| “The mountains belong to nobody, it is well-known, but the experiences belong to everyone. Many others can climb the mountains, but nobody can ever capture experiences that are remain ours.” – Walter Bonatti My flight was cancelled just hours before take-off due to the global software outage. Panicked, I finally managed to connect the airlines via phone. Within minutes they had rebooked me on another airline. So I re-laced my boots, picked up my suitcase and was off — to “hike on the roof of Europe”. During my long overseas flight, I had to talk to someone sitting next to me who was intensely confessional, had never read Joan Didion and who’d had—get this—veneers! They didn’t care if I’d been anywhere, or had ever listened to anything, or whether I even had eyes or ears —genuinely uninterested. I was trapped, unable to protect myself from one of life’s most unpleasant sensations. I mean, I have important things to do. Yes, you can talk to people, but they’re not always the people you want to talk to. Contrary to one’s most utmost wishes, it’s easier to find a traveling (seat) companion than to get rid of one. A muffin top of unpleasantness. Can you ever really be neutral on a moving plane? “Howdy, folks, this is your captain speaking. I’m going to go ahead and turn off the Fasten-Seat-Belt sign now. Whoops, that was the windshield wipers. Maybe I’ll just go ahead and leave the sign on. Buckle up for a fairly smooth eighteen hour flight from Calgary to Paris.” “Know that you are a special and unique snowflake, our first priority, and are the only people who truly care about you.” “Over the next eight, no ten hours, you will receive periodic updates…” “Sorry, folks, but our flight will be two hours late due to a mechanical issue. It appears that a few bolts somehow worked themselves loose during the last flight.” “Update: The bolts don’t seem very important, so the flight is scheduled to arrive on schedule.” “My apologies for the “mild turbulence” we’re going through. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Coming up on our left are the Rockies. Umm…maybe the Alps. No, no, do not look out the window—trust me.” Now I started to wonder. Do I need to keep a laser-tight focus on the flight attendant up front who looks sort of upset? Could it be something in her personal life, or did the pilot just inform her that the plane is going down? By the way, sitting for long stretches on a plane interferes with a body’s production of an enzyme called T.P.E.L., which you need or something. In fact, if you were to remain seated for the amount of time it takes to get to Paris, you could develop Type 2 diabetes.  As background, given I had managed to come away mostly unscathed on my recent “W” trek in Patagonian Chile, except for hitting my head on a boulder and looking like I went five rounds in a boxing match, stressing my left knee on the second day enough that it hurt to walk down hill and on level ground (lucky that the trek didn’t have any straight patches and the uphill was only 50% of the trek), and forgetting to bring a large bottle of gin, I chose the mythical Mont Blanc massif, traversing three countries, France, Italy and Switzerland, thinking it couldn’t possibly be as brutal. Mont Blanc is the spiritual home of mountaineering, the birthplace of alpinism. Scenically, it has few rivals in the entire world. My home base was the storied town of Chamonix, tucked secretly away at the base of the sloping mountains.   There is this insane thing called the Mont Blanc Running Tour, a trail that wraps like a 172 km. long lasso around the tallest mountain in the Alps. The fastest runners do it in less than 24 hours, climbing more than 10,000m., passing 71 glaciers and encountering 400 summits, chocolate box villages, sublime alpine meadows, snow-covered peaks, craggy fissures, and breath taking views of the stunning and imposing Mont Blanc. The race takes place every year over the last weekend of August and attracts up to 5000 competitors. Now on my first Mont Blanc trail, it didn’t take long to figure out that the operative word was not “hiking”. It was “climbing”. Slogging straight UP steep in uneven terrain, and cautiously straight DOWN steep in uneven terrain – a high cumulative altitude difference. In other words, a knee-grinder, the intense “paths” more in keeping with rock climbing walls. You wonder if you’re ever going to catch your breath. And yes, my trekking pole, like on the “W”, was my best friend.   This adventure is not recommended for people with vertigo, altitude sickness, or afraid of the dark. We climbed ladders, stumbled through a very long pitch black tunnel, crampon-walked a glacier, clambered on wooden steps anchored into slippery rock faces, maneuvered loose gravel, rode a train running along the edge of the mountain, a tramway, a breath-stopping funicular rising at an astonishing 87 degrees, and the highest cable car in France, holding the world record for the highest vertical ascent, taking a spectacular 30 minutes.       High above the green pastures on the bucolic valley floor is a balcony view of the mesmerizing fairytale landscapes punctuated by creaking glaciers, lush forest, bubbling streams, transparent mountain lakes offering razor-sharp reflections, rock debris, eternal snow-capped vertiginous peaks, and flower-strewn trails. A botanical blissful rainbow of sorts. A panoramic postcard.  Something about a big, heart-gulping view can freeze you in place. As Robert Macfarlane put it in Mountains of the Mind, these landscapes can make one marvel at the forces necessary to knead sandstone. Where has this been my entire life? There was so much world. The changing flank of the mountains form a long sweeping cradle, so high that clouds frequently got stuck trying to pass over the great sleeping beasts. More than enough fuel for wanderlust. Going within and meeting no one else for hours is not possible here. You won’t find much solitary “wilderbliss” or alone-time here. An estimated 200,000 hikers, mountain bikers, and trail runners travel some sections of the TMB each year. I was just one more.   “Beautiful as what we see. More beautiful is what we understand. Most beautiful is what we do not comprehend.” – Nicolas Steno Nevertheless, I choose to live in presence with the collaging tangle of trees and sky, earth and breath, luxuriating in the magnificent wild. I heard the distant roar of waterfalls born high in the mountains crashing below, and supine cows serenading with arrhythmic cowbells foretelling delicious cheese. I walked past a stone fortification, a reminder of darker days when Italy fought against France and the Allies during World War II, across streams of opalescent waters, clambered across boulders, admired aiguilles (mountaintop needles), followed twisting paths, sampled wild raspberries, strawberries and blueberries, and stopped often to enjoy the sea of alpine foliage, the sun high and strong, the soft katabati wind cooling my skin. Micro experiences that knocked my socks off. The real genius of the trails is that whenever you sense indifference with the vestiges of verdant lush foliage, bluebird skies, and the jaw dropping views of the iconic mountain and its neighbouring spires, it quickly takes umbrage and shakes you back to life. A reminder that you can both have your head in the clouds and feet on the ground.   I will miss feeling so involved in something so big: the most spectacular and quintessentially alpine landscapes, the constant sweat and burn of sustained effort and the joyous reward of a newly earned and compelling mountain vista. From the moment I laced up my hiking boots to my final Apersol Spritz, every steep step was about the Dostoyevsky-ian necessary and inevitable “the pain is the point” empowerment, embracing perfect freedom, and the beauty of “the journey is the destination”, making for a once-in-a-lifetime experience. An infinite succession of presents. These are the moments that matter. Another adventure to look back on for the rest of my life. And to remember who I am. Simply put, “C’est incroyable!” Au revoir. Caio. Auf wiedersehen. |
Hiking on the Roof of Europe
August 3, 2024 by
that sounds amazing…thank you for sharing
Susan
Namaste
What an incredible adventure! Thanks so much for sharing! “A muffintop of unpleasantness” wins gold in the hotly contested Best Phrase category!!
Kind regards,
Susan