Annette Oullette is on her first St. Scholastica alumni trip, with her sister, fellow alum Terese McCarthy and two friends.
“I wondered whether I would know anyone from my time at St. Scholastica. I didn’t, as it turned out, but it’s fun getting to know everyone on the bus and hear their stories – I love hearing people’s stories. And then, you know, ‘Oh, when did you graduate? Did you know so and so, she was there about that time.’ That’s what I like about the alumni angle, that you make all those connections.”
She’s also appreciating being with her sister.
“We haven’t spent this much time together in probably 20 years or more,” she said. “Each of us has kids, so although we see each other it’s always for short periods of time and usually with lots of other people around demanding our attention.”
The Saints abroad left Italy after three days, heading north just as the Roman legions did – threading our way up the Aosta valley. Men fished on the banks of the river; conifers appeared; the breezes cooled.Our destination: the French Alps resort town of Chamonix. Our hotel is Le Prieure (“The Priory”), named in honor of the Benedictine monks who made the first recorded mention of Chamonix, in the late 11th century. Talk about predating Vail, Telluride and, um, Spirit Mountain. After poking around our home base, our first excursion was to cross into Switzerland and drop down into the Rhone valley, where vineyards drape mountainsides so steep that the vintners wear steel safety lines against falling.
It’s a drive of switchback roads, spectacular views, and – always in the Alps - tunnels. Guide Petra’s line: “The Swiss like holes, you know? Holes in their mountains, in their cheese – and in our pockets by the time we leave, eh?”We climbed again to Zermatt, another Alpine resort town, at the feet of the Matterhorn. The most hungry-for-heights among us took a cog-wheel train even higher, for photo opportunities.Some of us who stayed below got lunch from a street vendor: a bratwurst the size of a billy club. It was delicious with spicy mustard administered from a big blue tube like artist’s paint comes in.
The Matterhorn proved to be a tease. The iconic peak is just up the valley from Zermat, but remained hidden by clouds. By day’s end it was mostly visible, but still concealed its jagged tooth.
Probably, the most adventurous among us was Waldtraut (Wally) Emmel Betchart. I don’t know her age precisely, but it’s closer to 80 than 70. Wally had heard of the high mineral content of mountain streams fresh from glaciers, as the one is in Zermatt.
She wanted some of that water.
So she slipped through a fenced area down to the rapidly rushing stream’s bank.
“The first rock I got on was pretty slippery,” she said, “so I got onto another one.”
She got her Nalgene filled.
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