Friday, August 15, 2008

Further on the long walk

on the trough.jpg
photo: Henry Shere


PRELIMINARY STATISTICS, slightly revised:

Elevation change: 51,300 meters, roughly, or about 167,000 feet, which is about five and three-quarters Mt. Everests. But this is pretty rough, and could range up to 20% off either way. The average is 1,500 meters/day (4,760 feet/day) (Mt. St. Helena is 4,344 feet, 1,323 meters)

Distance: roughly 725 kilometers, or 450 miles. Averages: 21 km (13.6 miles) per day; 3 km (1.875 miles) per hour (rests included)

Time: about 245 hours on the trail (rests included) in 35 days of walking; five rest days.
Average: 7 hours/day; but some days were twelve hours long.

Weight lost: about 12 pounds.

Other oddity: One shoelace stretched two inches in length over the other (unless the other shrank two inches for some reason).

I'm writing about the trip, but doing it day by day, perhaps with a photo book in mind, like the one I did last year of our Dutch walk (The Lingepad). But it's tough writing; notes are scattered among a number of places; photo times are problematic; etc., etc.

Thursday, August 14, 2008

Eating every one of those days

A TENTATIVE LISTING of the meals (chiefly dinners) eaten during our Long Walk, June 20-July 28, and the week or so following while on vacation in Nice and the Netherlands; and then, to bring us up to date, the last few days here at home:
June 19 Amsterdam dinner at Marius: vitello tonnato, duck breast with vegetables, fruit and ice cream
June 20 Creusaz hotel l’Alpage: trout, pommes frites, salad
21 Dent d'Oche refuge: soup, grey beef, chocolate pudding
22 Chalet de Bise restaurant: soup, biot (Savoie sausage) and polenta
23 La Chapelle d'Abondance hotel: guinea fowl
24 La Chapelle d'Abondance tartaflette
25 Bassachaux refuge: chicken soup, tartaflette, tarte à myrtilles
26 Mines d'Or gite: gazpacho, poulet Basquaise
27 Samoëns restaurant: tartaflette
28 Samoëns restaurant: salad, lamb, crème brulée
29 Chalet d'Anterne refuge: nettle soup, pork loin, mashed potatoes
30 Chamonix restaurant: salade Niçoise
July 1 Chamonix restaurant: grilled lamb chops, peppers, tomato
2 les Contamines restaurant: bad unmemorable “Italian” food
3 Croix de Bonhomme refuge: soup, polenta Bolognese
4 la Balme refuge: spare ribs Coca-cola
5 Landry hotel: paté, boeuf Bourgignon
6 Col du Palet refuge: soup, biot and polenta
7 Val d'Isère restaurant: biot and polenta
8 Bonneval gite: stuffed zucchini, steak
9 Lanlesbourg hotel: Savoyard dalad, blancs de volaille
10 Bramans hotel: rabbit
11 Modane hotel: pork loin, crudités
12 Susa, Bardonecchia lunch: Canitna del Ponte, Susa: what? restaurant, Bardonecchia: gnocchi
13 Thabor refuge: lasagne
14 Plampinet gite: jambon melon, tartiflette
15 Briançon hotel: Caprese, boeuf brochette, salad
16 Villar-San. Pancrace gite crudités, chicken, rice, cheeses
17 La Chalp refuge: "Niçoise" salad, chicken, potatoes Dauphinois
18 Ceillac refuge: soup, poulet Basquaise, cheese, salad, strudel
19 Fouillouse refjuge: soup, chicken, mixed vegetables, salad, linzertart
20 Larche hotel: quiche, salad, chicken tagine, cheese, fruit
21 St. Dalmas hotel: Maigret de canard, cote de porc
22 Roya refuge: potato-pea soup, boeuf daube with pasta
23 Vacherie de Roure thick vegetable soup, ham with pineapple, risotto with eggplant, cheese, flan
24 St. Dalmas en Valbore restaurant:cheese feuilleté, colin, white rice with pistou, salad
25 Utelle apartment-residence: rissoles, salmon steak, crème caramel
26 Nice restaurant: Salade Niçoise
27 la Gaude party: grilled steak, salad, cheese. Dinner, restaurant: fish soup
28 Nice restaurant: lunch: socca. Dinner, restaurant: fish soup, salad
29 Nice: lunch, Menton, what? dinner, Nice restaurant: assiette Niçoise, Salade Niçoise, socca.
30 Nice lunch, San Remo: sandwiches. Dinner chez McKee: chicken curry.
31 lunch, l"Orée du Port: fish soup, moules. Dinner, Rendezvous des Amis, Nice: artichoke terrine, chicken fricasee in pastis with rouille, prune clafoutis.
Aug. 1 lunch, Restaurant As, Amsterdam: Steak tartare; dinner, restaurant in Apeldoorn: broth, freshwater fish, complex dessert.
2 lunch Hoge Veluwe: pannekoek. Dinner chez Elfring, Apeldoorn: what?
3 dinner chez Elfring, Voorburg: lasagne
4 dinner, Piccola Italia, Middelburg: insalata, spaghetti carbonara
5 dinner, hotel 't Schouwse Hof, Aalsmeer: beef bouillon, slibtong, salad, vegetables, potatoes, ice cream and berries
6 dinner in airplane: chicken with rice
7 dinner at home: Salade Niçoise
8 dinner at home: Salade Niçoise
9 wedding dinner: pulled pork, rice, beans
10 lunch at home: cheese and salad
11 dinner at home: sole, lima beans, salad
12 dinner at home: grilled steak, lamb chops, salad
13: lunch: half a pan bagnat. Dinner, Café Chez Panisse: figs with mint and arugula in crème fraîche, duck confit with figs.
14: lunch, Willi’s Wine Bar, Santa Rosa: roast marrow bones.
Oh: and in this period I lost about ten pounds!

