Aiguille du Midi

Retreat day 2

For day two of Mr Pandammonium’s company retreat, they moved out of the conference room and into the wilds, but first: the team photo. Then they were to be whisked up Aiguille du Midi in a cable car. After lunch they could go either to an adventure park or on a hike. Mr Pandammonium chose the hike. The activities were just for the company, and none of the other family members went out last night, so I was to spend the day with myself again.

The company would all be going for drinks then dinner after that. I asked Mr Pandammonium to let me know if there’d be drinks afterwards for everyone.

Elevenses

I pottered about after breakfast till France woke up so the shops and cafés would be open.

I sat outside in the sun with a coffee and a blueberry muffin (the whole transaction had been conducted in English, instigated by the barista, much to my relief and disappointment) and read my book, The Bees by Laline Paull (see first extra). I’m still engrossed by it.

The sparrows in Chamonix are bold birds. One flew up onto the table with a beady eye on my muffin.

'You bold bird,' I said to it, paraphrasing the Irish nuns at school.

It hopped ever nearer, even as I picked the plate up and moved it away. We looked at each other, reached an understanding, and it left me in peace to read my book and eat my muffin.

When I finished, I flattened the paper case out on the plate and pushed the plate to the other side of the table. Before long, a hoard of up to half a dozen spuggies at any one time pecked the paper clean (see second extra; the white strip is my bookmark).

Shopping

I went in a couple of shops, including a novelty kitchenware shop. I was about two thirds of the way through browsing all the novelty kitchenware when the man said a load of French to me. I had absolutely no idea what he said; it must have shown all over my ignorant face because he said in English that he was closing now.

He couldn’t have given me a five or ten minute warning? What if I’d found something I wanted to buy? To be fair, I wasn’t going to be buying anything, and I'd been wondering how I could leave without it being awkward after having spent so much time looking at all the things. That problem was solved anyway.

In the street, as the man locked the door behind me, I looked at my watch: bang on one o’clock. Clearly time for le dejeuner.

Lunch

I’d already sussed out a spot for lunch, but I got a bit lost looking for it. When I finally found it, it was empty. I sat outside and had a slice of vegan quiche with a mound of salad followed by a chocolate cookie. It was all a bit odd.

On the edge

I wandered off to find the cable car station/stop(?) that goes up to Aiguille du Midi. I came across it yesterday and looked at the prices. It wasn’t cheap, but it did seem like something worth doing. I thought I might do it today after lunch so as not to clash with the retreat. But it scared me, so I dithered until I found myself approaching the queue for the ticket desk.

Maybe I could just go up to Plan de l’Aiguille at an elevation of only 2317 metres (7602 feet) instead of going all the way up to Aiguille du Midi. At the last minute, my brain said that if I was going to go up to 2317 metres, I might as well go all the way up to 3842 metres (12602 feet), and there was more stuff to do up there. Great idea, brain.

I went through to the platform(?) and waited for the cable car. Why had I thought this was a good idea? Had I not seen how high above the town it towered (see third extra. See the twin peaks on the left-hand side? See the taller, pointier peak on the right? That's it)? But I’d paid now, so I’d have to go up.

The cable car was six minutes of gripping a pole with an increasingly sweaty hand and trying not to look down. The cable car stopped at Plan de l’Aiguille, where we had to change to the cable car that went to the top of Aiguille du Midi.

Everyone who was going to the top waited on a man-made platform (see fourth extra) where we could see Aiguille du Midi. So high. So pointy. So majestic.

I couldn’t go anywhere near the railing on the platform: it was far too close to the edge, what with being on the edge of the platform.

The second cable car was worse than the first. The cables drooped so we were almost within touching distance of the rock face. It looked like we were constantly about to smash into it; I couldn’t look. An Australian lady sweat-gripped the pole with me.

I looked out to the left instead. A man was walking up a snowy ridge. It looked impossible, yet there he was, with his backpack and his walking poles, presumably with his snow baskets on, walking up the snowy ridge. I didn’t see how he got past the rocky outcrop he was approaching because the cable car climbed upwards to finish its six minute journey to almost the top, where we got out.

There was another platform with railings on the edge. I could barely go near them. I was breathless, not just because of the thinner air and the altitude, but because of the anxiety and the fear.

But wow, the views! We were above the clouds skimming the lower mountains across the valley; we could see Mont Blanc, the tallest mountain in Europe. We could see Italy. Switzerland was out there somewhere. Awesome it was, and I don’t use that word lightly.

An older American lady was looking scared. I reassured her that she wasn’t the only one who was scared. Her husband had tried to make her go up this flight of steps zigzagging up the edge of the mountain to another platform holding the history, ascent and vertical areas. She’d refused.

I’d already decided there was no way I was going up those steps. They had no risers, and the treads were metal. You could see right through the gaps to the sky and the nothingness that filled the thousand metres or so to the mountain below. There could've been the best thing ever up there, and I would have declined it.

I told the American lady she’d achieved a lot just by getting to this point, and that if she didn’t want to go up the scary steps, she didn’t have to. I think I made her feel better about the whole thing. Her husband came back then, and they left – but only after she had asserted herself. Good for her.

I got chatting to three lasses – two, I think, from America and one from Canada. One of them was sat at the bottom of some less scary steps and wouldn’t move for some time. She slowly went to the corner of the platform so her friend could take her photo in front of Mont Blanc.

