Folgende Aufnahme entstand an einer Hanglage in Blatten (Wallis/Schweiz). Das gelbe Fächli könnte auch als Post-it durchgehen.

Jean-Lou est artiste-sculpteur, après l’escalade et le repas, qui était délicieux, j’ai profité d’une partie de l’après-midi pour photographier

quelques-unes de ses oeuvres. J’ai essayé de les mettre en valeur de façon inusitée en tenant compte de l’environnement, de la lumière du jour qui changeait assez rapidement et des enfants ou des personnes autour.

Voici le lien Internet pour le site du restaurant de Jean-Lou et sa conjointe, à Verbier :

http://www.namaste-verbier.ch

Certains détails du restaurant lui-même ont attiré mon attention, en Abitibi, au Québec, on ne retrouve pas les mêmes matériaux.

Vue sur Anibis, cette proposition d’adoption en provenance de Martigny (1920, Valais)

Chat mâle, environ 1 an, croisé siamois snowshow, exclusif, ne s’entend pas avec les autres chats, à personne avec jardin habitant en Valais uniquement.

Ce charmant minou est habitué à sortir et ne peut rester toute la journée en appartement

Coordonnées téléphoniques : +41 27 722 02 25

Gite du Prilett

13 October 2009, 18.50

  Mon dieu! The mountains, the nature, Switzerland, LIFE OH EPIC LIFE!!! Today has been marvelous. A Norwegian-style breakfast started the day minutes before we departed into the cold, as bundled in warm clothing as our baggage would permit. A short hike, promised SSB. Up into the sunlight to get a view of the Matterhorn. Unlike the blustery nature of the day before, not a single cloud marred the untouched blue of the heavens, and the frosted vegetation splintered under our shoes with a satisfying crunch.

      Kyle and I were assigned to the task of keeping track of the slowest members of our group, and here, group travel proved difficult as we fought the temptation to run up into the mountains as far as our feet would carry us. We lingered, we meandered, we lagged behind in an impressive display of patience. After some considerable time shuffling slowly through Chandolin, St. Luc and under a funicular, we arrived at the top of a hill. Incredible panoramic views of the Alps lay before us. SSB deemed us free from our duties. Soon enough, the less motivated students were far behind, and locating our new destination, the road home, became of growing importance. Together with SSB, Thomas, Cam, Kyle and Adrienne, I bounded up the mountain path with surprising energy despite the altitude. SSB had done the hike before, but we wandered in circles, lapping the non-outdoorsmen among us, who nibbled on cookies as they trudged onwards in their fatigue. We tried another trail. The clock was ticking, and our writing workshop with Anne Deriaz, author of Cher Ella, drew closer with each passing second. Where were we? Adrienne seemed tired and pensive, but the boys and I were full of excited energy and begged SSB to let us continue upwards, finding the trail down in the next valley instead of turning back and retracing our steps.

 “It’s really steep,” warned SSB. “Like fall-on-your-ass steep.” We should look for a sign reading ‘Le Prilet par les cascades’ or something to that effect. We skipped up the path with even more energy than before. Kyle proclaimed that his goal, no matter how far our detour took us, was to make it home before Stefania. (Stefania had attempted to depart on a hike in heels the day before). Up and up the path wound, through forests of golden pine needles, through pastures speckled with wildflowers, over glacial streams trickling over mossy rocks – all with the majestic peaks of the Alps rising around us in the ultimate backdrop. I began to doubt our plan, and halfheartedly suggested we turn around, but the three young men outnumbered my weak attempt, and we continued towards the Weisshorn.

