Every day we all make decisions that affect the course of our lives. A simple decision can result in a chain of actions and reactions that would be completely different if we had chosen a different course. Football commentators often say things like ‘if the referee had allowed that goal ‘Team x’ would surely have won’. But the whole game, if the goal had been allowed, would have followed a different route, who knows who would have won.
Normally when we are out driving and we take a wrong turn we decide, quite sensibly, to turn around and retrace our steps and rejoin our original route. But what if you don’t?
Nearly thirty years ago now I was on a weekend ski trip with my good friend David Lis and his stepson Ben. Suffice it to say tension was in the air. Ben had lost his ski pass and had also fallen asleep on his hotel bed with a lit ciggie in his mouth. By some fluke of circumstance we discovered the dear boy sound asleep ignorant of the smouldering blanket he was trying to ignite.
The day after this incident there was tension in the air and David suggested we take the Mont Blanc Tunnel to Italy in order to ski in Aosta and maybe enjoy a pasta lunch.
I now know the Chamonix valley really well but on that day, as driver, I completely missed the turn for the tunnel and we arrived in the valley floor leading to Geneva. Instead of turning round we decided to explore a bit further and we ended up in La Fayette. There were signs directing people to a spa and we were delighted to sight a rack and pinion railway clawing its way up the hill.
It would appear that La Fayette had a reputation with wealthy Parisians back in the day and its healing waters and spa became a place to visit. The rack and pinion railway, which was originally intended to reach the peak of Mont Blanc, had failed in its ambition. It had instead opened up a nearby town some 2 or 3 miles up hill which attracted wealthy Parisians who would take the main line train from Paris before changing to the small railway which deposited them, at its first stop, in St Gervais Les Bains. They would then make daily trips down to the spa to take the waters and rejuvenate themselves.
Another side show of this railway was that a field nearby was soon equipped with a horse pulled chairlift and the first ‘ski resort’ in the world was established. St Gervais was set for growth!
We abandoned the idea of Aosta on that day and followed the road up to St Gervais. At the entrance to the village a short ‘carriage ride’ from the station three magnificent buildings stand. They were former hotels, now converted into apartments. Two of them were designed by a famous architect and they attract much interest to this day. The third building ,La Residence, is much less grand but it sits effectively on the clifftop overlooking the valley and in doing so commands wonderful vistas as the seasons turn.
We drove into the square at the centre of this beautiful small town. David ordered a stop and he made a statement, maybe it was an order. ‘This place is wonderful you must buy a place here’ he said. Where we actually skied that day I do not remember but there were no dramas I can recall.
3 months later I decided to leave UBS, thank God, and join BZW. I had one months gardening leave and having decided to explore and improve my understanding of modern computing of the day I enrolled on a 5 day course. I tell you this because it is part of another tale.
Liz, as usual was very supportive of my mad idea to buy a ski place and she did as much research as she could via the limited technology of the day and she managed to arrange a series of viewing for the day we had earmarked as our ‘French flat buying day’. It was all rather exciting getting up early taking a car to Heathrow and a plane to Geneva before hiring a car and getting to St G. Liz fell in love with the place as soon as she saw it. The next few hours were, however, a huge disappointment as the flats we were shown were just desparate. The town shut for lunch and we sat in a street side cafe munching a cheese roll Liz noticed across the street an Estate Agent who had not appeared on her list so when we saw the shutters rise shortly after 2pm we went in.
What a shock we received. A man of around our age presented himself. Something very bad had happened to him. His nose had clearly been sown back on his face. His poorly positioned glasses revealed non seeing eyes and his hairpiece was perched on his head in anything but the right position.
‘Hello’ he said in perfect English. ‘I am Pasqual and I am the finest Estate Agent in the valley’. We were both confused as honestly it was very difficult to look at the man. After a while he turned to Liz, well almost, and he asked her exactly what she was looking for. Liz response was something like ‘high ceilings, French double doors and maybe a balcony with a view’. Pasqual paused drummed the table and made the following announcement. ‘I know the one’. ‘I will first of all show you two apartments,which you will like, but when you see the third you will know’. Powerful stuff!.
He rang a bell and an impossibly pretty French woman appeared who could speak no English, she was his wife. She took us to see the two flats Pasqual had mentioned and both of them were superb. To this day we still look at them from the outside and smile. She then drove us to the front of the aforementioned La Residence. A ride up in a small rickety lift to the third floor, three locks to undo and we walked in. It was less than a second I recall before Liz and I turned to each other grinning from ear to ear. The flat was light airy with high ceilings it had four large separate rooms a bathroom and kitchen. Magnificent double French doors opening on to not one balcony, but five, each with its own spectacular view. Just stunning.