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Ending the Alpwalk

WE WALKED INTO THE SEA yesterday, ending our long walk across the French Alps.

Well, not really, of course; the boots have been too good to me to treat them that badly. I contented myself with a slight touch of toe to surf; then turned round and walked the three blocks to the flat we're crashing in.

The last day was a surprise to me: I'd expected anticlimax and hours of urban walking; but it was much nicer than that. True: we'd already seen the Mediterranean, and Nice. But the walk from Levens to Aspremont, while tiring because of heat and steep climbing, was in hills and forest: and the walk from Aspremont to Nice took us through surprising country, open and wild, only at the very end dumping us into the top suburbs leading then quickly down to Jean Medecin and the beach.

I'm at another French keyboard so will cite only a few preliminary statistics here -- at my own keyboard; eventually, I'll try to make some sense of this trip, with photos. In the meantime:

Distance: roughly 725 kilometers, or 450 miles
Time: about 210 hours on the trail (rests included) in 33 days of walking; 5 rest days
Averages: 21 km (13.6 miles) per day; 3.4 km (2.14 miles) per hour (rests included)
Elevation change: Haven't worked this out yet; but I've read the walk is the equivalent of four times up and down Mt. Everest; and I don't doubt it.

I took 1,787 photographs during the 38 days of the walk, so some editing will have to be done...

Now we rest two more days in and around Nice, and then fly to The Netherlands to join Lindsey who I haven't seen for 35 days, the longest we've been apart in 52 years!

Saturday, July 26, 2008

Nice, provisionally

Well we are here in Nice, but not quite: we haven't really finished the walk. Increasingly we find it hard to find a bed; and after 20 miles of walking, much up and down, a bed is a nice thing to find.

Today we reached Levens without too much trouble, but found the hotels, gites, and so on all full. Horse show in town.

What about next town; I asked the bureau touristique: also full. It's July; Brits and Nederlanders have filled the beds.

So we took the bus to Nice and crashed in a friend's flat. To,orroz is q dqy of reposem you see hoz this french keyboqrd is zorking:

Monday we take the bus back to Levens and finish the walk legitimately. I'll let you kknoz detqils lqter zhen the keyboqrd speqks english:

Thursday, July 10, 2008

Day 21: Bramans

WELL, WE DIDN'T GET FAR today. It's hot and a little humid and I think somehow being down here in a valley instead of up there in the mountains has somehow made a difference. We walked about five miles altogether; stopped to investigate an archaeological museum, stopped for lunch; and decided to stay at the hotel-restaurant for the night, the alternative being six hours more of walking, to Modane.

An interesting conversation with the hotel proprietor at tea this afternoon. We'd been to the grocery-post office whose sign said it opened at 2:30; but by four it still wasn't open. He shrugged. Around here, signs, they don't mean anything, people open when they're ready to.

Are we in Italy, I asked, or Provence? Worse, he said, we're here in Bramans; around here no one really has to do anything, the houses are empty much of the time; people from Netherlands, England, Paris, wherever, come live here for a few months until they're bored; then they go to Morocco or wherever. The towns are rich, but empty.

And it's bad for the people who really are from here; they aren't rich, but the town is classified as rich; so they have to make the best of it.

So it all becomes clear. These towns on the Arc valley in the Maurienne are hyped in the tourist machinery as "authentic" villages in the past; cars are asked to park on the outskirts; there aren't any neon signs or for that matter much street illumination; all that is just fine with me, but it's pretty artificial.

Of course it isn't really artificial at all. It's a logical way for a village to be: tranquil, clean, pretty. We could all wish our own villages to be so; and if more were, this would be normal, and the nagging feeling something's simply been staged for the benefit of a tourist economy would go away.

Most of the towns these last three days, Lanslebourg excepted, have been pretty small potatoes -- one church; one cafe, one hotel if any. Not too many people in the streets; perhaps it's just too hot. Getting from one town to the next has been fine; dirt roads through fields and forests for the most part; often thankfully in the shade.

Tomorrow we'll hit Modane, and from there take a train to Chiomonte for the day. Then it's up and at 'em: climbing back into the mountains for the push to the next big town of the walk, Briançon. I'll be glad to be back up there.

Wednesday, July 09, 2008

Lanslebourg

FIRST, A CORRECTION to the previous blog: as Thérèse pointed out, a better URL for the photos is here.

