{"id":19626,"date":"2016-02-07T18:23:02","date_gmt":"2016-02-07T18:23:02","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/ourtour.co.uk\/home\/?p=19626"},"modified":"2019-04-02T12:46:14","modified_gmt":"2019-04-02T11:46:14","slug":"zagan-has-the-white-stuff-sixt-fer-a-cheval","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/ourtour.co.uk\/home\/zagan-has-the-white-stuff-sixt-fer-a-cheval\/","title":{"rendered":"Zagan has the White Stuff! Sixt-Fer-\u00c0-Cheval"},"content":{"rendered":"

Zagan has the White Stuff! Ahem, apologies to the utterly irrelevant reference to the Right Stuff, a film about the intrepid aviators who bust the sound barrier, but we’re chuffed at our teeny achievement today. We popped\u00a0our snow-driving cherry, and are sat in amongst a rapidly-freezing layer of the stuff in the free aire at Sixt-Fer-\u00c0-Cheval (N46.05711, E6.78069). The surroundings, what we can see of them in the mist, are beautiful. The service point is working (in winter, not all of them do) and is free. The village is a 5 minute walk away. There’s even an electricity point where up to four vans at a time can recharge their batteries for a few \u20ac. Get in!<\/p>\n

\"Zagan

Zagan in the motorhome aire at Sixt-Fer-\u00c0-Cheval<\/p><\/div>\n

Last night an Italian motorhome pulled into the packed aire in Annecy. Cue fascination with their response to the lack of space, and we watched what they’d do from the side window. I would dare to say 90% of the time, a northern European (by which I mean British, German, French or Dutch) family, would typically leave immediately, and look for somewhere else to sleep. Not the Italians. They came to a halt, immediately jumped out and started looking around the vans. They wanted to talk. I stepped out of Zagan and attempted, using sign language, to converse. “Can we block you in?” they asked, pointing at the space in front of us. “Sure, no problem” I said – it wasn’t an issue for us, but they’d also block in another three motorhomes at the same time, and the owners weren’t home. More looking around for a solution. “There is another parking” I told them, and fetched the GPS co-ordinates for the cathedral we parked at when last in Annecy<\/a>. Thanking me, they drove off, turning up again half an hour later and slotting themselves in front of the service point, not really in any-one’s way. Good for them. They moved in the morning as soon as a space came free. I’ve no idea why they couldn’t stay at the cathedral, but I loved their approach to the problem.<\/p>\n

This morning we serviced Zagan, and hit the road in the lashing rain. Through the one-way maze of Annecy without bouncing Zagan off a single pedestrian, bollard, bike, car or bus, we headed east and up towards here, using the A roads as usual to avoid the tolls. Nipping into a Carrefour on the way, we topped up our supplies as though we were pulling sleds to the North Pole. Chocolate, bread, blood sausage, chicken, mushrooms, grenadine syrop, blue cheese, wee pizzas which fit in the double skillet and a stack of other stuff. I reckon with rashioning we could live for about 3 months with what’s in here. Although the beer would run out in a week, which would likely result in mutiny.<\/p>\n

As the road drifted higher, rain turned to snow, and conversation in the cab turned nervy. Up and up, no switchbacks, just a gradual incline, and slowly the road went from black to grey to white. I’ve a phobia about driving a big van on snow, and I have no idea where the ‘line’ lies, the point at which our tyres will no longer grip, or the point when we should stop and fit the chains. Pulling over, we had a quick conflab. Options: (a) carry on, (b) turn round and head back down or (c) find a closer aire. Bottling it, we searched for a closer aire, pulled back onto the snow (giving it a few berries without losing grip I noticed), and headed off. Within half a mile the road topped out and dropped again, snow reverted to rain, and we reprogrammed the nav for here again, feeling bolstered by the fact we’d continued.<\/p>\n

\"Panic

Start of panic time in Zagan.<\/p><\/div>\n

The rest of the route into Sixt proved easy. At only 750-odd meters, the resort is very low by Alpine standards, and the road here is straightforward, very few hairpins and nice and wide. The rain flipped back to snow lower down the valley though, as again we wondered whether we’d get here. As the kms clicked down, it became obvious we would, although by this point the air was filled with fat flakes. Swinging into the riverside aire, the two other vans (one of them a Scot) were busily heading off, leaving us alone.<\/p>\n

By this point, I am one happy man. Snow, snow, snow and more snow is hoofing down, but we’re in position, on our ramps, heating on and gazing out of the window at it. Nothing to do but wander about the village, stick a thermometer out of the window (currently 1.2\u00b0C out there at 7.15\u00a0pm, roasting!), cook, read, stare at the snow and, finally, write this over a cool Belgian lager.<\/p>\n

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