Inspiring landscapes: The French Alps

The Mont Blanc in the evening

 

Up to the late 18th century, dramatic landscapes such as mountains and the seaside were perceived negatively: mountains were a hostile land, sparsely peopled by villagers stuck in valleys which, due to the difficult terrain and the sometimes extreme climatic conditions, could spend months completely isolated from the world and from each other. Mountains were bleak and dangerous and nobody in their right mind would have willingly travelled there.

 And then came the Romantics. Then came painters, writers and poets who saw beauty in the bleakness, thrived on isolation and sought inspiration there. 

 

In the 20th century, the development and democratisation of winter sports perfected the transformation of mountain ranges such as the Alps into attractive holiday destinations. As February arrives and the French winter school holidays in France begin, families from all over the country migrate to Savoie, braving the snow, icy roads, interminable car journeys, screaming children and traffic jams to spend a few exhausting days (or couple of weeks) skiing and snowshoeing and eating raclette (melted cheese) and fondue (more melted cheese) and drinking mulled wine in the shadow of the Mont Blanc. When the holidays end they head back, to face more traffic jams, with the children still screaming in the car, and everyone in the family sporting sunburnt noses and weighing 5 kg more than when they started off...

I know what I’m talking about... I’m writing this post in the car, after a week spent in Haute-Savoie braving temperatures of approximately -10 °C, dense fog and snowfalls that reminded me that even if the mountain is more accessible today it remains a difficult, if not hostile environment, tolerating the presence of man more than welcoming it. At least that is the impression it gave me.

 

The lovely village of Cordon in Haute-Savoie

Is it what makes mountains so fascinating? That mixture of danger and attraction. Their sheer immensity. Abrupt rocks and ice and snow towering above forests of pine trees and fields of wildflowers where the cattle graze. Picturesque villages and quaint wooden chalets. The music of the bells cows wear as they head back to their farms on a summer evening. A brook gurgling through woodlands hushed by snow, as ice creeps down its banks.
 

 

When you gaze in the evening at the white slopes of the Mont Blanc, as the setting sun paints them pink, you understand why such a landscape inspires artists and spurs creativity. A land of contrasts and raw emotions. Ambiguous. When I ski down a slope through the forest and look up to see the mountains, a shadow against the sky, I never know whether the sight is uplifting or frightening. Part of me is impressed. Another feels crushed. Do mountains evoke an impression of eternity, that of ice and rocks, or of the mortality of men, so small and fragile before them?

To go up a mountain enables you to see further, to rise above the rest of the world. Yet mountains also enclose you and weigh down. They block out the horizon. Do they fuel dreams or hinder them?