Albertville, Oulx and Nevache

From Chamonix we continued down to Albertville, the sight of the 1992 Winter Olympics. We found a pleasant camping ground on the banks of the Arly where I had a video call with Ingrid punctuated by a rambunctious Bernese Mountain puppy in the background destroying a fluffy pillow. We had an ordinary dinner in apparently the only restaurant in town, where I discovered that the French have a poncy name for shepherd’s pie and that white beer was not to Ross’s taste. Early next morning, the town redeemed itself with a fresh croissant and coffee breakfast.

  

Above the town across the river lies the mediaeval city of Conflans. Although inhabited, at that time of the morning it appeared deserted. We meandered down to the half restored Chateau de Manuel de Locatel. We preferred the unrestored bit.

We did a nice squiggly roads circuit above Albertville visiting the Fort du Mont which (no surprise) was closed. We wandered around the surrounding moat, but being a fort, it was impossible to gain entry. Seeking inspiration for his letter box project back home, Ross was fascinated by the dry stone work of the encircling walls.

We had our lunchtime baguette et al somewhere along the swift flowing Arc River. The atmosphere was enhanced by the nearby swift flowing freeway. We couldn’t find a local beer so had to settle for Leffe. 

The passes being closed, we had to travel through the horrendously expensive and boring Frejus Tunnel into Italy. As compensation we had an excellent and cheap post prandial espresso in Bardonecchia. Ross noted an interesting side road up to a chapel on a hill above Oulx. The sealed road soon disintegrated into a dirt track, with the spoiler on our little hire car acting as a snow plough at times. After an interminable climb we gratefully reached the chapel of the Madonna del Cotolivier, altitude 2105 m.

  

Regaining the valley floor, we climbed back into France via the Col de Montgenevre. This provided the unusual view of an alpine golf course, some of which was still under snow. Another curious sight was the summit of Mont Chaberton whose crenellated profile featured eight artillery turrets built by the Italians at the beginning of last century. The 149 mm guns were apparently used to annoy the French in Briancon at the beginning of the 2^nd World War.

  

For our daily constitutional, we walked briskly down a trail alongside the Claree River above Nevache looking to cross and return along the road to where we had parked the car. We failed to find a bridge, so our return up the trail was not quite so brisk. It was rather picturesque, though.

  

We pitched our tents at Les Alberts, just outside Briancon. The bar-restaurant attached to the camping ground having run out of food, we ventured into the nearby tiny village of La Vachette for dinner. It was particularly amusing to find that our host for the evening hailed from Southampton. At the end of the long evening, after a truly excellent meal, we were regaled with Gentiane digestif.

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