Briançon, almost at the end of valley when you drive south from Grenoble. Our fantastic, character-filled French shepherd doesn't like this place at all, but I didn't think it was too bad - doubtless the unrelenting sunshine had something to do with that. ^^ I could get rid of the McDonalds quite happily, though; the damn things are everywhere!
Notes for me:
To start: we stayed at a low-lying campground in the valley, Dad in Betty's little Quechua tent and me in the back of the van. Dinner was... baguette, tomato, salt and pepper? Must have been slightly more substantial - but no, wait, this was the first night and we'd just discovered we had no gas to cook with. 'Twas sandwiches and yoghurt, I think.
On the road again: we drive to the nearest village, Dad whips back to get fresh croissants for breakfast, and I take thirty-odd pictures from different positions in the parking lot (ignoring the crowd of men rugged up against the morning chill, breath frosting, still weary from yesterday's work, who give me half-amused glances from the roadside).
Magnificent doesn't even come close.
We took the road further up into the hills to the west, heading eventually to the Cirque d'Archiane - this was a detour, simply a beautiful bridge in a beautiful place. Dad also picked up a very useful piece of pipe, later to be used as hammer, shearing aid and telecommunication provider.
The Cirque itself, or the head of the valley at least. We stopped for a super-strong cappuccino at a little cafe/post-shop/supermarket, and had the opportunity to speak to a person in English, yes! ^^
Walking further on. The day was bright and the mountains around us completely enveloping. There were climbers and trampers everywhere, and it definitely wasn't hard to see why!
In the visitor's centre.
Half an hour's drive away, back east and then up one of the twistiest farm tracks I've ever had the pleasure of travelling along. Dad certainly went wrong with the navigation there. :P We have lunch here, and dried the camping gear.
A bottle of Genepi-flavoured drink, very similar to lemonade but with a slight herbal taste. It was an impulse purchase back at the Cirque d'Archiane. ^^
Goats!
The condensation of maybe an hour's driving into a single picture. :)
Over the border: Italy! This is one of only three shots of Oulx, a town I remember most strongly as having ridiculously priced sport shoes - and, as a close second, for being scrunched over the tiny flat service in the front of the van, scribbling on the backs of the postcards I'd bought in the Cirque d'Archiane. Wolves, goats, birds, maybe a marmot? I was writing with what I recall as passion but probably came over as a little bit of lunacy. Oh well. Had to use those Italian stamps somehow!
Welcome to the Frejus Tunnel Experience! We were driving through that long, dark hole in the ground for almost quarter of an hour, during which time I discovered I could make pretty light-pictures with long exposure and dramatic arm movements. ^^
This was the border between Italy and... where? The 1800's, I think it was. Sardinia? Ah: Wikipedia informs me that the Frejus tunnel connects Bardonnechia, Italy, and Modane. The fort above straddles the boundary between France and the vanished Kingdom of Sardinia (until 1860), as well as being a strategic hotspot in both World Wars. This valley was also the scene of the worst rail disaster of the century, in which 543 French soldiers were killed.
Back in la République française. (My capitals are probably all wrong there, but you get the idea.)
This is an expanse of grass and wildflowers to the side of an almost-deserted valley road, which I think is breath-taking and thus photographed at least twenty times. Dad made fun of me for it, of course.
Getting higher and higher: we're on a road to Italy once more, and aiming to cross the pass before finding somewhere to stop for the night. At this point I was slightly nervous about the fading light (at night, these roads would have to be taken at less than a snail's pace).
If only this picture wasn't blurry!
Now, this one has to be. It's super-zoom, and a marmot.
The very top of the pass.
Descending from the Col d'Iseran: just to show how windy these roads really are. :)
Evening is here, and we drive through a string of exclusive ski towns - all with the name 'Val d'Isere', to make the most of what must be a world-beating brand in outdoor sports.
About a half-hour further on, Dad and I cross the narrow valley to stay at a municipal camping ground in Tignes. We arrived too late to pay, but at the perfect time to use the showers and heat up one of the worst ready-meals I've ever tasted. I now agree with Dad: pasta shouldn't be put in cans! 
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