Avalanche Kills Nine On Mont Blanc

by Kraig Becker on

Tragedy struck one of the most popular and iconic mountains in all of Europe yesterday when an avalanche claimed the lives of nine climbers on Mont Blanc. The massive snow slide is believed to have been accidentally started by another climber who was attempting to scale the 4810-meter (15,781-foot) peak at the time.

Search and rescue teams quickly leapt into action and were able to locate two climbers who were buried under the ice and snow. But further rescue operations were hampered by poor conditions on the slopes, which remained dangerously unstable following the avalanche. Those conditions and the onset of darkness caused the SAR teams to call off their search yesterday evening. It was scheduled to resume this morning.

Of the nine climbers that perished, three were from the U.K., three from Germany, two were from Spain and one was from Switzerland. Authorities cautioned that the death toll could rise even higher as there were quite a few climbers on the slopes at the time and not all have been accounted for.

The French Alps, which is where Mont Blanc is located, had an unusually high amount of snow this past spring, and early summer storms have continued to pound the area. All of that snow, combined with high winds, has created a dangerous environment for climbers who have encountered a number of large and dangerous overhangs on the mountain. Those overhangs can collapse as the weather warms, depositing tons of snow on to the steep slopes of the mountain, creating deadly avalanches in the process.

The Mont Blanc Massif is a popular destination for active travelers year round. In the summer it offers fantastic trekking and mountain biking trails and in the winter it is amongst the best ski and snowboard locations in Europe. Climbing is popular year round as well, and thousands flock to its slopes on an annual basis. The peak is no stranger to tragedy, however, as it is often listed amongst the most deadly mountains in the world.

[Photo credit: Joe MiGo via WikiMedia]

The Most Modern Hotel In The World … In 1908

by Sean McLachlan on


Here’s a fun little silent film from way back in 1908 called “The Electric Hotel.” At that time technological progress was all the rage, new inventions seemed to pop up every day and electricity was just becoming commonplace. In this film we see how the hotels of the future will look. The amazing invention of electricity will shine your shoes, undress your wife and unpack your luggage. It all works great until a drunk hotel employee messes with the switches and chaos ensues.

This film was the work of Segundo de Chomón, a Spanish director who at that time was working in France. He was an early innovator in special effects and color film and many of his films feature hapless tourists getting into trouble.

For modern hotels that actually exist, be sure to check out our Gadling hotel articles.

Paradise Regained: Revisiting La Colombe d’Or In St.-Paul-de-Vence, France

by Don George on

June 28, 2012; at La Colombe d’Or, St.-Paul-de-Vence:

Conjunction of memory and moment: Nineteen summers ago I sat in this limestone-terraced restaurant in the medieval marvel of St.-Paul-de-Vence, experiencing a time-stopping, life-enlarging afternoon that has become iconic for me. Now I am back, my journal opened to a page as white as the brilliant sunlight that splashes over everything here, and then to a much earlier page, all blue scribbles and a fading blush of Provencal wine.

I am ensconced under a white parasol at a red bouquet-brightened table, looking out on a somnolent scene of green hills and straw-colored houses with terra-cotta roofs.

I have just finished a truffle salad – so redolent I felt transported before taking even a bite – and now I’m sipping a chilled vin rosé, eating buttery bites of crusty-tender baguette, and sliding ineluctably into heaven once again.

I feel like I’m in a Matisse canvas – bright white flagstones and sun umbrellas, green hills, red roofs, blue sea and sky. Then the sun dapples and it’s an Impressionist scene, a Renoir moment as the maitre d’ ceremoniously ushers diners to their tables and they exclaim at seeing old friends – “You’re here! Yes, you too!” – kiss-kiss, take their seats, and sigh. The rosé flows, and time slows.

The waiter appears and – just as nineteen years before – places before me with a flourish an artful platter of grilled sea bream, dauraude royale.

“Bon appétit, monsieur,” he kindly purrs, and pours some more wine.

Around me is a symphony of sounds: the clink of silverware on china, the splash of wine into glasses, the mellifluous laughter and multilingual chatter of diners in summery clothes.

An American family of three sits at the table in front of me, and I lean forward to recommend the truffle salad. They are from Napa Valley, it turns out, an hour’s drive from my home, and we exclaim at the wonder of meeting people so close so far away – and the sheer joy of sharing such a singular place on such a singular day.

