On the Up and Up
We were warned that Grenoble would be a bit cooler than where we’ve been so we weren’t surprised to wake up to a chilly 18 degrees. Putting on the warmest clothes we’d brought with us, we headed down the hill into town for some breakfast. Our hotel is a long way up a big hill, giving us a brilliant view of the whole city but making it a bit of a trek up and down. The steep staircase down was unavoidable but we were given a number to call for a shuttle bus to come and retrieve us and bring us back up.
Despite being after 9 by the time we got down there, none of the shops were open. The only places with any signs of life were an Irish pub and a food van set up as a convenience store. I asked the guy behind the bar what they had for breakfast but he replied that they weren’t serving food (of ANY kind) they only had coffee. Bit of a missed opportunity I think. We couldn’t find anywhere open to grab a bite to eat so I pulled out the number, ready to call the shuttle for our ride home. Sadly, we hadn’t read the fine print and it wasn’t operating until the afternoon. What a bummer.
After our sweaty climb and the realisation that the hotel restaurant was already closed, we bundled ourselves into the car and set off to meet Maisy’s host mum, Wei-Ming, grabbing a croissant along the way.
The French Alps on our doorstep - Grenoble is literally surrounded by HUGE mountains - what better way to spend the day than getting out and exploring them. Wei-Ming met us after dropping her daughter off for her first big day of what we’d call high school.
It was so lovely to finally meet Wei-Ming in person and she took the wheel, guiding us on a steep trajectory upwards, showing us where Maisy first saw snow and reminiscing about when Maisy stayed with them on exchange. Being summer, the mountains were green, dotted with wildflowers and sweeping meadows but Wei-Ming assured us that we were deep in snow country and in a season or two this scenery would be blanketed in white.
Our destination was hidden away in the Chartreuse Mountains: the Grande Chartreuse monastery, nestled in a small valley in the forest, at the foot of the surrounding imposing peaks, their summits shrouded in clouds.
We parked the car at the museum and sat in a little meadow, eating a picnic lunch, watching the cows milling around in the warming sun, before heading up towards the monastery on foot. The monks here have chosen not to speak much, sparingly uttering on only special occasions, so signs in the forest warned us to stay silent. It was a shame the guy with the chainsaw - its ear-piercing roar echoing around the valley - didn’t get the memo. The sweet music of cow bells jingling away loudly as they munched by the side of the road also broke the silence. (We found out later that the Carthusian monks, as they’re called, were on their annual one day out today so the pressure was off.)
The stunning monastery, founded in 1084 (!) by a monk-turned-saint by the name of Bruno, looked like a French Hogwarts, its church steeples, round turrets and pointed roofs, poking up above the wall that surrounded it.
Wei-Ming suggested we continue walking uphill to see the cute little chapel “a little further up”. It turned out to be a lot more than a little further up and the uphill climb was steeeep! At one stage we were assessing how much further it would be and Wei-Ming said that she hoped we’d be there in 40 minutes! We were all flagging a bit so Ross and Wei-Ming left it up to me to decide if we should plough on or turn around and head down. How could we give up now? With a quick swig of water and a few deep breaths, we mustered some stamina and made it to the chapel. It was an achievement for sure. A 5 minute walk revealed a second chapel, built atop a big rock. Quite the journey to church each week for those monks in their long woollen tunics with the pointy hoods. They would be working up a sweat!
The walk down was marginally easier but a bit slippery. I slid one steep, grassy section on my bum, speeding up the process but worrying Wei-Ming that I’d loose the seat of my duds.
We finished the journey with a fascinating walk through the museum, where we learnt that these enterprising monks, who started by selling their tree trunks, diversified to establishing an iron foundry and ended up making what was originally a medicinal elixir and turned out to be a virtual gold mine for them. The elixir, made from 130 local plants, morphed into the uber famous Chartreuse liqueur, sold in just about every country in the world, making them millions of dollars. The guarded recipe for the famous drink is only known by two monks at a time and the 130 plants, even more secretive than Colonel Sanders’ 11 secret herbs and spices, remain a mystery to the outside world. It’s hard to believe that these monks, deprived even of mattresses, who get their daily meals through a hole in the door, and only see other humans outside the monastery one day a year, are responsible for a lucrative liquor business.
Tonight we got to meet the rest of Maisy’s beautiful host family (except Mary who is working in Paris) and had a fantastic home-cooked meal around the family table, enjoying their kindness and hospitality and lots of laughs. We even video-called Maisy so she could join in the fun. The best part of the night for Rossco was to sing the French song he learnt in Sunday school when he was a kid - the only French he knows and that he whips out often - and have the family join him in song, knowing the song too!
