The 35th edition of this 31km, 2200m ascent, 800m descent mountain race has just finished. Archie entered the junior event ('just' 19km, from Chandolin to Zinal) coming 19th in a field of 82 boys with a time of 1 hour 57 minutes. Under two hours with minimal knowledge of the course and only last-minute training was outstanding. He will be back. To win. And it will be our porridge that makes the difference.
Friends Archie and Roo spent the week on site with us after the fete. At 17 and 15 years old, destruction was the most popular part of the program for them ("Can we use sledgehammers please?...") but they also found time for last-minute training for the Sierre-Zinal race as well as enthusiastic but ultimately futile attempts to chat up one of the very pretty girls who lives nearby. Bravely knocking on the door and saying in French: "We've lost our black dog" must rate as one of the more unusual chat up lines, but full marks for trying.
For a hamlet where only a handful of people live, Mottec - just down the road from Zinal - seems an unlikely candidate to have not one but two chapels. The one practically in our back garden was restored with funds raised ten years ago; this year it was the turn of the chapel St. Laurent. Our neighbour Georgine masterminded the whole event, putting on an epic two day show. Statistics - principally bottles of wine consumed and chickens roasted - still to come, but I know that enough was raised to do much more than just repair the roof. More to the point, lots of people had a very good time...
It always pays to glance out of the window at sunset, especially when there's a spectacular moonrise. The first shot is from the balcony a couple of nights ago, which inspired us to climb up to Sorebois last night for a chilly picnic while waiting for a repeat performance. It was worth it, particularly for that moment just before the last red glow leaves the peaks. The way down by moonlight through herds of munching cows (I think they graze all night long, without so much as a sit down) was more exciting than it should have been due to electric fences across the path at random intervals, which are very tricky to see in the dark.
At this time of year the field behind the house makes most gardening efforts, wherever in the world, seem rather pointless. About 3 million different flowers per square metre emerge each spring, all on their own, and just keep coming back regardless of how often the meadows are cut for hay. They do pretty well up high too, just as long as you stay clear of the ski pistes which never look good in summer. They're easy to avoid around here - there's a lot more wild mountain than ski area - but the temptation to ride a lift for the first 800m of ascent is strong when it's this warm.
Still demolishing... after months, but at least we've moved to the first floor, meaning that Jon (Penny's brother) and I could lob massive chimney blocks from the baclony into the skip. And we've finally started construction: here's a picture of my first ever wall - aerated concrete block with a thin bed mortar, since you were wondering - which I built on Saturday (an excuse for quality-time with my favourite new toy, a cross-level laser which shines spectacular horizontal and vertical lines through the dusty atmosphere).
We've had so much rain that the delivery truck which brought the palette of blocks got stuck in our back garden, having obligingly reversed as close to the house as possible, so we now have a couple of whopping wheel ruts for the local badgers to fall into at night.
The Tour de Romandie had a stage finish in Zinal today, won by Italy's Francesco de Bonis. That they were still really racing by the time they passed our house was pretty extraordinary, as was the transformation of the village, with a full-blown media circus, massive lorries with mobile TV studios and enough helicopters filling the air that you might have thought a war had broken out. As a keen cyclist of a non-racing kind, my strongest impression was that there must have been more support cars (and certainly motorbikes) than there were cyclists. It reminded me of the US statistic that more miles are driven in cars carrying bikes than are ridden on them, which I reckon is nearly as silly as driving to a gym to pedal an exercise bike.