It is human nature to crave for what cannot be had easily. Living in Mumbai, I crave snow, a climatic miracle that those living in hemispheres suitable to snow conditions, must have little respect for. Sometimes, I go as far as to look at the weather app for snow forecasts around the world and live vicariously through the animated snowflakes that show up.
Today though, as I sit inside the autumnal hued room of my hotel in the French Alps, halfway between Chamonix and Geneva, I don’t need to resort to such infantile measures to address my cravings. This morning, the furniture on the balcony outside my room at the Club Med Grand Massif Samoëns Morillon hotel is cushioned by nearly 12 inches of snow, making the center table appear like a disproportionately puffed up poof. Outside too, there is big snow everywhere the eye can see–layers and layers of it like the thick marzipan coating on a Christmas cake made by a baker with a generous hand.
Downstairs on the porch, cars are pulling up and decanting guests of assorted nationalities, enthusiastic travellers who have been ferried the 80km from Geneva airport in black Swiss taxis. The comfortably warm lobby too is in a state of happy flux as the friendly French staff receives guests with wide smiles and warmth-inducing alcoholic beverages.
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