We are now in Lanslebourg, in the valley of the Arc, working our way quickly enough toward Modane. This excites me a little; from Modane we can easily take a train on a day off and cross into Italy to visit the town Lindsey's father was born in. I haven't been there since the winter Olympics, which undoubtedly changed things greatly, and I'm eager to introduce Henry to the town his great-grandfather came from.

The Arc valley is a lower variant of the GR5 that we're taking from Geneva (Evian, actually) to Nice; in a way, perhaps we're cheating a bit. I don't feel too bad about that, since we've already had plenty of climbing: the other day we actually climbed 5,762 feet in one day.

The Arc is billed, in a guidebook I'm using, as particularly interesting historically, for its authentic vernacular architecture and all that. Last night's stop was Bonneval-sur-Arc: a twin city with Les Baux en Provence. Like that village it seems quite inauthentic to me, very much a museum piece, artificial. But pretty enough; and far from the quality of the upper Savoyard places we've been in up to now.

Today's walk was perhaps 20 km and mostly flat, through fields and forest on dirt roads, very comfortable. Tomorrow will be similar: then after the Italian interlude we tackle higher mountains again, and longer days since the distances between refuges will be further. We'll see how that goes.

Tuesday, July 08, 2008

photos

You can see a few photos taken a week or so ago at

http://www.flickr.com/photos/14329090@N04/sets/72157606041033930/

Bonneval sur Arc

Bonneval-sur-Arc

We crested the highest pass we'll be on on this entire walk today, and it was remarkably easy. The Col d'Iseran is 2770 meters high, and we started from Val d'Isere, nearly 900 meters lower; once cresting it, we dropped 900 meters again, to this town, where we spend the night.

The col itself was a little disappointing, crowded with daytrippers in cars and on motorcycles, with an expensive souvenir shop-cafe and an interesting but unmemorable stone chapel.

But the descent! It took us through a narrow gorge, the torrent far below us at first. At one point the path was only a foot or so wide, with quite a drop to the torrent. Then we came out into a beautiful valley set about with a number of ancient stone "chalets," some of them being refurbished apparently for vacation or weekend use.

There's a lot more I'd like to write, but this blog is getting so confused, what with delays in posting and confusions with keyboards, that I'll stop with this.

If this post works out iti proves that the folding keyboard, Palm web access, and wifi can do the job. If so, I'll try to put some order into this thing.

Monday, July 07, 2008

Day 14: Refuge de la Croix-Bonhomme

A DAY OF RAIN, our first. Oh well. We left a nice cheap hotel in Les Contamines aty about 8 am, walking a delightful road along the bonnant river which had done considerable damage the day before yesterday (all this written some days ago). It was misty but we were drey, walking under trees. In good time we reached the baroque Chapel of Notre-Dame de la Gorge where a number of miracles have apparently been done.

Then we were on a Roman road. XCould this be the Via Alpina? It was steep, for the gorge really strts here, and is well paved with stone, much of it native and undisturbed; and it features a Roman bridge with a fine arch over an amazingly deep and vicious gorge.

The road was a bit of a scramble, and though we were still under foliage th emist was getting heavy. In another 45 minutes we came to a chalet, though, a house featureing a sort of cafe in what might have been its salon or living room, and here a handsome fellow fluent in Italian as well as Frency served us a fine pot of tea, and we lingered over it for a half-hyour.

Oustide it had begun to rain seriously. I'd already put my backpack raincover on: now I drewe on my rain-pants, and we slogged on up the Roman road, finally into quite exposed alpage pastures, to the refute at la Balme, where we had another pot of tea and delicious little tartelettes a myrtille.

From there, though, the walking grew difficult. We were still ascending, across fields braide with freshets, losing our way at one point, finally scrampbling up to a small hut where we cowered with a couple of Brits and a couple of Australians for half an hour.

Chocolate was passed around, desuotorey conversation attempted, and then out again into the rain, walking a traverse now most of the time thakfully instead of climbing, to the true col and, after an hour, our Refuge.

It's big and full. wwe sti at a long table and nurse mulled wine and look out at the mountains which come and go under their mists. DInner will be served in a few minutes, at seven, so I soon stop.

This was our 11th day of walking, and we may have hit our stride: we seem to be keeping up with the guidebook timetable. Today we walked 22 kilometers, just short of 15 miles. We climbed 1280 meters . In the walk to date we have gained and dropped about 14,000 meters, which is to say about 44,000 feet -- it hardly seems possible. We are presently at 8100 feet. And a little tired, but not much, and we feel great.

That written a couple of days ago. Yesterday we climbed 5762 feet, from Landry to the Refuge Pas de Palet, in nine hours walking. Today we're in Val d#Isere; tomorrow Bonneval sur l'Arc: I'll try to post from there.

Wednesday, July 02, 2008

Day 8, Samoens

IMAGINE TWO LITTLE dots on the "e" in Samoens, whose final "s" is silent. (Like the "p" in "swimming," my father used to say.)

