In the ‘hood

Because photo blogs are a bit hard to produce (at least for me), I am sending readers to this link where you can see some views of the houses, new and old, here in Montriond.

All good things

The neighbourhood chalet shutters are drawn tight, the road is quiet, the chimneys cold. Down in the ravine, the usual trickle of a brook is now raging with formidable volume, thundering across the rocks. The mountainsides are shimmering with new green, and white blossoms are coming to life, finally, under the new warmth of the sun. The town is deserted, stores are closed, restaurants are dark. It’s the end of another amazing snow season.

This one is different of course, as we probably won’t be back. We’re packing up our things into boxes, deciding what we can and can’t live without in the months to come. Most everything will go into storage, and our accessible possessions will be reduced to whatever we can fit into two suitcases.

I went on a run tonight, feeling as free as I could ever hope. The Arcade Fire is excellent to run to, and Antichrist Television Blues probably the best song Bruce Sprinsteen never wrote.

As we leave this lovely place, I have been trying to think of things that I love about this part of France. There are many.

1. The cheese: There are many kinds from this region alone, including Abondance, tomme, Beaufort, and Reblochon. I love the fact that Abondance village is just over the hill, and you can see big wheels of tomme ripening in the sheds here in Montriond.

2. The bread: not original, I know, but put the two together, and you have fondue. There are many kinds of fondue – the one here in the haute Savoie tastes delicious, but, the cheese is so gummy below the layer of wine that you can choke you if you’re not careful.

There are some fondue rules, which might be a bit nutty, but they make a little bit of sense – - like, only drink white wine with fondue (something about digestion), and, only stir it in one direction. Of course, do only eat it with bread that is a bit dried out.

3. The fresh eggs, and butter: even in the grocery store, these products taste better than I’ve ever had them. The best eggs come from our backyard though – there are chickens clucking around outside, and when they’ve laid extra eggs, the neighbours give them to us. We are lucky.

4. The history: even right here in the neighbourhood. I learned for example that there was a fire here in the 1898. This very chalet we are staying in was burned, as were many around it. I also learned that people kept their most precious commodity — food– outside in a separate building, so that is wouldn’t get destroyed in fires. These were common, as all of the chalets are built of wood.

5. The beauty and peace. Not much more to say about that.

Ok – on to have a 1999 1er Cru Gevrey Chambertin. Hey, we can’t pack it.

BRRRRRing

For the first time in eight years, I don’t have a cellphone. The day I handed in my Blackberry was extremely liberating – I placed it into a cabinet at about 11 pm my last day of work, locked the cabinet, and almost immediately forgot about it. In the days that followed, I didn’t even have those involuntary phantom blackberry movements – the mindless reaching into my bag or to the table where I usually kept it to check for messages.

Now, not having a cell phone makes me almost invisible. “Where can I reach you?” – well, through email, or, my partner’s phone. The phone at the chalet can work too, but there is no answering machine.

Last night I was watching an episode of the Sopranos. It’s the one where Vito, a trusted “big earning” captain of Tony’s flees New Jersey, because he’s been dragged out of the closet. As he leaves, he is driving fast and and furious down a rainy dark road (the mob apparently really doesn’t like gay people) – and his cellphone rings. He sees on the display that it’s one of his colleagues. He panics, and throws the phone out the window onto the side of the road.

The next morning, Tony tries to call him. A guy on a road crew hears the phone and picks it up. Tony is rude to him. The guy, annoyed, says “just a minute,” and throws the phone under the heavy wheel of a paving machine. Go to black. Essentially, without a trace of his phone, Vito has now really disappeared.

Your cell phone, and your cell phone number, are now essentially part of your identity. This week’s Economist includes a special report on “nomads“. It walks through the way in which cell phones – and more than cell phones – “smart phones” , IPODS and Blackberries make it possible for people to work anywhere. You don’t need a desk, you don’t need any paper, you don’t even really need a computer. All you need is a wifi connections and a souped-up cellphone, and you’re working. This is changing our lives.

The introduction of the piece reads: “A modern nomad is as likely to be a teenager in Oslo, Tokyo or suburban America as a jet-setting chief executive. He or she may never have left his or her city, stepped into an aeroplane or changed address. Indeed, how far he moves is completely irrelevant. Even if an urban nomad confines himself to a small perimeter, he nonetheless has a new and surprisingly different relationship to time, to place and to other people. “Permanent connectivity, not motion, is the critical thing.”

Whether this is ultimately a good or bad thing, it’s happening all over the world.

But there are still about 3 billion people without cell phones. An exciting piece in the NY Times magazine today describes the way this is changing, and the way this is a good thing.

The piece, written by Sara Corbett, describes the work of a guy called Jan Chipchase. His job is to travel to poor areas for Nokia, and study the ways people communicate. He talks to market vendors, families, workmen, and farmers about how cell phones have changed their lives. And he asks them how the phones could be better. For example, people need phones better designed to withstand monsoon rains- maybe they should float, and, maybe they should have a small handle on them so they can be hung up on the wall, safe from the rainwater that washes into people’s homes.

Studies have shown that when people who are poor have cell phones, their incomes rise. The NY Times piece cites many examples. People have access to more information about markets prices. Through simple ingenuity, people can transfer money to their families. And of course, they can call the doctor to find out if she is in, before they make the three hour trek with their sick baby. The doctor can in turn call a specialist to help make a diagnosis. I have seen in my work instances where cell phones and sms’ became THE way the public health system quickly spread correct information about avian influenza and water safety. Public health has not tapped into the potential of this nearly enough.

