Bruges or Brugge?

Bruges. Or should I say Brugge?

Whatever the case, this Flemish town, set near the English Channel, is the jewel of Belgium. Just an hour's train ride from Brussels, one steps off the platform and into an alternate universe, where both language and culture have changed, and all this within a country so small it can be driven across in two hours.

There's a hesitation for a visitor who speaks both French and English such as myself. French is one of the two official languages of Belgium, but the language spoken here is Dutch, and due to decades of cultural clashes -- both real and invented --French speakers are often frowned upon. But I also hesitated to use English, the default language of the international traveller. Regardless, this is a tourist town, and most shop owners are more or less trilingual, and the international language of spending money doesn't offend anyone.



Below is the imposing Belfry, set in the town's main square, adding to the definite Medieval feel.




Several canals snake through the town, running alongside homes with noble brick façades, offering the meandering tourist several beautiful strolls. The town is intimate enough that all its streets can be covered in a day's time.



Like many days in this part of the world, it rained and shone ten times within the course of my afternoon in Bruges, the whole spectrum of light and ambiance...


The canals and brick façades are reminiscent of Amsterdam, though Bruges is more human in size and feel. Its streets are filled with chocolate shops and restaurants, kiosks tout the best fries in the world, the same for their waffles.



I rented a bicycle for the afternoon and my only dissapointment was that I didn't have a map: my pedalling took me along a canal to the quaint town of Damme (thankfully not named after Jean Claude), and then onward on narrow cycle paths bordered by rows of trees and an endless system of canals. Bicycle signs and paths everywhere in the countryside... Spectacular...








A look at Bruges from the perspective of its canals...

The Pyrenees

I spent a week during the end of September hiking through the Pyrenees.

The chain of the Pyrenees runs west to east, from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean Sea, a natural border between France and Spain. The end of September is perfect timing: the high passes are still free of snow, the summer crowds have all but disappeared, you can have the mountains all to yourself. There were entire days where I didn't cross a soul.

Below is a photo taken at the Lac de Gaube, in the high Pyrenees.



The clouds played hide and seek with me for the first few days, before giving way to days of full sunshine. Below is a lone pine tree at the Riou Pass, its silhouette visible through the fog.



If you're looking for authentic mountain towns, look no farther than the central Pyrenees. This is the tiny town of Grust, a handful of centuries-old homes tightly packed along cobbled streets. The welcome and hospitality in these small towns is second to none.




In the background is the Cirque de Troumousse, a glacier-laden ridgeline that separates France from Spain. One possible walk in the Pyrenees is the GR10 -- a long distance walking trail that crosses the entire chain from Atlantic to Mediterranean, from mountain hut to moutain hut, going through villages as well, 40 days of walking...


The Pyrenees may not be as high as the Alps but the scenery is just as stunning: rolling green hills that stretch into the horizon, slopes dotted with ancient stone farmhouses, flocks of sheep grazing peacefully...




The Gavarnie waterfalls, central Pyrenees. At 420m in height, these are Europe's tallest falls.


Another look at the falls...

Zermatt, Switzerland

I had been in Chamonix for close to two weeks, and being so close to the Swiss border I thought I'd at least take a train to Zermatt, foot of the Matterhorn.

The two towns are comparable, each a resort town, each at the base of a tightly encased valley, each at the foot of its respective country's highest peak. Chamonix: Mont Blanc. Zermatt: the Matterhorn.

At least Chamonix seemed to have a soul. Zermatt I'm not quite too sure, though to be fair I only spent just over 24 hours there. The town of Zermatt is spread no more than a mile long at the base of a valley. Its storybook 16th and 17th century wooden buildings seem today terribly out of place, surrounded by a sea of cloned hotel complexes, copied and pasted dozens of times over. It takes less than 15 minutes to walk from one end of the town to the other, yet the list of hotels in the village brochure, set in alphabetical order, boasts a page long of 'A's, let alone the rest of the alphabet...

The streets buzz with electric buggies that cart tourists from train station to hotel, a novelty of a town where no cars are permitted. The streets are lined with outlandishly priced shops and filled with tourists from all over the world.


In the photo below, along Zematt's main strip, filled with shops and tourists:





One of the many electric cars in town:



some of the old wooden buildings, an area devoid of shops, and consequently, tourists...




If, like me, you aren't interested in spending your day shopping, or if your wallet doesn't permit you to do so, then I would encourage you to head into the surrounding hills as quickly as possible. And that's where all the beauty of Zermatt lies: literally surrounded by Europe's highest peaks, a 360° glacial paradise of grandiose proportions. A very expensive but excellent system of cablecars and lifts permit just about anyone to enjoy hikes up in altitude.

During my first hike it rained and even snowed a while, but I was rewarded with this beautiful sight:





The following morning I took the cablecar up to the Rothorn, 3100m metres in altitude. From here a path leads to the top of the summit seen in the photo below, the Oberrothorn. It is touted as the "highest walking trail in Europe", really meaning the highest trail not needing technical alpine gear. The path zigzags gently up the slope, the only true difficulty being the thin air. It takes about an hour and a half to reach the top.




And from the summit the views are spectacular. Below is Monte Rosa, Italy's highest peak, at over 4600m, with its glacial lakes and valleys. The Monte Rosa chain marks the Swiss/Italian border




But all the fuss is about the mountain below: the Matterhorn. Though not as tall as its French or Italian counterparts, it stands alone, a sharp pinnacle reaching toward the heavens, clear above any of its neighbouring peaks.



A panorama from the Oberrothorn, with a zoom on the cloud-covered Matterhorn at the end.

Some parting thoughts from Chamonix...