The town is an old one, once considerably larger, then fallen on hard times, now rebounding thanks to tourism. More sports and souvenir shops than bakeries, always a troubling sign. But a nice town nonetheless.

It was here that Marie-Louise Cognac-Jay was born. She founded the Paris department store La Samaritaine. She made a lot of money, as you can imagine; and she put a lot of that back into her native town.

Especially notable is the garden she endowed, la .Jaysinia, small but elegant, part botanical garden, part arboretum, climbing a hill behind the main street. (Practically the only street, when it comes to cafes and businesses.)

There yesterday we noticed a tall thin rather elegant man, say in his fifties, a typically French-looking man I thought with an aquiline nose and piercing dark eyes. He was accompanied by a beautiful Asian woman, very stylishly dressed but not at all excessively, and a very pretty little girl.

When I first saw them he was seated in an armchair that had been carved out of the stump of a failed tree, the girl on his lap reaching up to kiss him, the wife standing by, camera in hand.

We struck up a conversation and the woman admitted she has secretly photograPhed Mac and me, telling her husband that I was him in twenty years. "I hope your next twenty years are as happy as my last twenty have been, " I told him; "with a wife like yours, I'm sure they will be."

They turned out to be Chinese, living in Yunnan; he's here on a professional tour; he's an ethnobotanist working on a project pooling genetic material of useful plants from all over the world. I told him that my mother was born in Shanghai; Mac told him his wife Margery worked as an antropologist in China.

La monde est petite, the French say with their brilliant originality; it's a small world. As we entered Samoens yesterday, Henry and I, in our automobile (commandeered on the road at Les Allamands), who should we find sipping her green tea in the covered market (active only on Wednesdays) but our Austrian, who we first met in the refuge at Bassachaux a few days back.

She travels with a ten-kilo pack containing a little fireplace, utensiles, change of clothing, and notebooks. She always prepares her own food, cooking it over the metal-pot firepit.

She doesn't carry water; just a wooden cup; and she never passes a source of water, trough or tap, without drinking a cup. She walks an hour and rests five minutes; walks four hours and rests one.

She can't weigh a hundred pounds, is slim, muscular, close-cropped, grey, just fifty, and incredibly strong and healthy. Also incredibly good-humored. She too had photographed us and promised to e-mail the result: when I gave her my card, "Oh, you're a writer," she said; "what do you write?"

"Whatever I like," I told her. "I write too," she said, "but books you wouldn't be interested in, about cats and dogs, and how to raise them, and such."

She should write about her walking, I thought; she has much to teach others.

We stay here today, resting up; our next day's walk apparently involves both snow and a ladder or two. I look forward to it.

Days 8-12, from Les Contamines

LONG TIME SINCE contact; sorry. And now once again I work on an unfamiliar keyboard at a slow connection.

The weather has been cooperative; the housing adequate. Today for example an easy walk of ca. 6 hours from Les Houche, reached by bus from Chamonix where we'd stayed two nights, to Les Contamines; a pretty tourist town: tomorrow we have a harder day to La Croix de Bonhomme.

Why two nights at Cha,onix; not my favorite town? Because the day before arriving there we walked a hard day: 10,000 feet of vertical displacement in twelve hours on the trail; two of which were resting.

There's so much to say about this trip: the people we meet, places we stay, the landscape which is truly splendid. Mostly, though, it's left foot, right foot; and I think often about verticality, and different ways of planting those feet, and different muscles, bones, and tendons. An anatomy lesson every ten minutes.

And how to walk on snow, wet stones, and so on; and the difference between walking on the level or down- or uphill; which you do up to about fifteen to twenty degrees; and climbing, which takes over next; and scrambling, my least favorite.

I'm sorry, too, that I'm not able to attach photos; not that photos would do this landscape justice. Much will have to wait for a more favorable technology. For now I just want to assure any who care that we are in as good health as before our beginning this walk; and undoubtedly stronger. But we have a way to go: we've only covered a fifth or so of the distance!

Friday, June 27, 2008

Day 5; 6; 7: Samoens

APOLOGIES FIRST: for the double send of the lqst dispqtch; qnd for the odd spelling here! I am using a French keyboard; and the sun is in my eyes:

From Chapelle dAbondqnce we walked rqther easily up through forest; past a fine waterfall; then scrambling up stony paths through woods and finally across snow patches to a col and down through alpages -- pastures peopled if that is the word by nice Abondqnce cows -- and ultimatlely to the Refuge de Bassachaux; where we had a nice roo, to ourselves overlooking the terrace: Good dinner; comfortable bed; fine breakfast.