Arguably, Jan Chipchase is ultimately helping Nokia to massively increase its market. But if that leads to cheaper cellphones, cellphones that don’t require traditional electricity to recharge, cellphones that people who are illiterate can use – I truly think that is more than ok.

So what do we think of a world of six billion cellphones?

The question reminds me of a trek I took in Nepal about 14 years ago. The first stages of the trek were underdeveloped and the people very poor. We saw “real” communities, ate very basic food, and walked on traditional footpaths that had been used for centuries. The second half of the trek was much more developed and accessible. It was known as the “apple pie” trek because the proprietors of the guest houses knew how to cater to western backpackers. On this side, a road was being built. I was upset about this, because I thought it would “spoil” the nature, and people’s culture. I just couldn’t picture cars in these beautiful places.

But one guy set me right. “If my aunt is sick, and needs to get to hospital, we will get her there much faster by car on the road.”

No doubt those Nepalese communities now have their road. And, they probably have cellphones too. That way, backpackers can call ahead to book rooms (and a slice of apple pie). And, the families can call the doctor first, and maybe get some health advice for the aunt before they even jump in their cars.

Here and gone

Every now and then, you are struck by a powerful, devastating reminder about the fragility of life.

The news came today that a friend and colleague has died, quite suddenly, following a brain hemorrhage. He was someone through whom life really did course – energetic, vibrant, wry and funny, and hugely talented. He was a great support to me, and to many at work. He said things which weren’t always popular, but were so often true. He always reminded us not to “drink the Kool-Aid” — a euphemistic warning against becoming too institutionalized and slowed by the organization. I so admired his devotion to his family. He loved being with his wife and kids. He loved community musical theatre, and the whole family would get involved , whether acting, or building sets, or just being there to cheer the other on. His death came all too suddenly, and also tragically, quite far away from home.

Yesterday, a friend sent us a link to a TED presentation. TED (Technology, Education, Design) is a conference held every year in Monterey California, showcasing “ideas worth spreading.” This video, a presentation by brain scientist Jill Bolte Taylor, is a passionate reenactment of her own thoughts and feelings as she suffers a stroke. A brain scientist, she was actually able to study her own brain as the vein bursts, the bleeding starts, and the left half of it shuts down. She describes how the left side is the processor – ordering the past, planning the future. But the right side tells us to be here now. To feel how we are connected to the universe and every being within it. When she felt herself dying, she describes feeling at one with the universe – she says it is a beautiful feeling.

I hope that is what my friend and colleague felt.

I have also been reading “Fifteen Days“, a book which intricately describes the last moments of the lives of several Canadian soldiers in Afghanistan. Some die in gun battle with the Taliban; some, in car accidents; others following tragic “friendly” fire. All die extremely suddenly. One second they are thriving, strong, their bodies probably coursing with adrenaline. The next, they stop, still. I wonder what kind of transition they go through as they leave.

On this day, and every day, I do hope the people I love know that I do love them. Not because I plan to go anytime soon. But because any of us might.

Montriond

This evening we went on a lovely walk through Montriond. We walked down the windy road that goes to the main road, and then back through the little community right below our chalet. Over the fervent creek on two homemade bridges (it felt a bit Amazing Race, only because we just watched season 7) – and up to the little community on top of the hill. We went to the Mairie (the town hall) – which is a lovely old typical Savoyard building on main square. The minutes of the last town council meeting were stapled to the public bulletin board on the outside of the building. We learned that the last town council meeting started at 2030 on March 31st, and finished at 2340. The topics discussed included designation of sub-committees (tourism, general town management, the environment and trails), heating of the school, and announcements about some new public works. One council member had to leave at 2320 (it didn’t say why.) On the same bulletin board were announcements about the avalanche areas, road works in the Vallée D’Aulps, and the announcement that the post office would be open from 0830 – 1145 on Thursday morning. Guess we better get those postcards in tomorrow. As we walked home, we could smell the smoke of chimneys, and watched the clouds gathering darkness against the perfect white mountaintops.

Six months?

Although blogging may already be on a downward spiral in the popularity stakes, I figure there is no harm in starting one, even at the risk of being so five minutes ago. This will be one way to keep in touch with people, as Julia and I take the next six months to discover new things about the world, and hopefully about ourselves.

I am starting this blog on an atypically quiet day at the chalet we rent here in Montriond, France. The town is beside Morzine, technically in the French “pre” Alps about 1 hour 15 minute drive from Geneva. The chalet is perched in a little community called “la Bouverie” – and it is mainly old chalets (which is really just a word for house), still owned by families who have lived here, I’m guessing, for generations.

This house is about 150 years old – it is an original farmhouse.

Most days, we get up earliesh to read the news, then head out for snowboarding or walking.

Today, it is snowing, the visibility is very bad, and the fireplace in the chalet is terribly inviting. I’m reading “15 days” by Christie Blatchford. Having been away from Canada for a long time, and, being from Edmonton, it’s been a very instructive read so far. To date I have only followed the Canadian work in Afghanistan through the online papers. Having the time to focus on this very gritty account is opening my eyes to the real people engaged in Afghanistan. I can’t decide whether I truly love the book, but I am learning something.

Taking this time off of work has been tough at times – but I have appreciated every moment so far. So far, I recommend a career break to anyone who is thinking about one. We are lucky. During these six months, we will have until September to travel around and see family and friends in many countries. We have a rough plan until then.

Well, I suppose blogs are meant to be instructive and insightful. Hopefully that will come. But for now I’m going back to the fireplace and my book.