Welcome back to the motherland!
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Arriving in Geneva, we spent a night in this cool city and then boarded a train to Zermatt.

Geneva ... extreme traveling.

We only had time for one run on our first day, so we went right to the top of the Kleine Matterhorn cable car at 12,500'. That's 7000' of skiing back to town.
Good thing I've been training with non-stoppers on Liftline and Ripcord all season. The weekly skinning missions and sporadic gym time helped too.
I've had great results using ginseng to prevent altitude issues and experienced no problems going from basically sea level at JFK to this elevation in just over a day. If you don't like diamox and don't have a history of altitude-induced edema, it may work for you too.
As we stood on top, with so much mountain below us, we were reminded of just how insignificant and fragile we really are. Despite the close proximity of civilization, you could quickly disappear here and never be found. Between the real dangers of glaciated terrain and the pure vastness, we decided not to wander very far on the first run.

However, even on-piste, the views were pretty special. The Matterhorn dominates the skyline, even when it's mostly hidden.
We skied down and down and down, eventually getting near the bottom, where we began to see restaurants along the edge of the trail. Rounding a corner, we ran into a full-blown raging party, complete with an English band playing '80's cover tunes.

Sweet child o' mine, normally we wouldn't stop for this kind of fun, but when in Rome ... Hennu Stall rocked!

We spent the next day exploring Zermatt and wandering over the Italian border to the Cervinia ski area.
Two ski areas, two countries, two prosciutto and brie sandwiches at a mountaintop refuge, too much vertical, too many runs, too much fun! We skied almost all the way around the Matterhorn.
While on a cable car on the way to the top, I overheard a woman talking about skiing at Sugarbush. Half a world away and we're still close to home.

With our wanderlust partially satisfied, we decided to look for good snow and sunshine for our final day in Zermatt. We found it. Plus, we found another cool restaurant to chill our hot feet. Lots of corny vertical builds up quite a thirst! With appropriate gratitude and reverence, we started calling it "our daily beer."
It's funny how "off-piste" in Europe may be right under a lift. The hazards are clear though, you need to duck under a rope every time you leave a piste. No mistake about who is responsible for your actions.

We saw a lot of helicopter rescues and very few ski patrol. We also bought the rescue insurance and had conversations with locals about our liability-based system. No matter how hard we tried to illuminate them, they couldn't understand the logic. Frankly, after trying to explain it, I don't understand it anymore either.
Personal responsibility rules!
Fun is universal. These kids were pounding away at each other with snowballs, providing entertainment for the adults wining and dining just below them.
Incoming!

All too soon, we ran out of time and trail. Yes, it was a little bit of a bummer, but rain was moving in and the Easter weekend crowds were growing rapidly.
Oh well, on to the Burgerbad hot springs!

This was a true bouillabaisse of European, and thanks to us, North American, germs. Yummy!
However, the hot water did wonders for sore muscles. We felt like pruny jellyfish after an hour and a half of soaking.
The floating relaxation helped work up an appetite too.

Did I mention that meat, cheese, beer and wine are the four basic food groups in Europe? Cigarettes and coffee are also primary sources of nutrition. We tried to avoid the tabac, but heartily sampled the espresso.
We spent the night in Martigny and then jumped on a train to Chamonix from there. The ride up the valley was incredible, with sheer walls on either side that were covered by farms.

The extensive hand-built terracing mellowed the terrain a little, but there were extremely steep pastures, vineyards and fields being cultivated. Later in Chamonix, our buddy Dean would describe how surprised he was to see summer herds of cows at 11,000 feet at the top of some of the gnarliest ski runs.
We had to change to a bus then wait for another train to get into Chamonix proper, so we decided to have lunch at the stop. The proof that we were leaving staid Switzerland and entering freaky France was when our waiter appeared.
Bonjour! Comment t'allez-vous?

A plate of meat, a bowl of melted cheese and some boiled potatoes ... health food! I came very close to doubling my lifetime consumption of proscuitto and other similar ham products on the trip.
By the way, I have to applaud the French for not pulling any punches when it comes to bacon. Their word for bacon is "lard." Mmmm, lard.
Soon, we entered Chamonix, got off the train, grabbed our key to the apartment we rented and settled in. The Aiguille Du Midi and Mount Blanc were literally in our backyard.
Welcome to advanced base camp!
Very civilized.
Downtown Chamonix ... not a bad seat in the house.