There are great bonuses to our location today. Chief among
them is the free wifi. No, that’s not chief among them, although it is kind of
cool – I can do the blog while I’m still awake – although I’m drinking pink
wine already so this may turn into gibberish quite soon. Chief among them is
that we are perfectly placed to see shattered riders (OH STOP TALKING TO ME
WHILE I AM WRITING, TOURIST MAN) on the second ascent of Alpe d’Huez.
It’s kind of hard, in an Alpine ski station, surrounded by
people in Lycra, not to be too cycling-focused. But I feel like I’ve rambled on
about the cyclists a bit, and in a too specialist manner, in the past two days,
perhaps I’ll look at a few other issues. At least until the cyclists pass
through in a couple of hours.
We left our hotel at 7.30am. It was a great, but freezing,
little chateau in the middle of nowhere; our room had a bathroom the size of my
flat in Phnom Penh and a bath with curtains – as well as velvety walls – I’ve always loved velvety walls – who wouldn't? The first hotel had been quite different – a
yellow stone suntrap in Provence.
What they both had in common was the French approach to the
service industry. I LOVE the French approach to the service industry. It’s so
much after my own heart. “We are selling you something, and we want you to come
inside so we can sustain our livelihoods, but we’re damned if we’re going to be
anything but surly about it.” YES! This was me when I managed a bar in London.
People used to come for miles to be insulted. They could have anything provided
I could reach it (apart from spritzers) if it wasn’t busy, and anything
provided it was Stella at rush hour. If they asked for ice and a slice, they
were publicly ridiculed.
One co-tour traveller said to the man at the chateau that
she had no key – in English of course – and he just walked off. There is so
much wrong with this, and it horrified everyone else, but it had me in fits.
I’m also very much enjoying my return to French radio. I
love the tilting at windmills quota system they employ – we will NOT play all
English music, even if it means we are reduced to playing complete and utter
shite. Again, so similar to my own self-defeating mentality. So the music I am
listening to again and again on the bus is exactly the same as the music I
heard 18 years ago when I lived here as a student. Johnny Holiday, Claude
Francois, Jean-Jacques Goldman, Pascal Obispo – and then of course Abba, REM,
Bonnie Tyler and JOY JOY JOY Ten Sharp “You.” This gem I learnt while living
here and have heard nowhere else at all, ever. And now I have it playing every
hour again! It’s so CRAP but I love it. I
have a horrible feeling I’ve bunged it on Facebook in the past, so that’s just
redoubling how sad I am.
So back to Alpe d’Huez. Great little skiing village (took
three chairlifts to get up here). I know so much about skiing. I went to a ski
resort when I lived here, as my friends were instructors, but I had no money so
could not ski. I did go down the black piste on a plastic bag. To be fair, I’ve
tried to avoid skiing as a pursuit. I don’t see the point of it, and I don’t
feel I’m the ideal person to be sliding around with two long sticks attached to
my feet. I found drinking beers the size of my head more my thing back then.
I’ve matured so much since.
….
Later
…
Yes, as most of you who are on FB have recognised … I
overindulged again. A fascinating late afternoon/evening, but I am incapable of
finishing the blog sensibly (I have some stuff stored up in my brain for tomorrow - and I will DEFINITELY not forget any of it).
Some final points, then:
1. The racing went very well for me.
2. Don’t ever think that 74 glasses of wine in an
Alpine village will sit well with three chairlifts down a hill and then a huge
bus trek to a hotel on another mountain.
3. I have so much respect for recovering addicts
and their strong efforts. I wish, nevertheless, that they would not be around me on days like
today.
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