   Suddenly, the trees cleared, and we stood awestruck in a wide, snowy valley marking the base of the palisades towering over us. The pristine white snow, the fiery yellow trees, and the stark blue of the sky contrasted in a brilliant display of nature’s colorful beauty. I experienced a wave of intense euphoria taking over me, and upon prancing joyfully ahead, found the sign directing us back to Gite du Prilett! Saved! The ‘par les cascades’ sign was there as well, and we descended from the valley down a series of steep alpine ski slopes. Throwing caution aside (and fearing the ice that could send me sliding if my feet were to linger too long in one place), I ran almost the entire way down the mountain, talking with the guys and watching amusedly as Thomas surfed the slope boarder-style on the traction-free soles of his skater shoes. The sensation of the icy air tousling my hair and numbing my face, the snow crunching under my feet and the adrenaline of the alpine scenery flying by as I sprinted down the mountain – nothing could be more beautiful in that moment, and I laughed in disbelief at how amazing an experience life had brought me, yet again.

    Back at the Gite du Prilett, we waited for the rest of our group (who, yes, we had beat to the bottom!) and met Anne Deriaz, the writer conducting our writing workshop. Although her English was intermediate, the 70-year-old woman led us through a series of exercises designed to let loose a stream of creativity surely hiding somewhere in our minds. It proved effective, and it was with great interest that I listened to the overwhelming differences present among my fellow students’ writing.

   Three forty-five arrived with a disappointing suddenness, ending our workshop. We walked to an ancient bakery where, years ago, the people of St. Luc would bake bread 3 times a year. In hand-carved wooden troughs, we had the opportunity to knead, shape, and design individual loaves of rustic alpine rye bread. I used a knife to carve a swirling spiral into the rough dough, and handed it to a smiling baker, who shoveled it into a stone oven outside. Late afternoon sun illuminated the quaint rooftops and flowering window boxes of St. Luc, drawing the focus, for one second, away from the famous mountains looming behind it.

    While our bread baked, we assembled in a sun-filled room above the bakery, walls lined with golden wood and rows of windows. Some girls in our group gave a presentation on Anne Deriaz – made a bit more nerve-wracking, I would assume, by the fact that she was there herself, listening intently and making corrections where needed. They gave a brief summary of her life, how she escaped from home at 16 to study, later winning a prize for literature – her relationship with Ella Maillart in the last years of her life, and her insight gained from a lifetime as a writer.

   “It is in the little things- to bake bread, to drink wine- in the little things are great truths,” she said slowly, forming sentences carefully through her thick Swiss accent. I considered this as I sipped the white wine poured to me by the smiling baker. I thought of Anne and Ella’s relationship – how the smallest shifts in a daily routine spoke the loudest. In the fast-paced American life I grew up in, we have perhaps lost this simplicity. The feeling of contentment there, breathing alpine air between sips of wine while bread baked below – was unparalleled. I shuddered at the thought of returning to Lugano – to the day-to-day mess of schoolwork, of caffeine and late nights, of stress and frustration. If only life could be as pure, as simple, as there in Chandolin.

   After being served our bread steaming hot from the oven, we returned home and began to prepare for fondue – according to SSB, an all-night affair. Drinking water would make us sick, she claimed. Only white wine and hot tea would be served. We took our seats and were served great steaming pots of cheese, which we dipped bread and potatoes in for hours. A more delicious dinner cannot be imagined, and with all luck, such a quantity of cheese will never again be consumed. After a blueberry pie dessert featuring legitimate alpine blueberries, we returned upstairs and enjoyed a 3-franc bottle of wine Kyle had purchased at Coop. The rest of the night was a happy blur of incredible stargazing, of a limited Norwegian vocabulary, of stories from our childhoods and old TV shows.

   The fondue, however, plagued my stomach all night, and several times threatened to drive me to legitimate sickness.

