Postcards From Chamonix: Roamers Collective Funded Trip

As our most dedicated Roamers Collective crew members know, reaching the top tier of our program makes you an Escapologist. This year, we offered those few folk the opportunity to apply for a fully funded trip, and the winner was Nicole, a Lake District local who's no stranger to a mountain or two.

Nicole picked Chamonix in France for her trip. The draw of the Alps was too good to miss, and she headed out for a couple of weeks to hike, roam, and take in the epic scenery whilst seeing the world from an entirely new perspective.

I grew up in the Lake District and started hiking with my late Dad, and down the line in my life, I gained a partner with the same love for mountains. This has given me a deep appreciation for rugged landscapes, the thrill of a steep ascent, and the quiet peace found up there. They have always felt like old friends, familiar yet always capable of surprising me. I love how they ground me and, at the same time, invite me to climb higher, to see the world from an entirely new perspective.

It’s that love for mountains that recently carried me further afield, to Chamonix. Known as the heart of the Alps, it’s a place I’d dreamed of visiting for years. Stepping into Chamonix felt like entering a mountain lover’s paradise, jagged peaks above the valley, glaciers looking down towards villages, and a whole culture built around alpinism. My trip there became so much more than a holiday, it was a chance to connect with nature and mountains on a new scale. I arrived in Chamonix, and it felt like it had its own heartbeat.

The next morning I woke early and it was time to explore Brevent. The morning began slowly, with the kind of anticipation that makes your chest feel light. I could already see Brevent towering above the valley from our apartment, the cable cars gliding up toward its summit like tiny lanterns against the sky. Part of me wondered what it would feel like to stand up there and how magical it would feel being so far above everything I knew.

We set off to catch the cable car up, as we got higher and higher, the air grew clearer, morning sky divers were soaring in the hazy blue sky which then led my eyes to Mont Blanc. I had to catch my breath at the sight of it, immense, still, and impossibly white against the blue sky. 

It didn’t feel like looking at a mountain, it felt like looking at a presence and at that time, I thought to myself my dad would have LOVED to have seen this view and in that exact moment a flow of wind blew over me, almost like he was telling me this is where I need to be, this is the place that makes me feel alive.

At the top of Brevent, the world stretched endlessly in every direction. Chamonix looked no bigger than a scatter of toys. I lingered at the lookout, letting my eyes take in Mont Blanc, so close it seemed I could reach out and touch it. 

Eventually, the afternoon shadows began to stretch, and I knew it was time to descend. The cable car carried me down, and with every drop the mountains started retreating back into their unreachable distance. By the time I touched the ground again in Chamonix, it felt as though I had returned from another world. 

Our next day in Chamonix we woke extremely early to venture out up to the Aiguille Du Midi to hope for a magical sunrise and a MAGICAL sunrise we got. My breath rose in little clouds as I waited for the first light. The Aiguille du Midi was just a dark shadow at first, a blade of stone against the sky. Then the sun touched it, and it was like watching fire spread. It was almost silent, apart from the gasps and the excited “WOW” from passersby. 

I almost felt like I was intruding on something sacred. For those few minutes, I didn’t think, I didn’t wish, didn’t plan. I just was. I’ve never experienced a feeling like how I felt in that moment. It was nothing short of perfect. 

Once the morning sunrise had faded away, the clear blue horizons came out to play. It wasn’t just blue, it was the purest, deepest blue I’ve ever seen, layers upon layers, with the Mont Blanc massif towering nearby - it was overwhelming, I had this sense of infinity. For a while, I simply stood there, breathing it in, letting the high altitude sink into me. 

At the Aiguille du Midi, I wasn’t thinking of tomorrow or yesterday. I was just standing in the sky, held between mountains and horizon, with a feeling of never wanting to leave. I could stay in this moment forever, but all great days must come to an end. 

The climb to La Flégère for a night by the lac. The trail pulled at me upwards, steady, endless. My bag weighed heavy, but my spirit was light. With every turn up the trail, the mountains were peeling themselves open, what felt like just for me. 

