Bon Courage, Souwwws Africa!
When you arrive in Chamonix for the Cross du Mont-Blanc weekend, there are two things you need to do immediately. First, collect your race pack. Second, pick up pasta to cook for dinner that night (and red wine).
I arrived the evening before the race, dropped my bags off at my chalet and headed into town to carry out these two most critical tasks.
French time
I walked to the local supermarche, confusingly called The Casino. The closing time on the door was marked 19:30. I looked at my watch: 18:48. There was more than enough time to grab my race pack and make it back before closing. But just to be safe, I decided to get my food first.
I wasn't in the shop for two minutes when I heard the proprietor shouting (Closing, closing!) at the top of his voice and ushering people to the tills. Even with my useless French, I knew that meant he wanted everyone trying to buy his goods to get the hell out of there. In my typical South And he replied with a very warm and engaging smile, and said . I could not fault him for his logic and admired that these Frenchmen have their priorities spot-on.