Yesterday; day 6, oh; theres the commq*a; was a bit harder especially at the end. It began easily enough with a stroll along a flat dirt road leading to Switwerlqnd; cuckoos appropriqtely singing in the forests below the trail. Once across the frontier (nonexistqnt) we found a gite, alas not yet open; where a number of wo,en wwere preparing the opening twà dqys hence: wqshing tables (we were not allowwed to sit at them), wiping down telephone books (no kidding), and such. Uncomprehendingly we walked on past the Lac Vert and up to a col overlooking fine alpages; different cows here; flora too:

We met our Austrian *again, a young 50 very slender vegetariaqn and very strong and pleasant who hqs walked many trails and is preparing the aPPqlachian pacific crezt and rocky ,ountain: a brqve femme:

Then back into Franbce for q difficult descent through pasture on rutted stony trqil; stepping carefully and descending steeply; to the refuge mines dor - there really zere gold mines here: A fine room agqin and a nice dinner; also q ga,e of boules before dinner:

This ,orning rqther harder; cli,bing to a steep col; then dozn dozwn down to Samoens: where ze perhaps stay long enough to ,aster this da,n keyboqrd:

Donùt count on it

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Day 4: Chapelle d'Abondance

Chapelle d'Abondance, June 24--

Let's see: where was I? Oh yes: up early yesterday to watch the cows brought in for milking. One man and three dogs invited them down from the flowery pastures to the milk-barn. All three dogs looked the same to me, black and white, border collies or whatever.

One was the one who always snapped at the water when you washed your handss or filled your bottle at the trough; very annoying. Another, apparently younger, was on a long rope held by the gardien; maybe he was in training.

The cows looked at me curiously, then turned back to their own path to the barn. They're red and white, short-horned, of the Abondance breed, established during the 19th century: there's a plaque telliing me all this here in town, with a nice statue in open ironwork of a cow.

Anyhow after breakfast we ascended the pasture without much trouble, stopping to rest now and then, and then came to Pas de la Bosse at 1816 meters. From there a fine view back over last night's chalet to the pass from which we'd descended yesterday -- I'm sorry I can't post photos from this folding computer! -- and a pleasant view forward: for there, in the distance, lay Chapelle d'Abondance and, I assumed, a hot bath.

But first the long descent, and just now those hurt far more than the climbs. At first it was easy enoough, on switchbacks on dirt cowpaths. Halfway down we made some kind of mistake and lost the path.

We had to bushwhack through vegetation reaching almost our knees, thick lush growth hiding stones and marmot-holes. This is hard on the ankles, but ultimately we rejoined the rutted switchback path, not that much better.

The vegetation! Dozens of varieties of wildflower: gentians, orchids, buttercups, trollius, wild rose, violets... and dozens more we don't identify. The fragrance is wonderful: it's like walking past a gigantic open honeyjar.

At the bottom of the steep descent we entered a forest of evergreens, leading to a place apparently being "developed" into summer chalet country; and then we walked down through a sort of educational nature reserve with panels describing tle local flora and fauna, finally coming to town.

We were hot, tired, footsore, and hungry, and stopped at th firs hotel: La Gentianette, I think. We showered and changed an went to the next hotel for lunch -- omelette fines herbes and a green salad for me -- and then relaxed. We have a swimming pool, a sauna, a Turkish bath, and a room with a nice balcony and A BATHTUB!

The town's a bit depressing to me; I see it as four or five fine old stone buildings surrounded by new stuff built in the last forty years, the transition from locally sustainable agricultural economy to globally dependent leisure industry. Judging by the number of cars in the lots, and the number of closed sporting-goods shops, the previous economy may return.

We're here for a rest day; tomorrow we resume the march. I've seen a number of GR5 walkers today, on our own stroll back from the supermarket a couple of miles down the road. There'll be company.

Day 4: Chapelle d'Abondance

Chapelle d'Abondance, June 24--

Let's see: where was I? Oh yes: up early yesterday to watch the cows brought in for milking. One man and three dogs invited them down from the flowery pastures to the milk-barn. All three dogs looked the same to me, black and white, border collies or whatever.

One was the one who always snapped at the water when you washed your handss or filled your bottle at the trough; very annoying. Another, apparently younger, was on a long rope held by the gardien; maybe he was in training.

The cows looked at me curiously, then turned back to their own path to the barn. They're red and white, short-horned, of the Abondance breed, established during the 19th century: there's a plaque telliing me all this here in town, with a nice statue in open ironwork of a cow.

Anyhow after breakfast we ascended the pasture without much trouble, stopping to rest now and then, and then came to Pas de la Bosse at 1816 meters. From there a fine view back over last night's chalet to the pass from which we'd descended yesterday -- I'm sorry I can't post photos from this folding computer! -- and a pleasant view forward: for there, in the distance, lay Chapelle d'Abondance and, I assumed, a hot bath.

But first the long descent, and just now those hurt far more than the climbs. At first it was easy enoough, on switchbacks on dirt cowpaths. Halfway down we made some kind of mistake and lost the path.

We had to bushwhack through vegetation reaching almost our knees, thick lush growth hiding stones and marmot-holes. This is hard on the ankles, but ultimately we rejoined the rutted switchback path, not that much better.

The vegetation! Dozens of varieties of wildflower: gentians, orchids, buttercups, trollius, wild rose, violets... and dozens more we don't identify. The fragrance is wonderful: it's like walking past a gigantic open honeyjar.

At the bottom of the steep descent we entered a forest of evergreens, leading to a place apparently being "developed" into summer chalet country; and then we walked down through a sort of educational nature reserve with panels describing tle local flora and fauna, finally coming to town.

