We were told to meet in a wooded car park on the outskirts of Casset village near Le Monêtier-Les-Bains in Serre Chevalier at 6pm.
It was snowing hard when we arrived and we couldn’t see anyone else who might be about to embark on a snowshoe walk in the dark.
After 10 minutes or so, a van turned up and people began to emerge from cars and congregate around the van. This must be it, we thought, as we togged up and joined them.
The tour leader, a smiley and welcoming woman – also called Rachel – gave us some snowshoes to strap on to our boots and some walking poles and asked us to introduce ourselves.
When I said we were English, and that I was a journalist and had been sent there by the tourist office, her smile stayed in place. She betrayed no surprise. (Cue a bit of healthy foreshadowing.)
Off we went.
We’d been told we were going to snowshoe to a tipi for a fondue. It was only when we’d crunched through the village, over a bridge, up a snowy path, through field after field, that we slowed to a stop.
It really was beautiful being out in the middle of nowhere.
The sky was clear and bright, the snowy mountains lit by the crystal moonlight.
The dog with us howled. The snow was still coming down gently. Everyone was happy – even the toddler in a papoose.
Rachel suggested we all collect some sticks for a fire. My husband and I shrugged at each other – where was the tipi? My lunch seemed a long time ago and I was looking forward to fondue. Surely we didn’t have to erect the tipi?
Ever British, we helped out with stick collecting. Someone dug a wide hole in the snow and lit a pretty impressive fire.
And then Rachel laid out her blanket and started chopping up salami and cheese, ripping up baguette and passing round a thermos of vin chaud.
Alarm bells rang in time with the church bells in the village back down in the valley.
And then my phone started to buzz with a stream of Whatsapps.
- Rachel, where are you? Lucas waited in the village but didn’t find you? Did you not go for the snowshoe? He had all the cheese melted and ready.
It was Lisa from the tourist office. I did the wtf face at my husband….
- Lisa, we’re on the snowshoe walk right now – with a lady called Rachel…
I left the ellipses hanging there. It works in all languages.
Turns out we’d joined the wrong showshoe group! And sadly this was the one without a cosy tipi and bubbling cheese in a cauldron.
What are the chances?
When I asked our leader why she hadn’t said she wasn’t expecting a journalist, she gestured around the rest of the group and said “I thought you were with these guys, writing about them.”
Wait, what, I said? They seemed like a group of old friends, who’d met up for a ski holiday.
Turns out the rest of our snowshoeing brigade was a famous acrobatic basketball team. Not joking.
They are called the Barjot Dunkers who perform in France and internationally at events like the NBA with the New York Knicks and the Chicago Bulls…
I mean, really, what ARE the chances…?
Bit of exciting news this end! I’m going to introduce a paid option to Cartes Postales because I want to start to expand the content. Some of you know that in my day job I am a travel writer, writing about France for publications like The Independent, iPaper, National Geographic Traveller, Rough Guides and more. The cartes are random dips into anything French, but I’d also like to build on that a bit to offer readers more bespoke travel advice about France and create a community where we can discuss the bits we’ve loved (and hated) during our travels en France.
Enough said for now, but if you feel able to pay the sub when it comes, I can promise even more fervent francophilia.
That said, ne vous inquiétez pas, the weekly carte will still flutter into your inbox for free.
Lol, I didn't know this little tale. hee hee
Very funny. How did it all end?