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When I was younger, between my late teens and early twenties I came to the Chamonix Valley many times. I would generally fly into Geneva, and take the train around to Argentier, where I would stagger from the train station to the Les Chosalets campsite under three or four bulging duffel bags. Once there, I would set up my old yellow North Face tent, and do nothing but climb for a month or two.

This time we drove our leased car through the Mont Blanc tunnel from Italy, having just come from Cortina, and an exciting trip through the Dolomites. I had never driven through the tunnel before, and it was a bit unnerving to pass directly through the mountain for 11 kilometers. We emerged from the tunnel and drove to our Airbnb. It was in a nice little chalet, occupying the bottom floor. From a seat in the hot tub you could look up at both Mont Blanc and the Aiguille du Midi. The first week we were a bit shell shocked. Every trail was either straight up or straight down, they were all rocky and full of roots, and everyone around us was uber-fit. We were trying to get in shape for the Tour du Mont Blanc, so we went out every morning and did a section of trail. It was hot, humid, and difficult.

One of the cooler things we did was to ascend the trail up to La Jonction, where the Grand Mulets and Bossons glaciers come together. This was a long uphill hike, with big views. I felt fat and slow. That evening, after showering and resting, we drove towards Geneva for an hour, and then into the hills, where my friend Alan was staying at his dad’s house. It had been over twenty years since I had seen him, and it was a lot of fun to reconnect. It was wild to talk about the old days and we had a great evening enjoying good company, as well as French food and wine. We drove back into the valley late that night under a torrential thunderstorm.

Our days in Chamonix were both busy, and full of free time. We would generally do something in the morning, and then come back to wherever we were staying to clean up and then go to town for a drink or a snack. We made most of our food at home, and went out to such legendary culinary establishments as Poco Loco Burgers only to celebrate a particularly big effort.

Later in the summer, my friend Sasha came to town, and we spent a number of days at his house, eating and drinking with a variety of friends. At one point there were four of us from my high school, me, Alan, Sasha, and Thomas. That night at dinner, Thomas pointed out that there were 6 different nationalities represented around the table, something that happens rarely in the USA. One of the things we talked about was how Chamonix is the center of the world for a certain class of people. After more than twenty years apart, we all coincidentally met again in Chamonix.

This is not the case only for us. For as long as I can remember most of the best alpine climbers, skiers, mountain runners, and paragliders, have either come out of the Chamonix Valley, or have spent a great deal of time there. One doesn’t have to look far for the reason. Accessibility is the key word in Chamonix. You can take an afternoon cable car up, hike for half an hour, and be at the base of a climb that would take a full scale expedition to approach in the great ranges of the world. This level of exposure leads to incredible feats of athleticism and boldness being achieved in the mountains all the time. While we were there the record on the UTMB race was broken, and Killian Jornet shattered another record during his ‘alpine connections’ project. The best in the world take what they learn in Chamonix and apply it to the rest of the world.

Knowing people in the area led to some fun side excursions. Thomas runs a rafting company on the Rhine river in Switzerland, so we all drove over there and went rafting. Later, Kate and I spent a pleasant night with Thomas and his family in Grimentz and hiked the next day in the Zinal valley. Knowing locals took us places we would otherwise not have enjoyed.

One afternoon, while walking along the river, we ran into my buddy Matt and his wife. He is our friend from when we used to kayak in Humboldt County, and I had no idea he was even in Europe. Chamonix is indeed the center of the world, and we enjoyed a nice evening at Poco Loco and with some drinks by the river. It was great to meet an old friend thousands of miles away in another part of the world.

As the summer progressed we started to become a bit fitter, and mixed some climbing in with our running schedule. We focused exclusively on the Aiguilles Rouges, across the valley from the main massif, and had a good time on the generally low angle red rock. The approaches were all under an hour, thanks to our season lift pass, and the weather was remarkably good all summer. We did some fun routes, and some that were not quite as fun. The belays were mostly on ledges, and the climbs lacked the spectacular exposure that is present in the main range, both things that worked out strongly in our favor, as we had not been climbing much.

Eventually weather started to roll in. We spent more afternoons drinking hot chocolate on the balcony of our favorite boulangerie while eating pastries. We shut the window in our apartment, and started using the duvet. There was a storm over three days and when the clouds cleared the trees 500 meters above the valley were crusted with snow. It was time to go.

I don’t know if we will ever return to Chamonix, but it has shaped who I am as a person more than any other single place. Chamonix cultures strength, honesty, and boldness. It also places a low value on human life, and encourages pushing limits, perhaps further than they should be pushed.

Recently someone we know died while kayaking. He was older than me, and had a family. When I was young this kind of incident wouldn’t have made me bat an eye, but now I am beginning to question the trade off between one type of life and another. I don’t know if we are ever going to return to Chamonix, but I have no intentions of dying there. We are taking up ocean sailing- that is much safer.