A few more glimpses of the village of Risoul under a new fall of snow. Rather off the beaten track for glitzy winter sports, which suits us very well. The ski pistes are further up the mountain at Risoul 1850, the same altitude as the far more glamorous Courchevel further north into the French Alps.
Above the church the road was silent and smelled enticingly of wood smoke mixed with incense. I was drawn inside to find a spartan wooden interior and an intriguing story of sainthood and perfume from the seventeeth century which I shall have to tell another day.
