Ski Jumping, Sledding, and Freestyle Skiing In Paris

Paris never fails to astound and surprise me! After all these years, there is still something new to see and experience!  But can you imagine ski jumping in front of Saint Sulpice church?

Mais si! The snow festival proved to be really beyond my imagination!  But this is Paris after all, and strange things do happen all the time on any given day, such as the young man dressed impeccably to the likeness of Paul Revere, from shoes, pants, leather laced shirt, long leather cuffs and that dandy pointed black hat, next to me on the metro that I would have loved to taken a photo.

Saint Germain de Neige has to be one of the most daring, if not unusual “fêtes” in the city.  Put on by France Montagnes, with skiers from the Federation de Ski Francaise, they certainly get my vote for being the most creative, aside from Paris Plages.

I really didn’t know what to expect, other than something dealing with snow, so I was blown away to have found that a ski jump was in front of Saint Sulpice!  Instead of a mountain of snow for the skiers to land on, there was an efficient huge air bag.

Saint Sulpice is one of Paris’s loveliest historic churches, renown for the Delacroix frescos, and more recently,  the more mysterious revelations made famous in Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code.

In front is a wonderful tree lined square with a beautiful elegantly carved  fountain.  I had been to  several outdoor art shows there, but would have never considered it appropriate for a snow festival. The surrounding neighbourhood is very chic and considered one of the more expensive places to live.

I have to admit, it felt  unreal and totally out of place for me to see brightly coloured skiers flying up into the air in front of this huge monumental church!  The whole square looked like a miniature ski village, outlined with little chalets, along with frosted christmas trees, each promoting  various French ski stations, ski activities, ski equipment, and cultural demonstrations related to the areas.

On each side of the  fountain were miniature ski “trails” for the little ones.  I loved watching the kiddies slide precariously on their little skis, and later enjoyed watching them pet sled dogs and a huge Saint Bernard.

The younger ones also had their own sledding hill, that fortunately had a monitor at the bottom to break their descent.  The air was fragrant with the smell of crepes cooking and spicy vin chaud, which I refrained from having.

From time to time, I heard loud shrieks from the  thrill seekers as they sailed high into the air from the ski jump in rubber tube like sleds, before they landed with a loud thumb on the puffy air bag,  some even daring ones doing somersaults.

The expert ski jumpers on skis though, were the real daredevils of the day, putting on a great show of acrobatic freestyle skiing.  They dazzled us with  twisting full circles in mid-air and somersaulting to the gasps of the crowd below, watching their every move with fear and delight.

I could have stayed for hours to watch the show, but the cold started to seep in and it was time to move on.  First stop was a stand with a man who looked like he was sanding skies, then applying wax, but perhaps one of my readers can inform me what that was.

The most interesting  one for me was the alpine cheese maker.  He demonstrated the curdling of milk and filling  the moulds with curds, to make renown Reblochon cheese, that as it ages forms a cream coloured crust around a buttery soft yellow cheese.

Besides  being one of the most popular mountain cheeses coming from  Savoie , it is often used in making tartiflett.  This famous Alpine creation is the delicious, but  hearty layers of potato, bacon, and onions smothered with mounds of Reblochon cheese that melts like cream throughout, making it a sumptuous regional dish.

Generous slices of Reblochon and sausage was passed out if you could get through the thicket of people pressing in to get their share.  I love Reblochon, but I generally cut away the crust, though many don’t bother.

After savouring my generous sample, I walked around the square gathering promotion booklets from regional ski areas.  I am most familiar with Haute Savoie and Mont Blanc,  having lived a year in a very small village near Lac Leman near the Swiss border.

I don’t ski, after having a childhood injury, and being terrified at another go of it in Innsbruck, Austria.  I did enjoy though a few attempts of cross-country skiing and plowing through nearby trails on raquettes,  which is French for snow shoes.

There are six major ski areas in France.  Haute Savoie around Mont Blanc, Southern Alps , the Jura mountains close to the Swiss border, the Vosges mountain range bordering Alsace Lorraine, the Massif Central in Auvergne, and the Pyrenees Orientals that divides France from Spain.

Snow vacations are very popular with the French, with many children learning to ski at an early age. Hitting the slopes at least once a year is often their favourite winter vacation choice, because of the easily accessibility of them.

Some stations can be very crowded, such as the ones in the Alps, who attract hordes of foreign tourists as well.  Many of these thrill seekers rush to make the most of a short weekend or week on the slopes,  throwing caution to the wind, and ending up in falls, avalanches and even death, which I have written about in two previous posts.

Mountains are not forgiving, like the soft spongy air bag that cushioned the falls of our city skiers, but the thrills of seeing them sail through the air was shared  amongst the crowd.    I don’t think I would have the foolishness , nor courage to attempt even the tube at this stage of my life, but seeing those other brave ones fly up in the air made it all seem exhilarating fun!

Before I left, I took advantage of a stand passing out glasses of chardonnay wine from Arbois Pupillin in the Jura, which makes some unusual wines and delicious sparklings that I am fond of.

As I was sipping on the wine watching the last jumpers of the day, the sky started to darken  and the air seemed more chilling to me.  It was time to leave the snow festival behind, if I wanted to get home in time to start on my Sunday night dessert.

Paris is really great about bringing a sandy beach to the banks of the Seine and now had even succeeded in matching that with ski jumps for heaven sakes!

I will definitely go back  next year, especially to see the ski jumpers, which in the past, I had only witnessed on television.

As soon as I walked in the door, I started on my Sunday pastry, called a pastis, tourtiere or croustade, which is an ancient dessert from the southwestern part of France and one of my favourite pastries.

Fortunately I had some phyllo dough, as there wasn’t enough time to make my own.  After buttering each layer to make the bottom, apples and prunes soaked in Armagnac were poured in with just a spoonful of sugar, then covered with crinkled sheets of the remaining phyllo, sprinkled with more Armagnac and sugar that crisped up to a golden caramelized brown as seen in the photo.  Crunchy buttery pastry with the lemony apples and prunes was just divine and made for a perfect finale to a thrilling day!