I braved the corner of the platform so that the lass could take my picture in front of Mont Blanc as well. I gripped the railings tightly with both hands; fear turned my smile into a grimace. Funnily enough, this happened in all the selfies I took as well (see fifth extra, where Mont Blanc is the tallest mountain. It's surprisingly round at the top, especially considering how pointy some of the others are, which is presumably why they're named after needles).

We weren't quite as high up as it's possible to go in the safe touristy areas. The two braver lasses went up the lift with me from level 0 (3777 metres) to level 1 (3842 metres; see sixth extra).

When we got out, it was about the same level of terrifying as before. I think by that point, another few dozen metres doesn’t make that much difference.

What does make a difference is the surface you’re standing on. Concrete was my favourite; I was wary of wooden planks. I wouldn't go on riser-less steps overhanging a mountain. But what about a glass box at the top of a mountain overhanging a 1000 metre drop?

Ooh, let’s find out in the convenient glass box at the top of Aiguille du Midi overhanging a 1000 metre drop called Pas dans la Vide ‘Step into the Void’! Er, no.

The two lasses weren’t keen either.

A surge of bravery/madness said I should step into the void. My brain screamed ‘Nooo!’, but my legs reminded my brain whose idea this trip had been. My brain shut up; my legs strode to the corridor – until my eyes saw the glass section in the floor where you could see your potential landing spot many metres below on snowy  mountainside. Abrupt halt? Oh, yes.

This other woman asked did I want her help getting over it, but that seemed worse. She said she’d videoed her feet crossing it, which had made it easier for her.

I thought focusing on the camera might take my mind off the floor, so I did that too, trying to convince myself – out loud – that there was a real floor there. The footage proves my linguistic faculty was broken.

I reached the other side without the glass shattering, breaking or moving in any noticeable way. It felt good to be on solid ground again. Well, not really solid ground because it was a platform round the tip of the mountain, but it was ground that you couldn’t see through, at least.

That reminded me why I’d crossed the glass floor in the first place: to stand in a glass box at the top of a mountain overhanging a 1000 metre drop. I balked; I turned away, saw the glass floor, and balked. I’d have to step into the void.

There was a bit of a queue, then only a few minutes till it closed. While I waited, I looked out the window down at the valley. Civilisation was so far away and so tiny (see seventh extra). I put on the special over-shoe slippers everyone has to wear, presumably so as not to crack the glass. How thin thick is it, exactly?

When it was my turn, I didn't so much as step into the void as shuffle into the void.

A lady took photos of me with my phone. I stood to one side, then she said to go to the other. I shuffled to the other side as if it would be safer, even though I’d seen people walking and standing in the box, even touching the glass, and posing for a kiss for the camera like it was nothing special.

I consciously stopped gripping my coat and tried to smile. Looking back at the photos, the grimace shows through the smile (see eighth extra. Even if you haven't looked at the others, please do look at this one. The brown construction is where the scary steps lead to; I don't think I missed much. My insides still lurch upwards when I look through the floor at the jaggedy rocks that would almost certainly kill me if the glass shattered. I feel dizzy when my gaze swoops down to Chamonix far, far below).

The photo lady gave me my phone back, and I snapped a few photos of Mont Blanc and the views the other way, then delicately sprinted out.

It was good to get back onto concrete and cement and solid surfaces you can’t see through, although the general anxiety caused by the underlying fear of falling didn’t leave. My watch showed my heart rate was pretty high.

But I was thrilled at the same time, with all the adrenaline and the endorphins and the happy hormones shooting around my innards. I did a scary thing – all by myself!

It was time to get the cable car back down – the penultimate one was due in a few minutes, and I did not want to be stuck up there overnight. It was warm enough with a couple of layers on during the sunny day, but temperatures plummet quickly in Chamonix when the sun disappears behind the mountains.

In the gift shop at the top of the mountain, I chose the requisite fridge magnet and went to the till, where the glass-floor lady was also buying souvenirs. I was a bit antsy because of the imminence of the cable car.

Her payment card was rejected. Oh, she might want this souvenir on display at the till as well. Her payment card was rejected again. Did she not have any cash? Her card was rejected again. She was sure it was because she entered the wrong PIN. Did I dare ask if I could go first? My payment method was raring to go. The cashier added yet another rejected payment slip to the pile beside the card reader. Her companion called across the shop, asking did they want this souvenir. They didn't. The rejected payment slip pile grew again. I took a deep breath. At least there was another cable car after this one. The lady's payment went through. I might still make it.

I took seconds with my transaction, then I headed for the cable car.

I had been dreading the descent because going down always seems worse than going up. But it was fine; I wasn’t scared at all. Perhaps it was the adrenaline and the relief that I’d shuffled into the void and survived.

Recovery

Nevertheless, I could really do with a beer to take the edge off. Outside, I looked around for a bar, but didn’t see one. Google Maps told me that the hotel was only five minutes away – who knew? – so I went back there. I got a beer in the bar and sat in the corner and calmed down with my book. I can't remember the last time I was this absorbed in a book.

For tea, I got a takeaway from a nearby bar and ate it back in the apartment in the hotel in front of the telly – quiz programmes: I love a quiz programme.

Since then, I’ve been reading my book – I’m going to finish it if I’m not careful. I have a dilemma: I want to find out what happens, but I don’t want to leave the book’s world.

Mercurial

But now the excitement of the day has caught up with me, and I’m moving as if through mercury. I’ve messaged Mr Pandammonium to tell him I won’t be going out after all: it’s time for bed.