Day three of our stay in the French Alps found us walking in the mountains from Morzine to Avoriaz and sheltering from a spectacular downpour.
The rain had long been forecast and, as we tucked into breakfast at our hotel, the clouds started to roll in. Things were not looking good for a day out – with stormy showers predicted for the afternoon – but we decided to risk it, collected our maps and walking guides from the Morzine tourist office (like all tourist offices, a leaflet fetishist’s wet dream) and went off in search of a lift.
We planned to do the walk over to the purpose-built ski resort of Avoriaz, so took a ride up the Telecabine Super Morzine gondola and the connecting chairlift. Plenty of mountain bikers were making the trip too and, as we climbed, we caught sight of others riding through the pine trees and meadows, on prepared tracks that in winter would be skiers’ pistes. It all looked a bit too hair-raising for me. At the top we could hear thunder rumbling in the distance, the sky looked far from promising and it was pretty chilly. But the the mountains, verdant valleys and forests of pine clinging to the slopes looked magnificent. Cows grazed in the meadows, their clanging bells providing the soundtrack to our afternoon.
We strode out on a route lined with wild flowers, followed by a noisy bunch of South Africans who we struggled to shake off. It was by no means a difficult walk, mostly on the level or with gentle inclines, and it ended up taking around an hour or so. As it turned out, it was fortunate that we hadn’t opted for the sort of long hike we’d normally choose…
Avoriaz looked strange from a distance. Built on a plateau and with its towers clad in timber, it resembled a sci-fi forest planted in the mountains. As we got closer to it so the thunder and lightning became louder and more violent, and it wasn’t long before we were donning our waterproofs to protect ourselves from the rain. As we arrived in the resort, it became torrential.
The town looked dead, a collection of blocks with very little life. As we hunted for a bar, we spotted the occasional soul dashing for cover in the downpour but they were few and far between. Avoriaz is what I always expected these purpose-built resorts to be – you can build as much as you like, but it’s a lot harder to create a community and atmosphere. Still, it didn’t look as shocking as some other modern French Alpine towns thanks to inventive design and the extensive use of timber.
We found a second-rate bar and had a few pints while the rain thrashed down, accompanied by thunder and lightning. At times the cloud rolled in and we were locked into the thickest of fogs.
Later, we made a run for it to find a restaurant and some lunch. We planned our escape while the rainwater surged down the streets like a river, but there was no way we were ever going to be able to walk back to Morzine. After making inquiries at the tourist office, we located a bus but missed it by moments and so ended up paying 40 euros for a cab. Never have I been more grateful to be back home, soaked to the skin but in the warm.
That evening we decided to eat in the hotel, starting off with a drink in the bar with its immense views over the valley. The rain had stopped and wispy clouds drifted through the valley.
But the restaurant was fully booked so we walked into town to the Auberge de la Combe a Zore for an extremely over-seasoned steak and frites. Graham couldn’t finish it, which says a lot! The restaurant was full of Brits, like much of the rest of Morzine, and the town’s food scene continued to disappoint.
As we returned to the hotel bar the rain began again…