Bon jour

The sun has come up over the Aiguilles east of us, and I have returned from a trip to the hotel lobby, bringing back a fresh baguette. It is crusty and the same size as a police billy club. The French may be known for their rich sauces, but for breakfast it's bread and jam. The apartment we are in has a real coffee maker, and with the ground coffee we brought home from the market we brew up whole pots.

We plan two more days in Chamonix, and although Laura has come down with a cold it just couldn't be much nicer. This little town is Aspen with a French accent only bigger, more spectacular, more developed. I hiked up to the top of the ridge opposite Mont Blanc yesterday and now I have to take back my comments about an unimpressive hump. Awe inspiring is more like it.

I practiced my growing French vocabulary  on fellow hikers. I am trying to get down the sweet sound of this most proper and dainty of languages. Bon jour comes out like bohhhh jhoouu, with a little lilt on the last oouu. Monsieur sounds like mohsheur, with the lilt on the eur. Never make the n sound, or you sound like a hack. Merci beaucoup is meersee bokoo, but don't forget to emphasize the last syllable and raise the pitch as you draw out the oooo.

For some reason the television coverage of the Tour de France is in German instead of French. I miss Phil Ligget and Paul Sherwin and their British expressions. Just not the same in German. "He's cracked!" "He's opened a gap!" "He's looking comfortable on his machine!" "I believe he's in a spot of bother!" I can't understand a word of the Schwarzenegger sounding German.

Ah well, Bastille day is Thursday, and the locals here are excited about a major fireworks display tomorrow. Explosions sound the same in any language, so we will be out with the French down by climbing wall in the center of town to watch. I was told today, "Mohsheur you must see zis."