We were hot, tired, footsore, and hungry, and stopped at th firs hotel: La Gentianette, I think. We showered and changed an went to the next hotel for lunch -- omelette fines herbes and a green salad for me -- and then relaxed. We have a swimming pool, a sauna, a Turkish bath, and a room with a nice balcony and A BATHTUB!

The town's a bit depressing to me; I see it as four or five fine old stone buildings surrounded by new stuff built in the last forty years, the transition from locally sustainable agricultural economy to globally dependent leisure industry. Judging by the number of cars in the lots, and the number of closed sporting-goods shops, the previous economy may return.

We're here for a rest day; tomorrow we resume the march. I've seen a number of GR5 walkers today, on our own stroll back from the supermarket a couple of miles down the road. There'll be company.

Monday, June 23, 2008

Day 3: Chalet de Bise

But it was a harder day than I anticipated. Up about five to see the dawn and take photos, then write with a first coffee -- black, in a bowl, with sugar, okay. Then, at seven, our real breakfast: cafe au lait, bread butter and jam. Not very nourishing for the kind of thing we're doing.

You can't really complain about the Refuge du Dent d'Oche, though: everything's brought in weekly by helicopter, and the gardien makes a trip three times a week to Bernex for bread and such,carrying everything up on his back. Incredible.

We packed up and set out, climbing to the summit of the Dent d'Oche fairly easily, then descending along narrow fairly level footpaths at the edge of the precipice -- the north side of the Dent being virtually vertical -- then rounding the top to descend along an arrete, a spine of small-to-midsize exposed rock falling away on each side quite steeply.

A ridge, in fact, descending at say thirty degrees. Often we were helped by cables attached to the rock: you give up using your walking sticks, hold them both in one hand, grab the cable with the other (left in this case), swing away from the rock to the next footing, then quickly slide your hand further along the cable for the next operation.

This is fairly exhausting, but more normal descent, on scree, cobbles, and occasionally exposed soil, often stepping down six to ten inches at a step, is tiring in another way. Yesterday I was concerned about Mac; today about myself. Quadriceps and knees complained bitterly as we stepped down hundreds of meters on frustrating switchbacks, and then we were faced with another chimney, shinnying up between two stone surfaces, again with a cable to help, only to resume the switchbacks.

Ultimately all this led us to -- the GR5, the trail we intend to take south to Nice. First there was a climb of some hundreds of meters up switchbacks like those we'd just descended to a pass which seemed to define a new area: we were leaving the influence of Lac Leman and entering a different kind of Haute Savoie, a kind more like the Chartreuse we know from thirty years ago.

A beautiful green lake beckoned to us down off the path, but visiting it would have required otherwise unnecessary descents and climbs. Didn't take long to decline that invitation.

Instead we continued, walking into a herd of at least forty bouquetins, most of them adults with long, elegantly curved horns. I suppose they might have looked menacing, but I just walked forward, parting the herd.

Next came a much gentle descent, but one which took us across occasional patches of snow, unfamiliiar footing to me but rather pleasant. We found our way next up to the Col de Bise, another demarcation, and below us but oh so far away was the day's goal, the Chalets de Bise.

One of the two chalets is a refuge run by the Alpine Club, its sleeping facilities similar to those at Dent d'Oche but less spartan. We were first to arrive so were given three lower bunkss at the end of the row, under a window.

We were invited to wash our clothes if we liked, and finally I had an opportunity for a sponge-bath. We washed the clothes in cold water in a trough, leaving a few moss-stains in my pants which in any case now have a good-sized tear on the seat -- I must have slid on something unknowingly.

And we had a decent lunch, at two o'clock, a big salad with bacon, egg, walnuts, croutons and of course lettuce, good lettuce; and a bottle of local white wine.

The Canadians arrived shortly after us, in good cheer but just as tired, and joined us for lunch; we'll dine with them in a minute. Tonight a storm is promised: good. It'll clear the air. But tomorrow may rain, and we have to walk in it for three hours or so to get to Le Chalet d'Abondance. We'll see how it goes.

Day 2 : Dent d'Oche

This second day started well, proved difficult later, ended oddly, at least in my experience. I rose at six to do some writing and thinking; no one stirred; even the parrot was relatively sedate.

At seven, though, we were served a hearty breakfast: the usual croissant, sliced baguette, and coffee au lait, plus orange juice and, later, two fried eggs and big rashers of ham.

We went then down into Bernex, following first a paved road, then a grassy and stony mulepath. We had to wait only five minutes or so for the village store to open, where we found some dry sausage sticks, apples, and peanuts for the day's lunch, and a bottle of water for me.

Across the street the tourist shop was open, but their only hats were heavy winter felt affairs and one straw sized, I think, for Charlie McCarthy; so I bought some sunscreen and let it go at that.

We walked up the asphalt road, infrequently traveled, to Trossy and beyond, finally arriving at Fetiuere where the cafe would open in an hour, at eleven; but the manager saw our disappointment and gave us three coffees and welcome chairs on the terrace -- gratis!

