Chamonix

Jackson Hole is often called the "Chamonix of America," a comparison that, in my mind, doesn't do Cham justice. People have been climbing large mountains here since cotton was considered a shell layer. The first American extreme skiing movies - I don't mean Warren Miller (1) - were filmed here, back when American ski resorts would clip your pass hucking cliffs, ducking ropes, or just about anything else worth doing.

Mont Blanc, Continental Europe's highest mountain, looms over Chamonix:
It's refreshing to be in a ski town where the mountains take center stage. In a week and a half here, I've seen two art galleries, roughly 33 less than I saw in Jackson, Wyoming. That said, I have seen a fur covered lamp for sale (which is so egregious it should count for two art galleries) and a bar with people drinking only umbrella-drinks (in a ski town?!), but that still leaves Chamonix with a comfortable 30ish lead in the art gallery index (2).

Looking down Chamonix valley in the afternoon. Mont Blanc is on the left.

The famous Compangnie des guides de Chamonix, arguably the world's oldest mountain establishment of mountain guides:

The French are very eco-minded: they don't allow heli-skiing and recycled materials are used prodigiously enough to give San Francisco city-envy. Somehow they square that with a desire to string trams to the tops of peaks. This is looking down the tram from the 3,842m Aiguille de Midi into Chamonix valley:
The Aiguille to Midi tram - or "telephrique," in its native tongue - accesses some of the most famous mountaineering and backcountry ski descents in the world (3). This picture is looking down the Vallee Blanche, a 20km ski route that descends 9,200 feet over glaciers to end in Chamonix valley.
I had hoped to ski the Vallee Blanche, but it was still in bad condition in the early season. I rode up the telephrique anyway to take a look around but worried that being up there and not being able to climb or ski would be frustrating. As I stepped out on the observation platform, my aspiring-alpinist voice said predictable things like, "Ohhh... Look at the line on that face." But then another little voice piped in, "Damn, it's cold up here. Why don't you go into the snack bar and have a hot chocolate?" And so I did.

Your man drinking hot chocolate in places other people go to climb hard things,
Jay

Notes:
1 This was back when people who wore one-pieces weren't joking and The North Face still made respectable technical gear. The late-80s "Blizzard of Aaahhs," starring Glen Plake and Scott Smidt in outrageous neon outfits, is the go-to of the genre: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kJdyPZPcRYU
2 There's something else here that's found in most places in Europe worth visiting: the Brits. This works out pretty well for me. Not only do I like the Brits, but their omnipresence creates an acceptance of English and an appreciation for butchered French. Which is pretty much my sweet spot.
3 This accessibility leads to an unusual combination of people crammed tightly into a tram car - from hardcore alpinists carrying axes, ropes, and crampons to elderly tourists wielding canes and lipstick. The smell is a mixture of tourists' perfume and wet skiers. The fact that I was able to capture this picture - a sign warning climbers to take off crampons and properly store ice axes juxtaposed with this hat - is another negative point for Chamonix in the art gallery index.