For the past four decades, I’d gazed out of my grandparents’ home window at the Criou mountain. It stands majestically, a proud presence towering over the valley—a real landmark for hikers, birds, and paragliders.
Nestled in the French Alps, amidst renowned summits and tales of nighttime expeditions with crampons and ice picks, the Criou may not fit the typical alpine mountain archetype. Nevertheless, in this part of France, she reigns as a true queen, and most of my memories with my grandparents feature glimpses of her.
Yet, over those fortyish years, somehow I’d never climbed the Criou.
Let’s rewind for a moment. Here’s some context: I am French-American, born and raised in San Francisco, yet I’ve spent every summer since birth with my grandparents in a quaint alpine village in Haute-Savoie. It’s indeed a privilege to shuttle between these two gems.
Moreover, spending time with my grandparents was always incredibly enriching, as their lives and stories could easily inspire books and movies. My grandfather, a true local legend, not only survived a work camp in Austria during World War II but also played diverse roles post-war. He became the 11th guide on the “French national high mountain guide registry,” directed alpine centers, created the local radio station, and relished conversation—a crucial aspect of his personality. At heart, he was a teacher and an exceptional storyteller. He would often declare, “Watch this, I’m going to talk for 45 minutes, and no one is going to interrupt me.” Then, he’d launch into captivating discussions about how he’d worked to democratize access to the mountains, on ski expeditions and rescue parties. He’d weave together a myriad of facts, and he was right—no one interrupted him.
My summers in the Alps left an indelible mark on me. Growing up hearing stories about summiting peaks, rescuing people in snowstorms, or casually beating the Austrian ski team in Chamonix, it’s no surprise I fell in love with someone who appreciated high-intensity nature moments. One of my greatest joys is that my husband spent significant time with my grandfather before he passed away at the age of 90.
Despite my grandfather’s mountain escapades stealing the spotlight with tales of skiing,
mountain climbing, hiking, rescues, and community living, none of his stories involved the Criou. To him, it was a mountain of little interest, home to only a few snakes and cows. So, even though it was ever-present in our gaze, I relegated it to a somewhat lower position in my mental mountain hierarchy—until my husband came into the picture.
Embracing the Adventure
We got together when I was 25, and for the next 15 years, whenever we were in France, I’d hear my husband leave at 5 a.m. to hike to the top of the Criou. It would take him anywhere from five to seven hours, and he always returned exhausted and exhilarated, usually after trying to beat his best time.
Strangely, for years, I never even considered accompanying him, which is slightly out of character because I also love hiking and the outdoors. Maybe it was the 5 a.m. wake-up call (I’m just not a morning person) or some strange leftover notion that the Criou wasn’t a good enough peak to bag. Whatever the case, it wasn’t until we moved to the French village of Samoëns in the summer of 2019 that I decided to go for it.
That year, we’d taken a sabbatical from our teaching jobs in San Francisco and moved our family to my grandparents’ home to live with my mom. My grandparents had both passed away, but my mom inherited their home, and it continued to be our summer escape from the fog.
At the end of that summer, we decided to hike to the top of the mountain during the first day of the new school year. Our plan: We’d drop the girls off, and then do a roundtrip hike before swooping them up for their chocolate croissant goûter. Already, I liked that it wasn’t starting at 5 a.m. and that it was ending with pastries.
So, we dropped them off for their first day at the small village school and drove to the base of the Criou. All of this was totally new to me, but my husband had already done it several times. I didn’t question anything that much because we’ve gone on countless hikes together and I really wasn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary. Oh, how wrong one can be.
I really wasn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary. Oh, how wrong one can be.
For the next two-plus hours, we zigzagged on a path in the forest, climbing steadily, our heads covered by so many trees. One hour into it, I was starting to wonder about the trail, and when we might finally emerge from this tree-covered situation. Two hours into the hike later, I was quite relieved by a change in scenery.
So far, this hike was leaving much to be desired, but as we emerged above the tree line, I stopped in my tracks. The view was glorious, overlooking the entire valley, with Switzerland and Italy a stone’s throw away. We were so high up, and could see so far. It was stunning to stand there above the trees, the sun streaming down, and to be at eye level with some hawks.
Plus, there were a couple of paragliders in the air, and I later found out that one of them was Tom Cruise! (Yes, we were on a mountain with Tom Cruise. How many people can say that?) While he was prepping stunt scenes for the next Mission Impossible movie, we were just trying to make it to the top by foot. Everyone’s on their own journey.