Back at the office Pasqual was waiting. ‘Well’ he said ‘I know what you think’. We conformed his suspicion. I declared an instant wish to buy the place. We had a plane to catch so Pasqual, with the aid of his wife, produced the 14 page French property transaction form that we duly filled in. At the end of the form is a box which has ‘Prix’ (price) alongside it. The asking price of the property was 75,000 francs and with the exchange rate of 10 to 1 we were contemplating buying this magnificent piece of France for £75,000, a bargain. Pasqual was not done.’ You leave the box Prix open. I’m the estate agent and my job is to establish the price. I will ‘touch’ the seller and let you know what you will be paying’. He then offered another interesting comment ‘being English you will probably want a survey but that is stupid!’ he scoffed ‘That building has stood for 150 years and it will still be there for many years to come, dont waste your money”!! ‘I will call you next Tuesday after I have ‘touched’ the seller at 7 pm London time, have a good journey home’.
We did, we were in something of a whirl in truth as we contemplated what would happen next and what the final price would be. The following Tuesday at 7pm the phone rang. It was Pasqual. ‘I have touched the seller the price is set’ he announced. He then proceeded to tell us the ‘signing would be in two weeks at the Notaires office’ and as we had filled out the forms we were in effect ‘good to go’. He was about to say good bye when I plucked up the courage to ask him what the price would be. Somewhat dismissively he announced ‘63,000’, the phone went dead.
Two weeks later there was an air traffic controllers strike in Europe so Liz and I elected to drive down for the signing. I was coming to the end of my gardening leave and time was tight. Liz arranged for Jo and Tom to be looked after for the day and very early in the morning we climbed into our wonderful Mercedes coupe and we set off. We arrived in St Gervais shortly after lunch having driven at a constant speed well in excess of any limits. We changed in the underground car park that is today both a parking lot and an art gallery. We completed the signing, met the sellers who were delightful, climbed back in the car and headed home. Around midnight a champagne cork popped on the outskirts of Harpenden. We had bought a French apartment.
The tale does not end here as more good news was shortly to come. Harpenden is a short distance from Luton airport and a Greek man called Helios decided to start a ‘budget airline’. It was called Easy jet and you know the rest. Its original service was between Luton and Scotland. The solitary former Brittania Airways 737 that comprised the original ‘fleet’ flew from Luton to Edinburgh back to Luton then up to Glasgow and back and so on.
I spent lot of time in Scotland for work at the time and this new service was a godsend as it meant the commute to and from Heathrow was no longer a necessity. I was one of its first passengers and with a wonderful man called Howard Seymour we took the first flight to Edinburgh. The flight was all but empty and we positioned ourselves at the rear of the plane. It was so noisy and the whole thing rattled in an alarming fashion as with very few passengers the plane was very light. It was all rather concerning to be honest. We got the last flight back on the day and this time we chose the ‘front’ of the almost deserted plane. No frills on this airline but for some reason they served coffee. I agreed to a cup but when the steaming brew was poured into my cup the tray gave way and scalding black coffee was deposited in my lap. I screamed and jumped up. The scene that followed was ridiculous two aircrew, a young woman and a ‘very gay’ man, jumped into emergency mode. The produced a wet cloth and mercifully, in front of only a few passengers they proceeded to sponge the front of my pants. It was necessary of course cos it was burning but the vigour with which the young man addressed his task was a little disconcerting. My suit on the day was light grey and Howard Seymour nearly died with laughter as I walked down the aircraft steps with my briefcase clapped closely to my loins in order to conceal the huge stain. Easy jet offered to pay for my dry cleaning which was nice but three months later Easy jet delivered to our family a wonderful gift. A regular service from Luton to Geneva. The prices were low. Liz once went midweek for a few days with Tom over half term for £12 each way. We were able to visit St Gervais almost at will and the pleasure we derived from owning that property knows no bounds. Laughter, exhilaration and an appreciation of the beauty of the earth are gifts it has bought us.Of course subsequently we left Harpenden as our children grew and proceeded on their own pathways. We have discovered the Alps in the summer and many a bike ride has started and finished in that wonderful apartment we are so blessed to own.
There are many morals in this tale. Maybe don’t wear a light get suit if you are on a rickety plane don’t judge an estate agent by its cover etc. Perhaps the biggest message is this, sometimes the road we are on will not lead where we intended but maybe the course we find our selves on will result in something very very special happening that will change our lives in a big way. So before you turn around maybe go on a bit and see what happens.
Pasqual has retired now and his son has taken over the business. Like his father he is charming and very capable. When the sad day comes we will use him to sell our flat. Maybe one day it will be appropriate to ask exactly what did happen to his Dad.
St Gervais has over the years grown into an absolute gem, it always was but the improvements we have witnessed are beyond our wildest dreams. As we look out of one of our bedrooms in the apartment we can see Mont Blanc. It looks down on the world and has been constant presence in the ups and downs of our existence. It offers a a sense of permanence and Liz and I love it.
Tales of a Life Well Lived 