Then began the real day's walk. At first we were in a forest, and the way was packed earth, occasionally a bit muddy, over loose stones. Quickly this led to a harder way, crossing the contours and climbing sharply, many more loose stones but still shaded.

Then we heard sheepbells ahead, and dogs barking, and came upon a small flock just moved into a paddock within temporary electric fence and guarded by two nervous sheepdogs. Now we were in full sunlight, and remained so generally for the rest of the day -- a warm one.

The way continued to climb but began to alternate between climbs and contours, rising above the forest and leading into high pastures with here and there a small herd of heifers, finally to a promising fromagere, an ancient stone building where cheese was made -- closed, of course, the tables and chairs fenced off in a most unfriendly manner, and a prominent sign

Le maison n'a pas des toilettes
Voir la Dame Nature

There was however a long concrete trough with two jets of cold water streaming into it, and here we rinsed our hands and soaked our head-scarfs and rested.

Now we were joined by a number of other walkers, solitaries, couples, and two or three families with children. The path splits here at the Chalet d'Oche, and we took the left, climbing through high pasture on a steep stony trail with many switchbacks.

Always we wondered how we would come to the day's goal, the Refuge du Dent d'Oche, always out of sight the other side of a prominent rock outcropping. Would we round that outcropping on the left or the right?

Neither, it turned out; there is a narrow way, a sort of chimney, in a cleft; and here we no longer walked, we scrambled, often hauling ourselves up hand over hand with the help of chains and cables thoughtfully pinned to the rock.

It was exhausting, but it led to a magnificently placed refuge, its small patio providing views over the whole of Lac Leman and the Alps, Mont Blanc a challenging distant mysterious white presence beyond all.

The Refuge accommodates 60 guests in three "dortoirs," big common rooms with box-beds, really only thin mattresses on the floors, set side by side in rows. There's one toilet, a Turkish affair; you hang onto a rope with your left hand to steady yourself and keep he door closed in front of you as you do your business.

There is no running water, though a bucket of cold water is thoughtfully provided just outside the toilet door for rinsing one's hands. Otherwise there is no way to clean up here.

But the view is splendid. Henry and I climbed to the summit, maybe twenty minutes away, and found a chamois there, grazing quite near the handful of visitors who seemed stunned and silenced by the view -- and inspiring it certainly is.

Dinner was soup, pasta, slabs of roast beef, cheese, and canned fruit cocktail, with a glass of red wine and many of cold water. And then, a little before ten, I retired, to sleep pretty well.

1 Bernex

Creusaz, Friday, June 20--

Definitely a difficult day today though a short walk, no more than twelve km I think. We landed in Geneve about ten am after a long afternoon walking perhaps five miles, a long evening eating a fine dinner, and a five-hour sleep, all in Amsterdam where we'd arrived yesterday morning on an overnight flight from San Francisco.

Train into Geneva, tram to the French train station at Eaux Vives -- a badly outmoded and ill-maintained place, but serviceable. Then an odd hour at Evian-les-Bains, making a reservation for tonight's bed and dinner and finding out how to walk here.

The walk was hard. No more than ten miles, but a considerable gain in elevation, from Evian at about 460 meters to here at 1170, or 3800 feet. Nothing compared to what we'll be doing, but hard given lack of sleep, jet lag, fairly high temperatures, and grades up to 20 percent.

The sleepy vacation resort town of Evian-les-Bains gave way to suburbs; these quickly becoming more rural. Our roads climbed and curved among fields and woods, often with surprising vistas over Lac Leman, always the distant mountains challenging us.

Now and then you come to a hamlet, with only a few of the old buildings to recall their original peasant economy; now nearly all buildings are from the last twenty years or so, in the prefab linconlog chalet style, nicely set about with gardens and potted flowers -- weekend or vacation houses, no doubt: this is ski country.

We are in Haute Savoie; the cows are wearing their delicious bells; the hills are incredibly green, the air soft and sweet. Our gite will not be terribly expensive and gave a decent dinner: trout, french fries (boy did we want that salt!), fresh crisp delicious lettuces, fine ice cream with magnificent whipped cream.

Tomorrow will be even harder than today, but we must do it -- and so to bed.

Friday, June 13, 2008

Travel

TO THE Iio.jpgMAGINISTS LAST NIGHT, there to see a production called Travel, conceived and produced by its entire cast. To the point, since I leave Wednesday for my Long Walk.

The Imaginists is/are an amazing group. I've written about them before here: among other things, we've seen them do a truly memorable Antigone, an intense, resourceful Crucible, a fascinating production of Pirandello's Tonight we Improvise, and, earlier this year, a magnificent Winter's Tale.

In between repertory like this, The Imaginists produce work conceived and developed collectively by the actors. Last night's Travel was in this line, and was particularly to the point, since the company itself is traveling -- leaving the loft workshop they've used for the last six years for a better, bigger, more flexible space a few miles south, in Santa Rosa. (Information about the new space here.) And while recent productions have been away from the loft, in parks or wineries or Healdsburg's own Raven Theater, Travel was produced in the loft itself, the audience on three sides.

