Waking above the clouds

I'm not sure I was quite expecting to be so smacked around the chops at the enormity and shear undeniable awesomeness at once again being surrounded by thousands of metres of rock face. Even though the clouds were so low we could barely make out the peaks, the contained and intense atmosphere that seems to exist so strongly down in the valley is quite overpowering. Whisps of stray clouds would hover + sit, as if loyal umbrellas to the densely dark green pine forests that perched at impossible gradients. Certain areas would appear as if they were bellowing smoke (or was I just remembering painful flashbacks of our journey the night before).

After the obligatory first morning breakfast in France propping up a local boulangerie in Chamonix town, slurping on cheap and delicious coffee and somewhat indulging in several exercises of an inhalation of pastried products, we set about sauntering around the gorgeous and much missed alpine town. The trip to the swimming pool ticked a number of boxes adhering to our 'let's-ignore-the-broken-bus-situation-and-have-a-lovely-day' agenda; it got Dan in a dashing pair of Speedos (the fairly snickering rules of which, I do believe I scribed about all of those months ago in the dead of winter), got some stagnent blood pumping round our limbs + alleviated the grime of many many days without washing (aaah the joy + elegance of living in a bus). We hooked up with our old Romanian pals + went about catching up on some five months of swapping stories.

We'll deal with the bus tomorrow.