Du 20 novembre au 1er décembre, Valais Film fait le tour de son canton pour faire découvrir ses meilleures productions. En tout, ce sont 23 réalisateurs (avec 27 films) qui rencontreront leur public, dans les villes de Sion, Martigny, Sierre, Verbier, Viège et Brigue. Floriane Closuit y sera présente aux côtés des réalisatrices/réalisateurs suivantEs: Tristan Albrecht · Fatima Amaudruz · Jean-Francois Amiguet · Claude Barras · Raphaël Blanc · Emmanuelle de Riedmatten · Dominique de Rivaz · Gilles Dubuis · Daniel Duqué · Natacha Etter · Frank Garbely · Pierre-Antoine Hiroz · Bruno Joly · Frédéric Mermoud · Sylviane Neuenschwander · Denis Rabaglia · Pascale Rocard · Stéphane Rodriguez · Carole Roussopoulos · Pierre-André Thiébaud · Anne Zen-Ruffinen · Sabine Zaalene.

Par surprise(s) sera projeté le samedi 21 novembre (Corso, Martigny, 17h30), et le dimanche 29 novembre (Capitole, Sion, 18h00; Capitol, Brigue, 20h30). Floriane Closuit sera heureuse de vous rencontrer à Sion et à Martigny!

Ci-dessous, veuillez trouver le flyer édité à cette occasion: VSCine Affiche FR Final, VSCine Flyer Verso FR&DE

Programme complet sous www.valaisfilms.ch

Hello à tous le RIV c est parti cette après midi avec 3 spéciales au terme de celles ci Gregoire Hotz est en tête. Demain la très attendue spéciale les cols debuteras à 9h08
 Les photos de la première étape sur www.photo-passions.com  

  October 12^th, 2009

  05.40

  The sky is still dark when we wake up and I am reminded of my childhood. Adrienne chatters away happily on the phone with her boyfriend (thousands of miles away in California) and I sit motionless on the couch, sipping yoghurt. Five hundred grams of yoghurt. I feel a bit queasy.

 06.55

   Kyle gets up and we take care to throw everything away before strapping on our expedition backpacks and departing to the early morning sidewalks of Sorengo. The mountains, or hills as I call them in my mind, are silhouetted beautifully in the crisp blue dawn; the windows of hillside houses twinkle amongst the rising walls of black. We trudge slowly under the immense weight of our packs, which remain too full despite our efforts to pack light. The Swiss Italian suburb awakens as we pass. Brightly colored sportscars speed by, the drivers curiously eying the three students plodding clumsily down the sidewalk. Overhead, a sliver of the moon shines brilliant yellow, rich with texture. Stars twinkle above us, a subtle farewell.

10.11

  I awake with a jolt over two hours after taking a seat on the “Cosmos” tour bus with our group of 17 college students, Michele the Italian bus driver, and our professor, Sara Steinert Borella, referred to from now on as SSB. Kyle is dozing next to me; Adrienne is curled asleep in a seat across from us. We are freezing. The bus shudders and lurches along a narrow mountain road, massive walls of stone towering on both sides. Clouds of murky grey fog roll amidst the mountains, momentarily unveiling pristine alpine waterfalls and groves of evergreen trees. Every few minutes I catch a glimpse of a snow-capped peak secluded among the clouds. I rejoice inwardly at every sight of mountain life.

  I wake up later to an oblivion of snowflakes speeding by, a sheet over a barren landscape of desolate mountain tundra. Red and burnt orange, as it should be. We stare in awe, and when the bus stops for a coffee break, I explode into the alpine air with Adrienne and Kyle. We frolic into the nature, catching snowflakes on our tongues and in our hair, reveling in the miracle of a first snowfall.

   “It’s so quiet,” whispers Adrienne, who has not seen snow in four years. I smile and join her in admiring the silence, the peaceful stillness in which the falling snow is the only flicker of movement. I feel as though transported back to another time in life, and drop to my knees at the discovery of arctic blueberries growing in bunches on the frozen ground. The landscape, however desolate, is pure nostalgia.

