We spent a solid week cross-country skiing through the multi-stationed ski resort La Plagne in the French Alps. Mr. Pinault's family has had a condo there since he was a little boy. It was my third vacation there, and my second time skiing. The first time (two years ago) can be relived in all its hilarity by clicking here.

Returning to where I learned how to XC ski allowed me to gauge my improvement. My balance and technique are strong. We averaged about 20 kilometers a day of skiing... and entire days went by when I did not fall. Pity poor Mr. Pinault, though, who missed the trail-side entertainment of watching me explode into snowbanks, and who no longer had long, restorative breaks while I caught up.

Note: Pretty much all of the scenery photos on this page were taken by Mr. Pinault, of course.

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Mr. Pinault, basking in the sun, looking fierce.

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Me at Les Bauches, an abandoned farm alongside a trail that is currently used as a scenic landmark.

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One day we skied to Plagne Bellecote, which has about 12 km of XC ski trails on a plateau above the treeline (roughly 2030 m - that's 6660 feet, which is higher than Mount Washington). With air that thin, it's literally breathtaking... especially when one is striding uphill on a pair of skis.

The Bellecote plateau is a popular picnicking and frolicking place for Alpine skiers, snowshoers, and pedestrians. Surprisingly, we saw only about a dozen other XC skiers on the plateau. They were either "Real Guys," as Mr. Pinault calls them - young, fast, and kicking (here for a YouTube of some Real Guys), or gray-haired, plodding skiers who were passed by walkers. There were very few skiers like us: Young and plodding. (I jest, of course).

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We stopped to eat our sandwiches next to a group of French people, each of whom cheerfully bade us "Bon appetite."

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XC skiing is like the Hummer of winter sports: it requires serious fuel. Every morning I walked alone to the boulangerie to buy baguettes for breakfast (smeared with butter, jam, and nutella) and lunch (stuffed with sandwich fixings). I cannot convey the pride that I felt, giving my order in French and having the clerk fetch exactly what I asked for. That's 50 hours of French lessons well spent!

For dinner, we were spoiled guests at chez Pinault, where we gorged ourselves on dishes like fondue and raclette.

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"Je voudrais une baguette, un croissant, et une baguette montagnard, s'il vous plait.""

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Sunsets

We had perfect weather most days, and perfect sunsets. Here is Mont Blanc with its common "cap" of clouds, holding onto the dying sunlight.

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Different night, same sublime view.

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