A local caf

Change of plans. It's a study day. Heavyish snow fall. A day for the birds.

For the birds.
It was snowing heavyishly.

The croissant and coffee at a local caf will have to wait.

I do so want one. A local caf. 

My place to contribute to others accomplishing their dreams and revolutions.

A place to hold others only as capable. As performers. People of action.

But then my Pilates studio can do that too.

Because in the France that I see, a coffee is about how big you want it black. Ristretto. Espresso. Lungo. Americano.

I think I could get a machine to do that in my studio.

Forget milk. Soy. Almond. Skinny. Frothy. Not frothy. Half strength. In a glass. A paper cup.... 

Focus on people, Pilates, revolutions.

I love the clean lines of that. I think I've lost weight, simply from having my coffee black.

Boulangerie & caf ahead.

Unintentional payoff. 

Easy to do because the coffee is simply delicious in Gérardmer, France, no matter where I go.

Sounds like more research coming up.


Here's a story about the café culture in France, well I think Paris, but interesting anyway. And here's the link to the café that the story refers to.

Sylvie the mountain accompagnatrice
from Sens-a-Sons in the middle.
We were almost at the top of Le Hohneck.
The view from the top was magnificent.
It was too cloudy to clearly see to Switzerland,
but Germany could be spotted.
My phone battery got too cold so I could
not get photos. Drats. You've really
got to be there in real life, though.

Tip:
You've really got to be there in real life.

Choose

My heart was thumping with fear, I supposed. It was thumping anyway.

The thought.... go to London for the last weekend in France. 

It was beginning to get cold.
The north side of Lac Gérardmer.
The more natural side. You can circuit
the whole lake, and even take detours
into the well signed paths in the forest.

Yep. My trip was all about France and snow. I resisted anything else. Any suggestion. It was just people telling me what to do and discounting the outrageous and unstoppable human being I already was. In my own safe way.



Studying. Learning anything. Travelling solo. Making my way in a new town. Looking at property to buy. All easy for me.

So when I noticed the thumping heart, I thought I might just have to choose London for my last weekend in France. 

What if it was excitement and I just didn't recognise it?

Do I need to know what it is?

I will expand. I know that.

The postie still rides a motorised
pedal bicycle to deliver the mail
in snowy weather.

Tip:
Choose.
Choose something.
And love it.
Create love.

It will snow eventually.

Getting out amongst it.
This was melted by nightfall.

Kick-ass serious-kind
of
keep-the-feet-warm boots.

Biathlon discovery at last

Sylvie Triboulot introduced me to this sport at Les Bas-Rupts, Gérardmer, France.

Fun and rough and therapeutic somehow. 

This is a screen shot of Sylvie's 
Sens-a-Son-Nature website.

After the biathlon session, I actually voluntarily entered a forest on my own, with verbal directions only. Outrageous (for me).

I made it to nearby the destination, but that was plenty good enough.

I left home (Annie & Jean-Claude's Airbnb) at 08:40 and did not return until 14:30. All on foot, with the two hour biathlon stint in the middle. 

According to the FitBit data, that's 24,000 steps, 2000 calories, 16 kilometres and 131 floors.

Tip:
You only live once as far as I know so make sure you come home completely empty just from being in the day.

The Bambi Ritual

Walk done & new ritual begins.

Gérardmer, France. My new home.

Leffe Blond comes in a 250 mL size here. This Belgian wheat beer has 6.6% alcohol content, so one cup is enough for moi.

Just to prove that the weather
is cold enough
to start freezing 
the water bodies.

Sit outside and wait for Bambi is the new ritual. 

I was told on my first day here that at dusk and dawn deer come and eat the grass in the back yard. This is pretty novel for an Australian. So I was intrigued.

The wee Leffe Blond. I was in the image 
of course, but  solo travellers 
generally go unseen.

Of course I kept looking out for them to no avail. My hosts, however, assured me that the deer had come. OK. Maybe it required more than a peek through the curtains every now and again.

So the new Sunday ritual began. Sit outside with the lights off, drink the Leffe Blonde, and wait.




Tip:
Go for an hour long walk anyway. Just for the heck of it.

Gérardmer, France

Simply pretty looking down.

The bit of white furthermost above Annie's
head is actually the reflection off Lac Gérardmer.

The first ristretto & croissant - Gare de l'est 

The view across town to the Tétras piste from
Chemin des Epinettes logement.

The view at night.

Outside looking in at the Airbnb lodgings.

Fresh as can be. 

Standard potatoes, bacon, onion, egg....
and yet so so gooooood.

All at home. Scotch & Soda scarf a great buy.