   We drink cappuccinos in the snow and continue to a town splayed across a valley floor. Coop Restaurant seems to be the place for lunch and I doze off yet again on the bus. As I sleep, it maneuvers the winding road up into the mountains, to St. Luc and finally Chandolin, home to Ella Maillart, one of the writers we’re studying. We had planned a hike, but snow blows wildly through the air and most members of our group seem rather unenthusiastic. Instead, we walk to an Ella Maillart museum and study her life’s artifacts – ancient photographs, Swiss passports, books, typewriters, and treasures from Central Asia. Her chalet lies nearby, and I understand how the simplicity of this life could be enough for a person – yet for Ella, of course, it was not until the end of her life that she settled here. Still. Tiny mountain chalets, built of stone and dark wood, are stacked picturesquely upon the mountainside. The Matterhorn, we are told, is lurking behind the turbulent clouds. A frigid breeze sweeps the miniature streets, bringing with it an aura of quiet harmony. I feel very at peace.

   Later, the Cosmos bus pulls up to Gite du Prilett, our home for the next two nights. I am assigned to a cozy cabin-esque room with Adrienne and three other girls, and after a hot cup of coffee, set off into the forests of the Alps with Kyle and Adrienne. Snow is drifting down all around us, but it does not stick, and together we venture, in search of an elevation where snow covers the ground. Kyle takes off ahead, and Adrienne is enraptured by a stream unfolding in a series of bubbling waterfalls throughout the pristine forests. I wander in the space between them, slow and meandering; soaking in the beautify of the trees, the clear sky opening overhead, and most of all the sounds. The constant racket of aggressive drivers has been left behind in Lugano. I hear only the gentle gurgling of the stream and the individual snowflakes cascading amongst the greenery. Nothing else.

  Our walk, in the end, led us to a beautiful wooden bridge crossing over a waterfall. Its planks were draped in a thin blanket of crisp white snow. I stood on the bridge listening to the nature flowing through the forest as Adrienne and Kyle disappeared into the trees above. The tranquility of that moment ended up costing me dearly. Back at the chalet, I simply could not warm up. I changed my clothes, drank hot chocolate, and sat downstairs in the warmth radiating from the kitchen. Nothing helped. I took a hot shower, but shivered at my core even as scalding water poured over my skin. What happened? Had my Alaskan survival skills abandoned me in the Alps?

   Dinner was an absolute feast. Bread, wine, steaming bowls of pea soup, and chicken drizzled in mushroom sauce with vegetable rice. I was in heaven. Kyle ate at least two servings of everything topped with bits of chili that Michele, the bus driver, had taken from SSB’s garden. The two bonded over this, and continued to attempt conversations in Italian throughout both dinner and dessert (rhubarb-plum sauce with cream). Kyle and I played chess after diner, which was a major failure on my behalf. I got tired, lost motivation, and was checkmated alarmingly early. Went to sleep under two huge duvets, in a cozy log room with 4 other girls and a heater by my feet. Toasty.

Voici la couverture et le sommaire du numéro 8 (juillet-août 2009) du magazine Quatre Pattes. Pour ceux qui ne connaissent pas encore, regardez plutôt ce précédent billet.

Au sommaire :

• Présentation Association – Prévention des morsures
• SOS Adoptions – Refuge de l’Espoir (VS)
• Garderie Pension – Debby Services
• Brèves Canines & Félines
• Boutique Canine & Féline
• Zoom Canin – Le Dingo
• Zoom Félin – Le chat de Sybérie
• Témoignage Canin – Ayton, puissante tendresse
• Comportement Chien – Mon chien est-il dangereux ?
• Comportement Chat – Peut-on remplacer le rôle d’une mère ?
• Jeux – Woofy et Misty

Voici la couverture et le sommaire du numéro 8 (juillet-août 2009) du magazine Quatre Pattes. Pour ceux qui ne connaissent pas encore, regardez plutôt ce précédent billet.

Au sommaire :

• Rendez-vous
• SOS Adoptions – Refuge de l’Espoir (VS)
• Boutique Canine & Féline
• Image Insolite – Brutus et Benetton
• Présentation Refuge – La SPA de Lausanne
• Zoom Félin – Le chat et la Grèce
• Supplément Jeux
• Zoom Canin – Le Terre-Neuve et le travail à l’eau
• Comportement Chat – Comment choisir son chat ?
• Conseils Vacances – Pour un été sans nuage…
• Info Pratique – Clôture pour chats

Gender: Feminine
Origin: Latin
Meaning: “rule; law”
(REG-oo-LAH).

