about learning and what worked for him. At the base of all his learning was classes with qualified teachers. Writing this now, it seems very logical but in a time sensationalist YouTube videos and 18 year old medical students claiming to have learnt one of the world‘s most complicated languages in six months, I‘d seemed to somehow overlook this very simple and obvious medium of learning.

Jaap‘s situation was quite different from mine, he was in China and we can say perhaps had more immediate reason to pick up the language but his learning curve seemed steep but attainable with regular study. I also liked how he laid out where he over time. This is motivating and will also act as a reference for my own learning, although I will try not to compare our situations to closely given the differences in circumstances.

The main point therefore is that I decided to have my learning shaped by real teaching. For lack of knowing any better, I also opted to go for GoEast online private teaching. Having read many positive reviews, I booked a trial lesson to see how the set-up was. The first 30 minutes was quick and I wasn‘t really expecting a lesson given the time limit but we actually went through quite a bit mostly on classic greetings and immediately focussing on tones. This, I suspect, will be much of the focus of the first six months to come. It was unnoticeable during the class but it hindsight it was clear that there was a structure that covered vocab, speaking and grammar, all within a short 30 minutes. When it was done I had a chance to speak with an organizer of the course and run through my options.

To begin with then I opted for 50 hours of one-to-one teaching, which I will split into two one-hour lessons per week. This is accompanied by loads of material on their platform online. I started briefly on the first of the lessons and the videos are well laid out and flashcard system also seems logical. My plan is to try and dedicate three to four hours to each lesson preparation and at the beginning focus a fair bit on improving vocabulary and learning pinyin. My first proper lesson is this week.

This option is not the cheapest, but given the resources they provide and the fact that the teachers from GoEast are all qualified teachers it is neither expensive in my opinion. Cost isn’t a main priority for me at this point and I have 50 hours of teaching to decide if I will continue on. Putting it bluntly, if now someone was to propose me that I could achieve HSK1 level, be able to order food in Mandarin and have a basic conversation with someone for 1800$ I would take it. It’s now to prove whether this is reality at the end of the year or not.

Tour of Kyushu

I wondered before whether cycling in Japan in early January was foolish and whether I’d be all day shivering on the bike. My brother, a Japan cycling veteran having cycled across the whole island during his time living there, assured me it would be fine. We had two weeks and a circumnavigation of Kyushu seemed to be the perfect distance to fit in that time.

We had a few days in Osaka before we had arranged to meet my brother on New Year’s Eve in Fukuoka, so we spent a few days exploring the back streets of Osaka and going for easy runs around the city. Japan never disappoints me and the cities are my favorites in the world. We ate probably the best soba I have eaten and drank lots of filter coffee. A Shinkansen to Fukouka was navigated with bikes onboard. I’m not sure if this was allowed within JR’s regulations but we were on, bento in hand, for the three hour ride south to Kyushu.

There had been a fairly serious earthquake north of Fukuoka, but when were saw the news it seemed as though we were still in an evacuation zone. The receptionists at the hotel didn’t seemed perturbed.I feel as though we didn’t see the best of Fukuoka. We couldn’t find anywhere that would let us in at for New Year and ended up drinking cans of Sapporo lager in the hostel. The day afterwards we had a quick wonder and some coffee and after finding some small pieces for the bike we were ready to leave.

I’m writing this too long after having cycled it to recount each day-by-day, so I’ll leave the photos to give an idea of the trip. My general reflections of the trip are as follows. Being in Japan at this time of year in a place where few foreigners go and using a mode of transport as tactile as a bike is my definition of heaven. I felt cocooned and removed from the world back home. I felt safe and peaceful, in a way I have never felt in any other place. This is probably due to the Japanese culture and people, but also maybe due to the sense of calm you get when out in the countryside. Small temples everywhere, rice paddies perched on hills, mandarin trees being manually tended to and water everywhere. The Cyprus wood used in buildings and the slippers you are given upon entering a building makes you feel at ease. The jingle upon walking into a Family Mart becomes anthemic and the little bench table at the window is the perfect spot to watch life go by.

I don’t need to say that the food is on another level compared to the sorry offerings in Europe, but the way it’s served- no pretense and functional- means that I never tire. Finding a little soba or udon place at lunch was as much a highlight as passing over the top of the last col and descending down.

Even the accommodation hit the perfect spot. A combination of cheap and dated businessmen hotels, which were immaculately clean and functional, little guest houses or hostels where I really felt like I was in someone’s house and a fancy Ryokan in Kurokawa Onsen (genuinely the best hotel I have ever stayed in) was the perfect compliment to cycling all day.