The family to my left joins the conversation. They are from Newport Beach, in southern California, and have made the pilgrimage here from a cruise ship docked in Monaco for the day. Soon a woman appears at my shoulder, smiling. “Ojai,” she says, and then from the table behind me, a voice trills, “San Francisco!”We are all caught up in a buoyant bubble of bonté and bonhomie – a celebration of life’s bounty and of our own good fortune to be sharing it on this sun-dappled summer terrace in the middle of one of the most blessed places on Earth.

I take another sip of rosé, savor the perfect daurade with green beans and watch the choreography unfold – a ballet of white-shirted waiters bearing bottles and platters, the maitre d’ surveying the scene, calls for flutes of Champagne here, moans over delicate bowls of luscious red framboises there, kiss-kiss and sit and sigh.

To my right is a vibrant Leger mural, wrought into a section of the terrace’s streetside wall. And as I have just reaffirmed on a rambling restroom detour, the rustic interior rooms here still house an astonishment of modern masterpieces – canvases by Picasso, Dubuffet, Dufy, Miro, Chagall, Picasso, Braque, and Matisse, among many others, all given by the artists when they were still struggling unknowns to the generous and perspicacious owner, the late Paul Roux, in lieu of payment.

This place is an enchanted little world, I think – reluctant to take fork to fish, reluctant even to move, wanting to hold and savor this moment forever.

Awaiting me, I know, is a medieval meander through the cobbled alleys of St.-Paul; an espresso at the Cafe de la Place, where I will watch local gentlemen enact their afternoon rite of pétanque; and then a serene stop at the exquisite Chapelle Folon, which had not even existed nineteen summers before.

Some things change, and some things stay the same.

But for now the world is wondrously reduced to this: the sunlight catching in the canopy of branches above and blessing the hills beyond, the murmuring music of the diners behind me, the perfume of the flowers mingling with the scents of the chef’s seasonings, the exuberant atmosphere of artwork all around, the cobbled stones beneath me, the fish and bread before me, the wine as red as the flowers, the tablecloth as white as the parasol; an ineffable moment of ease and artfulness, a soul-fulfilling scene of life lived to the full.

The platter of now absent daurade has been whisked away and replaced with an ebullient bowl of fulsome framboises. Slowly, dreamily, the California fan club rises, smiles, waves, exchanges cards, prepares to go their own way – and the afternoon shimmers and sighs, as ephemeral and endless as this last glass of rosé I raise in my hand, in toast to the marriage of memory and moment in this blessed land.

2012 Tour De France Begins Today!

by Kraig Becker on

Cycling’s premiere event, the Tour de France, gets underway today with the world’s best riders preparing for another challenging race. This year’s Tour promises to be an exciting one as the teams go head-to-head through 20 grueling stages that culminate on July 22 with their arrival on the Champs Elysees in Paris.

The competition for the famed Maillot Jaune, or Yellow Jersey, which is worn throughout the competition by the race leader, should prove to be an interesting one. Former Tour champ Alberto Contador, widely considered the best cyclist in the world, is out of the race while serving a controversial drug suspension. His chief rival, Andy Schleck, is also out after suffering a fracture to his back in the Criterium du Dauphine at the start of June. This opens the door for any number of riders to claim victory in Paris, including defending champ Cadel Evans and Bradley Wiggins of the U.K. They’ll be pushed by Ryder Hesjedal of Canada, Robert Gesink from the Netherlands and Frank Schleck of Luxembourg.

When the race begins later today it will be on the streets of Liège where the cyclists will ride a short 6.4-kilometer (4-mile) Prologue that will determine the preliminary rankings before heading into the first road stage tomorrow. Stage 1 will be a mostly flat and fast affair covering 198 kilometers (123 miles) between Liège and Seraing. This will give the Tour’s sprinters a chance to stretch their legs before heading into the mountains in the later stages of the race.

The course designers did a fine job of mixing up the challenges this year. The race begins with the traditional flat stages, but eventually gives way to tougher medium and big mountain stages, which is where the race is usually won and lost. Two individual time trials will also go a long way towards determining who will wear the Yellow Jersey in Paris in three weeks time.

You can follow all of the action on the Tour de France website, where daily updates show rankings, stage results and individual highlights. For cycling fans, it is going to be an exciting event.

Four Myths about Paris and Parisians

by David Farley on
The founder of Lonely Planet guidebooks espouses a philosophy that through travel, the world can become a more peaceful place. It’s true. I can no longer count the times stereotypes have been completely shattered when I go to a new country. The Polish, for example, don’t need ten people and a ladder to screw in a light bulb. Likewise, the Mexicans aren’t shiftless, sombrero-wearers who use donkeys to get from one bar to the next. Other times, however, a stereotype can confirm a preconceived image we had before going to a country: many Italians really do speak with their hands. And it’s a fact that Germans drink a lot of beer. Similarly, the first time I was in Paris, in the early-’90s, I remember seeing designer-clad women walking down the Champs Elysees holding perfectly groomed toy poodles on a leash. I left France, having only spent 24 hours there with this image remaining in my mind.

