Aosta Alta Via, Day 1: The first day is alway up

Start: Tour de'Herdez/Finish: Hotel Etoile du Berger, 6.2KM, +855, -50

I started by cheating.

Are you a purist, believing that every inch of a trail must be covered? Or, are you like me, a slacker?

So I start with a bus. Rather than going from Donnas to Etoile du Berger, I cut 700 meters from what is meant to be a day of all-ascent, and start at Tour deHerdez. It’s a small village, holding on to the side of the mountain, cut in half by a meandering road.

In what is the motto of hiking in the Alps, I climb, and climb, and climb. Insert pause every 50 meters or so to “look at the view”, ie, catch my breath.

It’s a gorgeous, albeit hot day, with crickets chirping, butterflies flapping and every conceivable creature biting me. In the following days my right hand will get swollen in what I refer to in my head as a snake bite, but is more likely to be a spider bite.

Every once in a while I'm surprised by actual human beings, sitting on their balcony in an otherwise abandoned village. Is it their holiday home which they inherited from a grandmother? are they the only ones left in the village, who's sons and daughters moved away years ago?

This was supposed to recharge me. This was supposed to help me make decisions. This was supposed to be the place I love. But instead, all I feel is emptiness. I walk. I struggle. I hate my body. I know, I know, no training equals the real deal, but I worked hard to get in shape, and there's no indication of this as I huff and puff up the trail. And i'm only at around 1500 meters high, so I can't even blame the heights. And I sweat. Oh, how much I sweat, with the sweat dripping and soaking everything. It's genetic, my dad is like this, but it is yet another way in which my body is betraying me. Well, not exactly betraying because that hints at ability and capability, perhaps disappointing is a better word. I am the fat girl, who doesn't have the right to be on the trail. The one that should stay down in the valley, and not attempt feats that are reserved for the tall, athletic women I will see throughout the hike. The ones who run, and jump, and never every go down a mountain on their bum.

but at the end I make it, and I remember my mom's words: "someone has to be the last one, it might as well be you". And I try to remind myself there is no "last one" here. I'm by myself. All that matters is the way. and getting to the end of the day, alive.

The end of the day is E'toile du Berger, a small mountain hotel at 1400 meters. They have a very welcoming, huge lawn, and I order Tagliere - literally meaning "Chopping board", it's a collection of cold cuts and cheese . A group of people are collecting the recently cut hay, and for a second I feel guilty for not joining in - this was my chore all through childhood.

It's here that I have the experience I will have throughout the hike - Foreignness. This is particularly strong here - it's the kind of hotel where families come for a few days of rest. It's not the kind where a single women takes a room for 1 night. I stick out. I feel as if everyone's talking to about me. And while I speak no Italian, I understand enough when I hear the owner and one of the guests talking about me, with the owner explaining i'm hiking the local long distance trail.

Still, I get a lovely room at the top of many stairs (have I not climbed enough today?), and after a heavy meal (antipasti, primi, secondi, dolci and wine), I retire to bed. At least nothing hurts.