We were three on this trip and it was good to spend so much time with my brother. Whatever differences we had as children have now been replaced by a real mutual respect. He is, and will always be, still my younger brother but this trip really highlighted our similarities. His time living in Asia along with his investment in reading and his peer group has shaped him into an extremely interesting person to be around. Three weeks flew by without any disagreement and a mutual understanding of what we were all trying to get from the trip. Having his splutterings of Japanese language skill helped proceedings along with his understanding of the country after three years living there.

Stats:

1,066km, 24,082m+ and 15 days

Lawsons kombinis visited: at least 50

 
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Col de la Fenetre and Col de la Cicle

Ever since buying the apartment in les Contamines the Col de la Fenetre has become our go to outing on the skis. The conditions didn’t look promising but in the end were quite ok. The pace was strong and we charged up the Col de la Fenetre. A quick snack and then a romp the couloir behind the Tete de la Circle with some tight kick turns.

The northern side of the Col de la Cicle feels intimidating from below, but the snow was firm and enjoyable to ski down.

Even with 2km of skating we arrived in plenty of time to watch Scotland get horsed against Ireland in the Six Nations.

It felt like a long day, definitely not used to these big days on the skis at the moment.

Stats:

Depart 09h35, Summit:13h39, parking 15h15

18.7km 1352m+

View south over to Lacs Jovets and Col du Bonhomme

Mont Blanc massiv from Col de la Fenetre

High treaverse off the Col de la Fenetre

Steep skin up to the col

Mont Blanc and Val Montjoie from Col de la Cicle

 
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Learning Mandarin

I decided to learn Mandarin and every source I read online suggests that I should first determine why I want to learn Mandarin. So this, I guess, is my why.

Firstly, I should admit that of all the languages I was interested in learning, Mandarin until recently never featured. I have always had a fascination with Japanese and to a lesser extent Russian but have never put any real concerted effort into learning either. As a product of an English native tongue, educated within the Scottish education system, I unfortunately was not bilingual at the age of 16. I could hardly even order a beer in German after five years of so called study of the language. Fortunately, the opportunity to pursue my graduate studies in France was available and, despite having no particular interest in France as a country, I moved to Grenoble mostly as an excuse to ski and learn French.

I picked up French frustratingly slowly at the start. I remember all my other foreign classmates, of all nationalities, picking the basics up with such ease whilst I struggled trying to directly translate the English equivalent in my head. I had no concept of grammar rules, having never studied the mechanics of tenses and subjunctives in English, and despite rules being somewhat similar across English and French I was floundering to begin with. What I did have though was a good ear and a good memory for individual words. I took a few months to rewire my thinking and by Christmas time, three months after I moved to France, I was having my first decent conversations. From that point on, I stopped taking lessons and just learnt by living in a house of six native tongues. By the one-year mark I was by no means perfect, but could hold my own in most situations.

Four years later, Spanish came along even easier. Helped somewhat by the fact it is my wife’s native tongue, I had an incentive to learn. When I joined a Spanish company and the reality of day to day work is that without Spanish I would be lost, the learning curve became extremely steep. Within six months I was reasonably fluent and my pronunciation was good. Eight years later, without a single formal lesson, and I am approaching bilingual level in Spanish. I am at a slightly lower but overall similar level in French.

All this to is to say, that despite a slow start to learning languages I have a reasonable ability. Grammatical correctness is without doubt my weakness, but that has never been my goal. The sounds of the language seem to resonate with me and I pick up the speed and the nuance easily. Will this translate to Mandarin, I hope so.

This short prelude takes me back to the why and the main motivation is the challenge itself. I have struggled over the last year to find a stimulating, long-term intellectual challenge for myself. The thoughts of going back to school again and studying business are there, but the costs involved are substantial and I am not sure I really resonate with all the values that business schools teach. This is not to say never, but just not at the moment. Learning Mandarin, is something I can do at my own pace, injecting as much or as little time as I want and if I fail, I comparatively lose very little. The difficulty of learning Mandarin as opposed to Spanish or French is not lost on me. Even with dedicated daily time spent studying, I do not expect this to be a 12 month project, rather a five or six year endeavor. But it is this challenge in itself that is the main reason for starting.

China itself also fascinates me and is completely misunderstood by the west. Anti-China sentiment has risen significantly over the past two or three years and just as the occidental world tries to shut China out I believe is the time when it is most important to try and understand the culture better. A language unlocks the thinking patterns of a culture and I believe is the perfect vessel for getting inside this society that can seem insular and impenetrable. I became acutely aware of this when seeing this played out in reverse by my Chinese colleague who I will call Aidan (as he likes to be known himself). He is one of my main inspirations.

