Marmotte - Arrival Day
After leaving Harby in the desolate, deserted hanger that constitutes Grenoble Airport for nearly two hours, I was surprised to see that he wasn't that fed up.
Not eating for two days and carrying a hangover from hell will either make you completely irate at any irksome happenstance, or zone you out to oblivion. Harbs body seemed to have chosen the latter.
The drive to Bourg d'Oisans was winding and heavy with traffic, the closeness of the chalet indicated not by the decreasing kilometres on the GPS, but the increasing number of cyclists on the road. Arriving to a pleasant looking French chappy, his demeanour changed when we didn't have a single word of French, he didn't speak English, and we'd arrived with two more people than he was expecting. Bumbling our way through the key exchange and moving in to the chalet anyway seemed the best course of action. The dog sat on the step, pining as he was kicked out of his summer house and four adults and kit for a week moved in to his diminutive wooden box. Taphaphobians beware, this Gite is not for you. A huge thunder storm timed its arrival with our unloading of the Land Rover. Echoing around the vertical cliffs that surrounded us, the roar was deafening. Sleep followed easily after another long day driving and a few red wines