When we reached the lac, it felt like a secret gift, the water lying still, with the reflection of the jagged skyline, it was the perfect camp spot. I set our tent down by the water and sat for a long time, listening to the soft breeze, feeling exhausted from the heat, but I still felt whole. 

The sky changed slowly, as though it wanted me to notice every shift. Orange light melted into rose, then into the softest dusty pink I have ever seen, I couldn’t look away. The lake mirrored everything, as if it wanted to hold the moment as badly as I did. Sitting there, I felt my chest ache, not with sadness, but with the fullness of being EXACTLY where I was meant to be. 

After the light faded, the stars appeared. I lay back next to my partner, taking it all in. I felt so small, but not lonely. Small in the way of belonging to something. I fell asleep with the stars still in my eyes. 

The next morning, packing up felt like a betrayal. I kept glancing back at the lake, at the peaks, at the skies I knew I’d never forget. My boots carried me down, but part of me stayed there, still sitting by the water, still watching the sun melt into the mountains. The view of those mountains and Mont Blanc itself gave me something I didn’t know I needed. 

Our next hike took us up to the Col de Balme, a place where France and Switzerland meet high in the Alps. At the top, Refuge du Col de Balme stood welcoming, a rustic shelter nestled right on the border. I stopped there for a rest, sitting with a cold drink in hand while the breeze carried voices from hikers speaking both French and Swiss German, a reminder of how this mountain pass connects two worlds. 

It was the kind of hike that left me with both a sense of adventure and stillness, the joy of walking between nations, but also the reminder that up there, the mountains belong to everyone and yet to no one. Yet again, our trip was offering us the most beautiful landscapes, where I was just in awe of the place and every hiker passing by with a huge smile on their face. It felt like a community that had come together to all relax and share stories with each other about our adventures in the mountains. 

We set off early for the first train up. The train up was offering us glimpses of what was yet to be seen, peaking through the trees, sharing snippets of the rugged mountains. Once stepping off the train, it felt like the world had shifted. There it was, Mer de Glacé. We couldn’t help but rush towards the trail, which would give us the entire view from above.

The trail wound upward, steady and demanding, each step pulling me higher above the valley. The forest closed around me at first, cool and green, with the sound of rushing water somewhere below. My legs burned, but it felt good. When the trees began to thin, the air sharpened and the views opened, but not completely, only every now and then, like it was a game of hide and seek. 

We reached the top and didn’t get the view we initially wanted as we were fully clouded in, but out of some miracle, hanging around at the top, the cloud shifted and opened for us, and there it was. There was awe, yes, but also a kind of sadness. The glacier looked eternal, but I knew it was retreating, inch by inch, year by year. 

To stand there was to witness something both timeless and fragile, a reminder that even giants fade. The train had carried me here, but the glacier had carried centuries, shaping the mountains long before I arrived and long after I will leave. I feel so lucky and humbled to witness something so majestic and magical. 

My final morning in Chamonix felt heavier than I expected. The mountains towered above me as they had every day, yet I felt the tug of leaving as something sharp in my chest. The peaks felt impossibly close, as if they were leaning in, reminding me of the sunrises, the sunsets, the quiet nights under the stars I had been lucky enough to share with them. 

What made it hard wasn’t just the thought of going home, it was the sense that part of me belonged here now. In the still waters of the mountain lakes, in the glow of pink skies fading over the ridges, in the silence of high trails where only breath and heartbeat kept me company. 

As the road carried me away, the peaks slowly shrinking in the distance, I promised myself this wasn’t an ending, my Chamonix trip had marked me too deeply for that. The holiday might be over, but the mountains stay with me, etched into my memory, waiting for the day I return. Chamonix will forever have my heart.

Follow Nicole's adventures on Instagram @TravelWithNicoleShep. For more Roamers Collective stories, check out last year's winner Alba Estela Morales, who set off on a road trip around the rugged coastline of Menorca, for her funded trip 'Chasing Lighthouses'.

And if this has piqued your interest to join our Roamers Collective and work towards the chance of a funded trip of your own, check out the link below for details on how to apply.