Chasing the skies

I couldn't get close enough to the perfect pinking late afternoon skies on my late-in-the-day hammering of the Grand Montet ski runs. I'm not sure why I thought that if I couldn't catch them at 3000 feet, I'd be able to chase them when I was back in my moonboots on ground level. But I entertain the idea + the buzz of Apre-Ski promenades into the village- still buzzing with adrenalin + content with the knowledge that for an evening, I had no duties. I'd potter + plonder along, smile at who I could and relish in this beautiful town that I live in. Scenes of seemingly irate locals feuding over stuck cars + quibbling over whom is inconveniencing whom line the short stretch of the bustled buried village known as Argentiere, with the competitively wonderful array of quaintly stereotypical Boulangeries providing a gentle contrast to the carnage of the flamboyantly French world outside. Skiers and snowboarders haphazardly continuing their pursuits off the pistes + making their journies in the middle of the roads, with cars screeching + skidding past with alarmingly little room between driving and killing. Apres-ski happy hours kicking off in the few + far between, but highly cozy trickle of bars, with windows steaming up fast + glimpses of elated euphoric holiday makers making the most of their times to remember, dancing on tables and spilling precious dribbles of exorbitant beers on the rustic wood that holds their aching feet. Pulling my being away from chaotic village scenes, I plunge back into the forest that surrounds us and traipse along more new paths to create perfect standing points to gaze romantically at the fine evening setting itself around the exhausted tips of the mountains- iridescently appearing so highly defined + over focussed, I find it impossible not to take a hundred photographs.