Once in a lifetime, you find your perfect (mountain town) match.
After 25 hours of traveling across Europe and a cold, sleepless night on the floor of the Milan Central train station, I landed in La Grave, France late last January. It was early evening as I rolled down La Grave’s main drag. The town was quiet and mostly closed, save for the low din of guffaws coming from the Le Bois des Fees bar. Though the Meije, the 13,068-foot peak that overlooks the valley, was obscured by clouds and darkness, I could sense that it was there, somewhere above me. It had the gravitational pull of the moon and had drawn me, over many years and miles, into its orbit.