For the next 30 minutes, I was in pure bliss. We traversed in the grass, passed by cows, and ran into a few other people, all the while overlooking villages and seeing the paragliders go down and then get helicoptered back up. It was all amazing, as well as peaceful, sunny, and relaxing. I felt proud of having slogged it uphill under a canopy of trees and was enjoying the reward of the views, thinking we just had a little bit longer to go before reaching the giant cross at the peak.
But then, at the last section of the hike—the final 35 minutes—the trail became more vertical than horizontal. Though I considered myself in good shape, I was astounded at how hard it was.
A Grandmother’s Wisdom
As we started our ascent, this is where I slowly began to crumble, shrinking into a smaller and smaller version of myself with each step. Meanwhile, my husband, who hikes more than I do, was pulling ahead, and the gap between us was widening.
Were blisters popping up? I don’t really know, because I couldn’t concentrate on anything other than barely putting one foot in front of the other, which I was doing an awful job at. My usual go-to techniques of meditation and breathwork, which typically keep me calm during tough moments, completely failed me. Suddenly, my entire body was in total freak-out mode and I was shutting down. Just me, having a mental breakdown on top of a mountain.
With 15 minutes left to the top, I stopped. More like, I grunted, then angrily plopped down. I couldn’t believe how hard it was: to lift my foot and place it down again, to keep breathing, and to do it alone, because my husband was already at the top.
I had a private tantrum, cursing the Criou, my husband for abandoning me, and myself for not being strong enough to make it. As I sat there, I made the decision to not continue, to stay where I was sitting and wait for him to come back down. I refused to go on any longer. Like I said, I was having a real private tantrum.
That is, until I heard something that made me turn my head. And there she was, a grandmother, walking past me with her adult son. She paused, smiled, shared how they were from Nepal and loved living in the French alps. And then she continued on her way.
I looked at this old woman, with her kind face, deeply wrinkled eyes, her very slow but steady gait, and felt a moment of gratitude for this reminder to appreciate the present. Watching her pass me as she continued to climb up the mountain inspired me to stand back up. This wasn’t a race; I could do this, and I would be proud of finishing this journey with my partner.
With each breath, I felt my shoulders unwind, my frustration subside, and my mood lift.
Her gentleness and perseverance reminded me of my own grandparents. I was raised on their stories about their upbringing, the hardships they’d endured during World War II, and the hope and joy they’d found by choosing a life filled with exercise, connection, and education in the mountains. They had worked hard to create the life of their dreams, which involved sharing their passion for a mindful way of life with others, and watching this grandmother reminded me so much of them. I wanted to be like them, like her!
So, I closed my eyes and pictured my favorite bedroom in my grandparents’ chalet, where I could see the Criou through the window. I took ten long, deep breaths, inhaling deeply through my nose and exhaling slowly through my mouth. With each breath, I felt my shoulders unwind, my frustration subside, and my mood lift. I don’t know why I couldn’t do this before on my own, but something about seeing this grandmother on the mountain gave me the mental strength I needed to dig deep.
Feeling stronger, I stood up and followed in her footsteps, and made it to the top, where my husband was waiting, with his hand outstretched, holding a huge ham-and-cheese baguette sandwich for me. Was this heaven?
Finding Peace at the Peak
As I sat there next to him, feeling like I was at the top of the world, I took a moment to acknowledge what had just happened inside of me, in the hopes that the next time I was doing something hard and felt like I couldn’t handle it anymore, I would recall that beautiful smiling grandmother and hit the pause button. I’d been so impatient to be at the top already, I nearly forgot to breathe through hard things, to try and find peace in the present moment, and to sometimes just slow down.
I’ve never hiked the Criou again, but that day remains forever etched into my mind as a beautiful life lesson that I can embrace the adventure of life, try new things, test myself, and keep going. Taking 10 long, slow deep breaths is what helped change the energy in my body that day and gave me the extra push to keep going.
Since then, I’ve rededicated myself to my meditation and breathwork practice. That moment on the mountain transformed me into someone who meditates twice daily, breathes intentionally throughout the day, and even teaches these techniques to both kids and adults. I look forward to facing the Criou again someday, with a huge ham-and-cheese sandwich by my side. Fingers crossed that Tom Cruise might be there too.
