Brits Abroad

Hey, I resemble that comment.  I hang my head in shame as I confess to a food cupboard containing both marmite and Tetley.  It does make me smile though, those who try to absorb and fit in and those who stay stubbornly British.  I've met both types of folk.  I try to speak French to anyone who will listen, and have been fortunate to encounter people of infinite patience and senses of humour.  I have talked to all and sundry out and about in the hills, even if in the end all we agree on is "magnifique", my standard fall back word.  Because it is magnifique.

Take two days ago.  I walked from a place called Merlet (Ok, I was hopeful it was really Merlot), went up to Pierre Blance and along the ridge of Aiguellete des Houches, and across a snowy plain to the refuge Bel Lachat.  It waas a truly tremendous walk. As I gained altitude I considered popping the walking crampons on but opted not to as there was as much snow as packed ice.  It involved a ridge walk / scramble along a knife edge ridge, then a navigation for close to an hour across the snow using compass and cairns for guidance.  And I talked to all kinds of folk, a group of walkers wanting to know about the conditions on Pierre Blanche (magnifique), a solitary walker through the snow who advised me I was still heading in the right direction for the refuge, and agreed it was magnifique.  Two girls at the refuge who confirmed I was headed back to Merlet and that there was a herd of Ibex ahead, which were, in fact, also magnifique.

So far, my slightly more than casual encounters have included the posh brit in the Man Truck who felt the French in that area were kind of provincial.  Puzzled, I asked more and then the penny dropped.  Ah, like the Scottish, you mean. He had no choice but to agree.  Then there were Mark and Kim from Lincoln travelling in their T5.  Mark hadn't spoken to anyone except for Kim in three weeks.  Kim was doing all the talking.  They were embracing the red wine culture but cooking English style.  I have embraced sausage sec and fumee and cassoulet has become a way of life.  They were kind of nostalgic for bacon.  Then there were the builders in MacDonalds who must, must, must have been pulling my leg when they told me they were there to build a swimming pool.  Way too much Auf Wiedersehn Pet going on there.  They defiantly spoke nothing but English to the staff, which tickled me.  I don't do badly at cafes in managing to be polite and understood and get the food & drink I want.  It's really not so difficult to manage a s'il vous plait, a merci and an aurevoir.  Even if I can't spell the phrases ...

Gratuitous picture of Ibex ...