The piece is choreographed theater, rarely verbal. I suppose it's somewhere between charades and tableau vivante. I think of it as living sculpture. These actors use their entire bodies sculpturally, expressing in gesture, movement, and even in static position a rich, complex, deeply human something -- something that I hesitate even to name or describe. You get an idea of this in the photo above: a representation of Io, seduced by Zeus and then given the form of a heifer. This Io is costumed, of course; costumes were not a part of Travel. But the kind of chthonic and ancient awareness Io represents, a knowledge-of-something-profoundly-human-but-certainly-not-verbally-expressible, was quite present in Travel, as it had been in Antigone several years ago, and was revealed to be in Arthur Miller's masterpiece The Crucible.

Have I mentioned that the cast is composed of school children? (As we used to call them: "children" comes increasingly resistingly to the vocabulary these days.) The Imaginists, directed by Brent Lindsay and Amy Pinto, have as their chief goal the development of strong and imaginative community theater; and they know the best way to build a theatrical future is to engage young people in the project. All the productions I've mentioned, including this Travel, have been performed by actors not yet eighteen. (Well, one turned eighteen last night.)

And they've absorbed their demanding repertory and developed the means to reproduce its revelations in their own collectively developed work. On one level, I suppose you could say Travel is no more than a series of skits, each the concept of one or another of the actors, all on the central theme of travel, strung together like the coaches of a passenger train, or the benches of a bus, whose occupants momentarily seem to have a common destination. (And that destination becomes all too apparent toward the end, when even members of the audience are involved in it.)

But "skit" suggests mere entertainment, and this work goes beyond that. There's something almost unnervingly profound about nearly everything these Imaginists do. The work is often abstract, but always meaningful, however elusive. Travel continues in the Healdsburg workshop tonight and tomorrow (June 13 and 14). The next production, Amos Tutuola's My Life in the Bush of Ghosts, opens later this month: I'm sorry my own travels will prevent my seeing it.

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Another day, another walk

eastside.jpg

IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL HERE. We think about that every day, of course. Gratitude is increasingly the most pressing order of the day's business, and we have much to be grateful for. Here you see, in the distance, the house Lindsey grew up in -- well: that she lived in from aetat. 14 to 22, not counting time out while attending college. It's on Eastside Road about three and a quarter miles north of our mailbox. (If you have Google Earth you can pinpoint it: 38°33'40.92" N 122°50'47.52" W; 95 ft. elevation.)

Fifty-odd years ago, when I first saw the place, it was in mixed production: 300 head of dairy cows or so; extensive prune orchards; hay fields and pasture. No grapevines. The vines in the middle right in this photo occupy the space of the family orchard: apples, plums, apricots, peaches. There were oranges near the house (that may be one there, now I think about it, below the gable).

Ten years before that there was the remains of a tennis court behind the house, beyond that huge satellite dish you can see: for at the turn of the century, the last century I mean, this was the Hotchkiss Ranch, the home of Helen Hotchkiss's parents. What? You haven't heard of her? She was perhaps the pioneering woman tennis player, the first, as I understand it from reading her memoir, to have thought of "playing like a man": that is, aggressively. She was a champ, and changed her world.

I walked past the old ranch, as we call it, today, on an eight-miler from our house in to Healdsburg. Eight miles = kilometers, two and a half hours walking, maybe fifteen minutes resting. Not bad for ninety-five-degree heat, but my feet hurt...

Flower Alphabet

YESTERDAY I READ THIS POEM in a year-old annual brochure from the local Community Foundation and it knocked, as they say, my socks off:

lily.jpg
Flower Alphabet

Another flower
blossoms on the
coming of spring,
dandelions or
even roses, all
flowers starting to
gain beauty.
High above
I gaze down on
justice and nature,
kind and natural
lands filled with
majestic flowers.

No flower left
on Earth ugly,
pacing themselves, a
quilt of
roses even
sunflowers pace
toward the best
udder place.
Vegetables or fruit such as
watermelon. The hum of flowers like a
Xaxaphone.
Your flower white and black a
zebra's majestic flower.

--Mike Nicol

I confess it was only the word "udder' that woke me up and made me realize what was going on here; even the title hadn't alerted me. What a careless reader I can be! But "udder" isn't out of place, not here on Eastside Road, or in Windsor, either, where the poet was (at the time of writing the poet, last year) a sixth grade student at Cali Calmécac Charter School. Many of the fields hereabout are worked by cows, some of them dairy cows.

We have a field full of -- not cows, but Mariposa lilies, also known as Mariposa tulips, or golden nuggets. Calochortus luteus. I always thought they were named for Mariposa county, thinking they must have been particularly plentiful there: but it's simply named for the butterfly (mariposa in Spanish), which it resembles.

I don't know much about wildflowers. I don't know much about Cali Calmécac Charter School or, for that matter, Mike Nicol. I called the school; last evening Nicol called me to give me permission to reprint the poem here. I asked if he was still writing. Yes, he said, but not so much poetry these days; he's working on a novel.

This is the kind of thing gives one hope for the future. Justice and nature, kind and natural lands! What a line!