Into thin air: first attempt

Why? Because it's there.

Don't try to use ordinary logic. It's a calling. And there is something about the challenge. The struggle with the elements. The view. The conquest.

And it's been there all my life. Constantly looking over my shoulder. I've grown up in its shadow. It calls me. And for a little less that a year I have been asking papa over and over again, relentlessly, when we would make our first attempt. Now papa is an extremely wise man, good looking and intelligent too, but above all wise. Ane he would simply tell me that we had to wait for the right moment. That patience is your biggest ally when you want to make the climb.

I suppose I'm a little young and restless, and I just wanted to go up. Papa said that we needed the right team. We would have to wait for Dood. And for the weather to be just right. Then, of course, there's the season. In the summer months people come from around the world to make the climb. Crowds. Best avoided. Climbing is a solitary venture. Alone with the elements. Zen.

Finally, the day arrived. Sadly, mama couldn't make it. She had to work. But the stars were aligned. We had to go now or risk losing the window. Dood called. We would try an ascent.

We met by the southeast pillar. Dood was already there. There was not turning back. We marched forward. Then we got to the window? "Summit?". The wind blew. Papa turned around to Dood who looked around, thought for a short while. The wrinkles around his blue washed eyes betrayed years of experience, a oneness with the elements, an intimacy with solitude. He's been there a thousand times. He knew.

"Second base camp."

It was a hard decision to make, but that's experience. The ability to recognize the moment to pull back. To say no. To leave the summit for another day.

Papa's wisdom knew that there was no point in arguing. We would leave the summit for another day and stop at second base camp.

But the views were great anyway and the coffee up there isn't as bad as you'd expect.

Sucker for punishment? Here's some more snaps: on a clear day...

Four sure!

It only rolls around once a year, so you better milk it for all it's worth! Yes, this weekend marks the end of my birthday week and after days of festivities, France is returning to a normal life. People can 
now concentrate on Christmas - if they're not too tired.



It all started last Sunday. A soirée intime, even though it wasn't during the soirée and it wasn't intime. Some of my closest friends came to break cake. Dude, my Godfather, provided ample entertainment. Mama organized the games: fishing, some funny unwrapping game, " 1,2,3, soleil!", and other crazy things. Nickil and Gayatrie's mom, Solène brought jasmin for our hair and Nico built the train.




My closest school friend, Clara, came with her mom, and my good friends and ski buddies Clara and Robin came too.

Then, on Wednesday the 8th, mama and papa gave me my Hello Kitty trotinnette. Then I received this from my soul mate on the other side of the world!

And, because there's no school Wednesdays (Papa's work should see and learn) Matheiu, my maître from school, threw me a party in class! Corina baked a couple fo cakes and the whole class sang joyeuse anniversaire.



Yeap, getting older is never easy. And birthdays only come by once a year. Mine anyway. So you gotta make it last as long as you can. One week is okay for now, but soon it'll be a month. Look out Christmas, you've got competition!

Unsupervised at work? Check out more birthday snaps here: I wasn't born yesterday

Between summer’s end and Christmas

The world starts to change after Gongo's birthday.

Days get shorter, I mean seriously shorter. If you blink it’s night time again (“papa le sun n’est pas ooouuuut!”). Clouds roll in. Sidewalks get wet. Leaves fall. We use the umbrella that papa bought us in the height of summer, when it seemed like it would never rain again. Shoes change to boots and mama doesn’t smear us with sun cream anymore. Here comes the sweater, then the jacket, then the coat. Then the sweater, jacket, and coat ‘till we can’t move our arms anymore and we look like scarecrows.

But, tu sais, this time of year doesn’t bother us at all. Nope, we’re multicultural creatures and that’s one of the positive points of having a connection to the northern portions of the New World. Rock groups dressed in black like to write melancholy songs about October, but for us October means Halloween!

Then, in November, comes one of Papa’s favorite holidays, Thanksgiving. Turkey, stuffing cranberry sauce, yams, pumpkin pie, and a 1990 Phélan Ségur that Jacques brought over, yeah baby! France and the United States blend in a transatlantic culinary alliance that makes papa’s eyes, and taste buds, water!

There’s also early snow, theater, a 1946 Rivesaltes with flan and good company, Francisco. Then there is the event of the season. No, not Christmas! My birthday! Yeap, and everyone knows that it’s far too big a holiday to squeezed into only one day! It’s actually my “birthweek”, or “birthmonth”. But it’s not over yet so why ruin the surprise?

Time not worth money? Check out a few pictures of Fall 2010 here: Why fly south?


Inès learns the meaning of life - and work...