Lastly, China is already now the second pole of global influence and will only continue to grow in this respect. To ignore it, is only to highlight one‘s own ignorance. My curiosity of the what the orient is thinking with respect to the world order and ideologies other than those presumed to be correct in the west is too strong. Speaking Mandarin, even if at a lowly level, will help me unlock the country and once unlocked who knows what may come of it.

Croisse Baulet and Petit Croisse Baulet

Not the first day of the season but the first that I have remembered to write about. We started too late from just above Cordon. It was a nice skin up the track but the moment we hit the sun, the skins got sticky.

The snow on the way down was terrible. A nice day nonetheless and a route to be repeated in better conditions and without every man and his dog there.

Stats:

Depart 11h04, Summit:12h28, parking 16h01

14.85km 1167m+

Aiguille du Midi through the trees

Late afternoon sun on the summit

Splendid panorama of the Mont Blanc

The west face of the Aravis

 
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Col de la Fenetre

A nice hop up to the Col de la Fenetre. Conditions not as nice as expected.

Stats:

Depart 10h48, Summit:13h00, parking 14h07

13.84 km 1064m+

Aiguille de la Berangere through the forest

Views towards Aiguille Croche from Col de la Fenetre

Mont Blanc massive

Bois de Rollaz and the decent back up the valley

 
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Tête de Bostan

A return to tag the summit following a quite frankly ridiculous decision to turn around before the summit the weekend before. The weather continued to be unseasonably hot and the track from the bottom had lost more snow.

Nonetheless, given the lack of other options, it was a good option. South-facing but projected and in the shade at the bottom.

We hit it lucky with the timing, letting the sun warm up the crust we had some nice spring snow all the way back to the forest

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Haute Giffre Refuge de Bostan

There is not much to say about this one. It was a training weekend with terrible snow and an incredibly slow group. At least I learnt something.

What made up for it were the views. A spectacular sunset from the Refuge du Bostan and the valley just above it.

Ski Season 23/24

I’m not sure if people are actually interested in reading about what I have been skiing. Perhaps not, but it makes for a nice record for me.

Last season was probably the least productive ski touring season I have had since moving to the Switzerland. A lot of this was due to the conditions- lack of snow and a stupidly hot Christmas period. This meant that finding snow close to Geneva involved at least a two hour drive to fit anything skiable. I wasn’t massively motivated to do this every weekend and overall my motivation just to tour was not really there.

I raced plenty on the skis, which was the first time I had committed so much to skimp racing. In total I had six full days in races, two of which (la Belle Étoile) were some of my hardest days on skis. In hindsight, I wondered if this detracted from just going out and enjoying days on the hills.

This year the motivation is back and I just plan to get out whenever I can. Short days, long days, easy days or tough days I’m not really bothered. The key is just to get out, as it is never regretted afterwards. I’ve also found a renewed fascination in the mapping part of the day out, pouring over a topo map and looking at all the names of the mountains that are possible and looking at what might be nice to ski down.

So this little repertoire is here to doucement all the days I do on skis. It might be useful for others as a little English resource for others skiing in the Alps and Pyrenees.

Høgruta i Jotunheimen- Norway’s Haute Route

I kept repeating to my Norwegian friend and well-appreciated organiser of the proceedings that follow, that Norway is ‘just the same’ as Scotland. This came with the caveats of it being 10 degrees colder, and therefore snowier, in winter and a fair bit more civilized (granted the bar is set quite low on this parameter).  By the end of the 10 days, she was interrupting her partner, a hardy mountain man from down south, and filling in the end of our sentences depicting parallels between the two countries and why they are just better than the Alps.

On the menu for Easter week then- Høgruta i Jotunheimen, Norway’s answer to the more famous, and in my opinion, less glamorous Skier’s Haute Route from Chamonix to Zermatt.

It was pleasantly balmy in Oslo upon arrival, so much so that a quick dip in the Olso Fjord was called for both after a pleasant run around some of the surrounding small islands that was to help condition us for the 6 days of skiing to come.

Høgruta traverses Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park, and ticks off some of the country’s highest tops (including Glittertind and Galdhøpiggen 2ndand 1st tallest respectively) and impressive glaciers. Starting in Bessheim and finishing Krossbu, the route covers a mixture of skating across frozen lakes, gentle drags up glaciers, steep skinning up faces and a fair chunk of skis-on-bag crampon and axe work in order to go up. Going down was also an eclectic mix of crappy wind scraped ice plastered 30deg+ faces, mellow and endless glides down 15deg glaciers, down climbing roped up and even some fresh snow south-facing turns. It tested my wife’s still green and maturing skiing skills to a new level and tested the durability of my toenails and skin around my feet to a level of discomfort I had once never believed plausible.