After a week and a half in Chamonix, full of eye-candy and breathtaking walks, I'm heading out of the valley. In the photo below, taken from the top of the Brévent ski lift, a morning fog settles into the Chamonix valley. The fog would slowly make its way up the mountain during the day, engulfing me during a portion of a hike.




From the very same viewpoint and the same morning, here's the massif du Mont Blanc.

I never got tired of staring at these glacial peaks during my stay, inviting my eyes upward from the Chamonix valley. In fact, it was probably from the base of the valley, from Chamonix itself, despite all the distractions, among all the kitchy shops and restaurants and masses-of-Japanese-tourists-huddled-in-tight-formation-complete-with-flag-wielding-guide, that Mont Blanc was at its most majestic, hovering close to four vertical kilometers above. A glacial paradise in the sky. It's for the same reason that the first tourists were attracted to the valley 250 years ago, and the same tug on the sleeve that attracts amateur alpinists to tackle its slopes. I'll come back here.



Did I mention Japanese tourists huddled in tight formation, complete with a flag wielding guide?



dang marmott...




dang Ibex...




a female Ibex and her young one, near Lac Cornu, 2400m in altitude...

Vallée Blanche, Mont Blanc

Though I'm a mountain guide by profession, I've never done any high altitude climbing. And since I've been in Chamonix for a week now, pacing beneath western Europe's highest peak, I thought I'd give the glaciers a try. Conveniently, a cable car links Chamonix to the "Aiguille du Midi", at over 3800m, well over the permanent snowline... Below is yours truly standing at the Aiguille du Midi, getting ready for action...

The goal is to traverse the "vallée blanche" with a guide -- a real guide -- taking me from the Aiguille du Midi in France to the Pointe Hellbroner in Italy: as the crow flies only 5 or 6km across the glacier.



Looking out the Alpinists' exit at the Aiguille du Midi, two early-morning sportifs returning to the dock...



The toughest part of this particular glacier walk is the outset: leaving the Aiguille du Midi, a razor-sharp ridgeline descends toward the snow-blanketed valley, with a 1000m drop to the left and a 300m drop to the right. In the photo below you can see a dozen or so alpinists negotiating the ridgeline. For my "glacial initiation" I didn't choose the easiest of routes. Though my knees wobbled slightly on the way down, my guide got me through this section without much of a problem...



From the Aiguille du Midi, here is Mont Blanc in all its glory, at 4807m in altitude. Amateur alpinists from all over the world come to tackle this peak. Through a pair of binoculars I could make out at least a dozen people at or near the summit.



From the Aiguille du Midi, a look down at a basecamp, a sprinkling of colourful dots in the snow...



Also taken from the Aiguille du Midi, a look at the surrounding glaciers, with the "vallée blanche" in the foreground. You may just notice a brave rockclimber in the scene...



My guide, Pierre, with a look of curiousity (contempt?) at his Canadian client taking dozens of photographs (I was able to keep up just fine Pierre, thanks). From here we set off into a sea of white and fabulous vistas, away from the crowds of tourists packed at the top of the cable car. I do however, recommend taking the cable car up to the Aiguille du Midi, despite the crowds...



Guides are needed because of these: crevasses all along the glacier, requiring a know-how and lots of experience. One should never venture out into these ice fields without a guide unless very experienced. We crossed dozens of these carefully, some of which looked bottomless.



Here I am sneaking the camera out of its holster near one of many crevasses (Pierre had caught me doing the same previously and was not pleased...)



Pierre negotiating an ice-bridge over a crevasse, making sure the grounds are safe for me to cross too...



After 600m of descending we begin our climb towards the Pointe Hellbroner. Though only 300m of altitude gain to complete, I could feel the laboured breathing at this altitude. But the scenery more than made up for the efforts... (You will notice that Pierre is in many of these shots: we were attached by rope and only 10m apart...)



As we head over a small pass the Pointe Hellbroner comes into view (the needle atop the rock in the far background).



And after 3 hours of walking we made it! Inside the Pointe Hellbroner we even cross the border...



Seen from Hellbroner (3400m) and into Italy, with the village of Courmayer below...



From the pointe Hellbroner two mountains are visible: Italy's Mont Rose, the snow-capped mountains to the right of the scene, and Switzerland's Matterhorn, the sharp triangular peak just off-centre to the left, in the far background.



A lone alpinist sets up camp below the Pointe Hellbroner...


more crevasses !!



A cable car links the Aiguille du Midi to Hellbroner over the glacier valleys: you didn't expect me to walk back? This is the most spectacular way to observe the glaciers and see the panoramas if you don't set off by foot. A return ticket from Chamonix, including all the cable cars (up to the Aiguille and across the glacial valley and return) runs at approximately 60€.



And a special birthday wish for Dad...

Hiking in Chamonix, at the foot of Mont Blanc

Chamonix: the mecca of mountaineers and camera-wielding tourists alike. The town is nestled in a valley at the foot of France's highest peak, Mont Blanc, with outstanding views of jagged mountains and immense glaciers. After a long guiding season in Madeira, I've come to Chamonix to hike around the foothills, and soak in the ambiance of the town.



By taking ski-lifts from the valley, you can access high altitudes without effort. Below is the photo of the Glacier des Bossons, taken from the top of the ski-lift. From here I took a beautiful trail up through the forest, getting better and better views of the glacier and the "Aiguille du Midi", the jagged peak seen to the upper-left.



Here is the entire Mont Blanc range in all its glory, the actual summit to the far right, hidden slightly by the clouds. Another chair-lift took me to this spot, from where a well-marked path remains level along the slope.



And within an hour's time the skies took on a rather apocalyptic feel... in the mountains the weather changes in a heartbeat.



Is it the monster of Lac Blanc? Or is it the only person crazy enough to dive into its glacial waters?


I'll be here in Chamonix for the next few days so more photos to come!!