El Furka Pass és un dels pasos de carretera més alts que es poden fer en cotxe, avui dia, a Europa. Són 2.436 metres d’altura. Un dels millors itineraris als Alps, però no l’únic. El Furka, a més, reuneix altres atractius: del seu costat est podeu admirar la glacera on neix el Ròdano, el riu majestuós que atravessa la Provença. Del seu costat oest la vall on neix el Rhin, el pare dels rius d’Europa. Les neus són perpètues, els paisatges eterns. Pujant i baixant el Furka passeu de l’alt Valais suís, al cantó d’Uri i, més endevant als Grisons, també a Suissa. Això vol dir paisatge assegurat: flors, poblets amb cases de fusta, vaques, cavalls en llibertat, cims que toquen els núvols i valls idíliques. Això si, us ha d’agradar molt conduir i no us han d’espantar les corbes. De tota manera tampoc no n’hi ha tantes. Podeu dormir i menjar abans o després de pujar el pas. A dalt no hi ha res de res. Nosaltres ho varem fer al poble de Munster, a l’alt Valais. L’hotel es diu “Croix d’Or et Poste” i és una cucada, ple de flors, amb tot el que demanarieu a un hotel de muntanya. Potser un pèl barroc, això si. Ara bé, la regió està plena d’hotels i de càmpings preciosos.

El Furka Pass es uno de los pasos de carretera más altos que se pueden hacer en coche, hoy día, en Europa. Son 2.436 metros de altura. Uno de los mejores itinerarios en los Alpes, pero no el único. El Furka, además, reúne otros atractivos: en su lado este pueden admirar el glaciar donde nace el Ródano, el río majestuoso que atraviesa la Provenza. De su lado oeste el valle donde nace el Rhin, el padre de los ríos de Europa. Las nieves son perpetuas, los paisajes eternos. Subiendo y bajando el Furka pasais del alto Valais suizo, al cantón de Uri y, más adelante a los Grisones, también en Suiza. Esto quiere decir paisaje asegurado: flores, pueblos con casas de madera, vacas, caballos en libertad, cimas que tocan las nubes y valles idílicos. Eso si, os ha de gustar mucho conducir y no os deben asustar las curvas. De todos modos tampoco hay tantas. Pueden dormir y comer antes o después de subir el paso. Arriba no hay nada de nada. Nosotros lo hicimos al pueblo de Munster, en el alto Valais. El hotel se llama “Croix d’Or et Poste” y es una cucada, lleno de flores, con todo lo que pediríamos a un hotel de montaña. Quizás un poco barroco, eso sí. Ahora bien, la región está llena de hoteles y de campings preciosos.

Ei v’è la storia di renate

che stav’in sul paese come ‘n fiore

piacente più che tutti per li passi

che pers’a rimirarla perdean l’ore

i belli i brutti i magri e pur’i grassi

poichè fama dicea d’esser tal foco

che tutti e tutte avea sott’alli piè

ma v’ella null’altr’era se non gioco

ch’ognun’era ‘na beffa fino a che

un giorno rinveniva in gran scarpata

al termine del passo coll’amiche

che ‘lli occhi le chiudeano strangolata.

Leukerbad, 14 ottobre 1931.

a un’allevatrice di pinguicula alpina

Voici une annonce vue sur le site PetitesAnnonces.ch. Elle a paru le 12 juillet et provient du Valais, à Bovernier (1932):

Trouvé chatte siamoise

Avons trouvé une chatte siamoise depuis le 20 mai environ probablement perdue avant, non stérélisée, sans collier avec de très beaux yeux bleus, dans la région de Bovernier.

Contactez nous au plus vite car elle part en refuge cette semaine…
Merci