Start: Ollomont/Finish: Rifugio Champillon , 4.9, +1035, -0
I have a 10am date with the taxi driver down in Aosta, so it's a lazy morning in bed. The gondola station in Aosta is swarming with people: parents with kids, but many adults. It looks like an entire sub-culture, with the parking lot full of vans and trailers with impressive-looking bikes mounted on them. People are greeting each other like old friends, and perhaps they are. It reminds me of the surfer culture I saw in Australia, men (mostly men) living in their cars as they follow the waves.
Faustus(!) the taxi driver shows up with a large 8-seater. We chat a bit in my French as we head out of Aosta and back into the narrow valley roads. Reaching Ollomont, Faustus slows down as people are walking out of the small village church. I'm surprised to see that it's not just old women, but families with kids as well. It this a special occasion, or do people here actually go to church on Sundays? I am fascinated by the interplay between religion and culture, and how different people maintain that connection. There's endless reminders of this being a catholic country, both in the valley and up in the mountains, but how much of it still remains in the form of belief, rather than tradition.
I pick up the trail as it crosses the stream (of course there is a stream). The trail overlaps with markings for a local trail, the kind that municipalities set up as adventures for the kids, and there are some large wooden statues along the path.
Heading out of the forest, the trail is lost a bit in the meadow, but it doesn't matter - I know I should be making my way to the cowshed looming a few meters above. The hectic activity in the alpine meadows is a reminder that the end of summer is here. As always, grasshoppers are simply everywhere. I see glimpses of colour as they half jump half fly. Did you know they have colourful wings?
A few more meters up and i'm at the small church of Notre Dam de la Neige - our lady of the snow. With snow being an important feature of life in the alps, I wonder how many churches are named that. How often did people pray for the snow to melt, said thanks for a season with no avalanches?
The church is locked, but it's right next to a stream, a beautiful place to stop for a rest. I try to stop every 90-120 minutes for a few minutes, particularly in days when I don't eat lunch. It's interesting how patterns of hunger change when I'm on the trail. I don't deny myself anything, and yet I find that I'm far less hungry than when at home. My hunger on the trail is a basic one, the body's way of reminding me it needs nutrition. At home I'm hungry out of boredom, and often think of lunch the moment I finish breakfast.
Suddenly it looks as if the dry streak I've been enjoying will end, but all I get is a few drops of rain, though the sun doesn't come out again for the rest of the way. A short walk along the water brings me to a gravel road . The trail goes directly up the mountain, occasionally intersecting the gravel road leading up to the hut.
It's still early, and the hut is full - there's nowhere to sit outside. I grab coffee and lay on the grass. I would have loved to continue on, but unfortunately my next stop is too far away, and there is nothing much in between. While I love the huts, I sometimes envy the freedom I imagine you get when wild camping, being able to stop when you feel like it or press on when you are feeling up to it. But that's a moot point: there is no way I would be able to carry tent and everything else that's needed for camping AND walk up the mountains. (not to mention laws regulating wild camping in Italy are pretty strict).
At Rifugio Champillon
Rifugio Champillon has a yurt and a sauna(!), but I'm again disappointed to learn there's only three of us tonight. COVID regulations mandate that we sit separately, but the hut manager asks if its ok that we share a large table, still maintaining distance. We all agree. It makes for an awkward meal, with the other two (men) speaking only Italian. The hut manager is sitting at the corner, taking care of reservations, and occasionally serves to translate. There is a conversation I'm not a part of around me hiking the entire trail. I think they are impressed.
The dogs are barking (the hut has two of them), and you can still hear cow bells as I retire to my room - yet again i'm by myself. Tonight I feel not just alone, but lonely.
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