I shall not indulge myself too much by waxing lyrical about each day in excessive detail, rather let the photos depict the surroundings and give a flavour of what I can only describe as a simply a superb journey across a wild and majestic landscape.

Day 1. Bessheim- Memurubu

Snow cover was patchy but the long skate across the lake was all the easier for it. No objective issues en route to the first summit of the trip Bukkehø. If only the descent were so simple. Wind beaten on the top and south meant a backtrack was required and a 400m ski down a face where a fall would not have been fun. After this, a mixture of toe-pointing shuffling on crampons mixed with rock dodging on skis ended in a 10 hour day to start with and 20km 1500m+ of hard-fought-for stats. Given the poor forecast and accompanying snow in the east, we arrived at the cabin to find we were accompanied by only one other party. Double services of meat cake (apparently the translation I believe?) were duly swept up.

Besshøe summit (2258 m)

Skiing down some horrid snow

Horrid and steep

Stats:

20km 1500m+ and 10h on foot

 
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Day 2. Memurubu- Memurubu

The forecast had for a fair morning followed by a medium to poor (in shipping forecast vernacular) afternoon accompanied by snow and low visibility. The original plan foresaw a night in Glitterheim, however, after summiting the day’s summit Surtningssue late afternoon the cornice that predominately westerly winds had brought, meant that descending onto Styggehøbrean (glacier) would have been silly at best. With no visibility and few alternatives available to make it to Glitterheim, it was decided that a tactical retreat to last night’s refuge was in order. The problem being, that we had no reservation and no ways of contacting them. We chanced it and set off trying to arrive back before nightfall. Fortunately, upon arrival, they had space and more importantly hot food.

A last note on the day was that Glitterheim had also called to see if we were alive seeing as we had not made it there as planned. At the start of the day, it is standard that you write a detailed itinerary and if anyone has not arrived before a reasonable hour the huts start calling each other to see that all is ok. I can only commend this, bravo!

Morning views over frozen Gjende

Bootpacking up to Surtningsee (2368m)

Stats:

20km, 1600m+ and 12 hours on foot.

 
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Day 3. Memurubu-Spiterstulen

After a second unforeseen night at Memurubu, a bit of rejigging the day’s route was required in order to stay on track. This unfortunately meant that Glittertind would have to be dropped and replaced with a long climb up the Austre Memurubreen glacier. Weather had improved but my feet beaten from the previous day of being locked up were in tatters. The descent off the glacier and gentle skate into the hut were pleasant, as was the cold pint upon arrival.

Valley up from Memurubu

Austre Memurubrean

Stats:

23.6km, 1000m+ and 7.5 hours on foot.

 
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Day 4.Spiterstulen-Leirvassbu

Galdhøpiggen (Norway’s highest) was the objective of most in the hut, but alas, not for us. South face was apparently un-skiable, at least for mere mortals like us, and doing an out and back was a vile proposition in view of the remainder of the day ahead of us. The alternate route instead took us via Tverråbrean glacier, to the summit of Bukkeholstindan and down the Bukkeholsbrean glacier with a 5km false flat skin and skate over the frozen lake to the hut for the night. Pint (or three) well appreciated upon arrival, even if they did cost 15quid a pop.

Last metres of Tverråbrean

Bukkeholstinden V1 (2166 m)

Stats:

20km, 1300m+ and 6h45 on foot

 
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Day 5. Leirvassbu-Leirvassbu

The rest day apparently. A quick circular route around the summit Stetinden and back before lunch. Estimations of timing seemed to be a reoccurring weak point of our group as a 3 or 4 hour day proved much more taxing than planned. The summit required a ski stash at the face and a slight aerial ridge out and back to reach the true summit, well worth the extra hour. The few cm of fresh snow from two days ago held really well and the 900m descent off the shoulder were probably the best lines of the trip.

Ridge along to Stetinden (2020m)

Looking down from Stetinden (2020m)

Stats:

13.5km, 1000m+ and (only) 5h30

 
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Day 6. Leirvassbu-Krossbu

Final day and we were just getting warmed up…

An easterly traverse hitting first the summit of Storebjørn (Big Bear translated I’m rightly informed) and descending its icy exposed face onto the saddle. The last climb up Sokse provided a spicy end to the trip, especially seeing as my partner left my ice axe at the top of Bukkeholstindan 2 days previous. Fortunately, the ice was hard and previous Scottish winter climbing experience helped as we all negotiated the grade III gully to the top. All that was left was a leisurely 10km ski down to the car at Krossbu, cans of Solo (Norwegian Fanta) and a 6-hour drive back to Oslo before flying back to Switzerland early the next morning.

Climb up to Sokse (2189m)

The hard bit is over…

Stats:

16km 6h45 and 1100m+

 
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