…loosely translated as “the last hill to climb” could be the motto of the class. However, in hiking, as in life, we never quite reach the last hill but rather, the last hill before the next hill to climb. Je m’explique. My first week in “school” was actually spent in the Jura mountains in the east of France, close to the Swiss border. It was a beautiful countryside filled with cows, forests and cheese…and cow dung. We spent a week “team building” by doing activities such as 7 hour hikes which seemed to never end, because there was always another hill and we always only had 15-20 more minutes to go, until we had yet another 15-20 minutes to go. We went mountain biking (through said cow dung) and zipped through the trees in an adventure course, complete with spectacular semi-landings.
My class is mostly made up of French recent high school grads and a sprinkle of older wannabe chefs, like myself. I do think I win the prize for having been on the earth the longest, though I hope I don’t look it! Among the non-17-year-olds is a former lawyer and a former language professor. I’m the only person from the business world, the only foreigner and the only Asian (hmm, reminds me of my last job). Sometimes these differences make me feel like an imposter, though I prefer to think of it as embarking on a once-in-a-lifetime adventure…
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