There’s a short story called “The Lottery” by Shirley Jackson, in which, (spoiler alert) the lottery is death. Today, we won a lottery. Despite being in Chamonix for a mere two days, we won the lottery—the rain lottery. Consequently, our cable car ride was canceled; we don’t want a Shirley Jackson-Lottery on our hands. So, we all had the privilege of watching Anthea kick into military-command mode. Suddenly the group was moving. We went to the train station and up the mountain we went. Absolutely beautiful. As a train lover myself, it was a dream.

And when we stopped, we immediately kept going. I thought that it was just the train and the sights. Nope. Surprise! We’re going on a gondola to… a glacier! Inside, it was absolutely freezing (it’s a block of ice). Gorgeous. We all walked through these big tunnels, reading the strange signs that told of its decay from global warming. Stunning.

We headed back, the rain concluding its composition. I went out with friends to do this mountain coaster conglomerate. It was so amazing that half of us went on it a second time. It’s like a rollercoaster that the person can control. It’s also IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ALPS. We then went out for our final lunch and bought chocolate and walked around. There was this weighing energy on us all. We were so close to leaving—so exhausted too.

This brought us to the final dinner. Some dressed up. By some, I mean the girls. Dinner was finished with a Stickley-sing along—a MYO Tour tradition. This year, it was about phantom lovers on their MYO Tour to the tune of ‘Frère Jacques’. We sang along between each verse of poetry, each with limitless humor, escalating to a forlorn manner.

I stood motionless for a while after dinner. I knew I had to go with friends to the small arcade the hotel had, but I was overcome by this edge of despair. For a year, France has been the only certainty in my life. I had no idea where I was going or what would happen, but all I did know was that I was going to France. Watching it complete felt like thievery. I knew that I didn’t want to stay—staying would break the natural formation of the trip—yet nor did I want to go home. What now? Thus, I stood. And then I realized I had to move, or else all time would pass by me.