Ten years later, I moved to Paris. After scraping for as much information as I could about my adopted new home, I kept coming across similar themes: Parisians are rude, they won’t help you if you’re American and/or speak butchered French, etc. But after a few weeks in Paris it was clear to me: we’ve been misinformed about the City of Light and its inhabitants. Here’s how:

Myth #1: Parisians are rude.
Verdict: False.

The number of friendly people I encountered in the first two weeks of living in Paris far outweighs the number of uncouth. Big cities are chaotic places and no matter where you are you’re going to encounter rudeness. San Francisco and Prague, two cities that I spent a combined seven years in, are far more hostile places than Paris.

If you come to France and don’t make an attempt to speak the language, you’re going to get treated poorly. But if receiving courtesy and respect from your savage hosts hovers on the lower rungs of your priority totem pole, the exchange I witnessed one day between a wealthy, middle-aged American couple and a butcher will not surprise you. The American man asked the butcher if he spoke English – in English! No Parlez-vous Anglais? I enjoyed watching the butcher stare at them for a long five seconds before slowly shaking his head no, almost as if he were shaming them. In response, the American man just screamed his order at the butcher in English. Somehow this worked. He got his sausage. But the damage was done: the butcher probably went home that night and strangled his effigy of Ronald Reagan again. If you went around the United States and asked people in Erdu if they spoke Erdu, how many responses would you get that differ from the exchange above? Answer: unless you hit the jackpot and find an Erdu speaker, exactly zero. Peace through tourism will not come unless tourists stop thinking that they only need to show up in a country and everything else will be handed to them on a silver platter (after, of course, screaming in your native language.)

Myth#2: If you don’t speak perfect French or have a perfect French accent, the Parisians will pretend to not understand you.

Verdict: False.

I took a one-week intensive course before moving to Paris. I don’t speak perfectly. In fact, I can barely order my food in a restaurant. Still, no one feigned ignorance, pretending that I’m actually speaking Swiss German. Take an encounter I had in a department store one day translated into English:

Me: Excuse me, have you stuff for the skin of the face that I wear to clean at the morning and at the night?

Shop Assistant: Face soap?

Me: Yes!

Shop Assistant: Right this way, sir.

Myth #3: The French hate Americans.

Verdict: False

The French seem intrinsically opposed to any foreign policy the Americans initiate. Even September 11 was debated here. A book published in France while I was living there argued that the terrorist attacks on New York and Washington, D.C., were just a hoax by the Bush administration. As silly as it may sound, it was a best seller. After hearing about this I imagined having this kind of encounter in Paris:

French Person: Where do you come from?

Me: America

French Person: Oh, so you are Americain. You probably zink zat zee September 11 really happened, don’t you? DON’T YOU?!

The French and Americans are both extremely proud and nationalistic. We may butt heads occasionally, but that doesn’t mean they don’t like us or will treat you worse just because of the name of the country on your passport. (But if you tell them one more time, “We saved your ass in the war,” things may take a turn for the worse.)

When I first arrived to live in Paris and people would ask where I was from, my response was Prague (since I had just lived there for a few years and am still familiar with the language-besides who in France is really going to test me). But the response I got every time was, “oh…” So I changed my answer to San Francisco and it often led to a warm smile and further conversation (not necessarily about San Francisco).

Myth #4: The French carry baguettes.

Verdict: True

On the cover of my French grammar book, there’s a photo of a woman carrying a bundle of baguettes. Its kitschy appeal made me laugh. Then I went to France and saw people actually walking around with baguettes, as if they were contractually obligated. The French love their bread – and so do I. It’s great. But it’s more than just tasty. It really is a symbol of French pride. During a French presidential campaign while I was in there, far-right candidate Jean Marie Le Pen, laid down a bouquet of flowers in front of a statue of Joan of Arc in Paris. His supporters were behind him holding up baguettes to show their pride and solidarity. This made me wonder: what food item would Americans hold up? Hot Dogs? Apple Pies? Cans of Coca Cola?

Whatever the case, on your next trip to Paris try to let go of any preconceived notions of the locals and you just might learn something new.

Because as my good friend, Andrew Evans, National Geographic’s Digital Nomad, recently said: “A good traveler is one who constantly discovers that he or she is wrong about a given destination.”

[photo via Flickr, courtesy of Antoaneta]