Start: Rifugio della Marmotte/Finish: Cogne, Bus: Rhemes de Notre Dam to Villenueve, Villenueve to Sarre, Sarre to Cogne
I wake up wondering if the thieve in the middle of the night was just a dream, but I see the bag of trail mix torn and nuts are everywhere. I even find a half-eaten pistachio hidden among the blankets. I can't help imagine the little creature sitting on top of my blankets, munching on my (expensive!) pistachios and staring at me sleeping. I've been carrying this bag throughout the trail, but ate very little of it, so the creature (I vaguely remember it was white, so perhaps it was not a mouse after all, but an ermine) did me a favor.
At breakfast I share the story of my nighttime visitor with the hut volunteers, only to find that unlike me, they are not amused, but rather horrified. I try to explain that I'm not afraid of mice, and that we are, after all, in the middle of nature, so things like this can happen, but I think they are not convinced and keep apologising.
I still laugh every time I picture that poor creature caught in my phone's flashlight. I so wish I had a photo.
It rained overnight and the memory of yesterday's descent still haunts me. Last night I read the chapter in the guidebook describing today's trail, and it warned of the steep descent. It has never warned of any descents so far.
I think I want to skip today's section. But how do I know if this is fear I should try and overcome or whether this is fear that is keeping my body and mind safe?
Can I skip today's section and not feel disappointed of myself? Can I live with skipping today's section and never knowing if it was the right decision? why does it even matter? why does it feel like such n important decision?
I decide to head into the trail and make a decision at the next junction. As I walk towards the pass, I'm just not feeling it. I look up and rather than excitement, I feel dread, and fatigue.
I stand there for many minutes trying to listen and understand what will be best for me.
I think today is not my day.
I head down back into the valley to start the journey to my next stop. I can head over to the next valley over, but I had an unpleasant experience with booking my night there, and I'm not feeling it. I'm not in the mood to spend half a day on the bus just to spend an afternoon in an unpleasant hotel. So I skip today's section, together with tomorrows (+1600m!) and the short section after.
While I chose not to continue on the trial, I wasn't planning on this being a rest day - I want to be out and about as much as possible. Consulting the app, it seems as if I can walk all the way to the town at the valley's opening, thus skipping one bus (out of three!).
But the app is lying. As I reach the village of Malignon, the pleasent wide path is gone, and the only way forward is on the road itself, through the several tunnels dug into the mountain. I peek into the first tunnel and see there's hardly any space for a person on foot. I would be ironic if I go out to an alpine trek only to be hit by a car in a tunnel
So bus it is.
But the first bus of the day is long gone, and the next one is several hours away. I half heartedly try to hitch a ride, but the only person stopping is going as far as the next village over. I finally give up, find a nice stretch of meadow, lie down with a book and read until the (surprisingly full) bus arrives.
The town of Villeneuve is the opposite of what its name - "new town" suggests, with the bus barely navigating its narrow main street. Most everyone alight here and wait for other buses to take them around the valley. The Aosta bus arrives rather quickly, and I ride a few stops down the main valley into Sarra, a village indistinguishable from other modern settlements along the way, it's buildings lining both sides of the main valley road with tanning saloons, home decore stores and lawyer offices.
Twenty minutes of waiting literally by the side of the road, and the bus to Cogne arrives. Quickly it takes me back to the rural and remote atmosphere that have been my companion in the past three weeks. The valley of Cogne is narrow and steep, more of a gorge in places, and the bus driver honks a warning horn ahead of each curve.
The day's journey gives me time to think of fear. People say that fear is there to overcome or conquer, but I think fear is there to be heard. The trick is to understand when is fear protecting me and when it's preventing me from pushing forward.
But there are other voices in my head obscuring what fear is telling me.
Like the voice that says that if I don't walk every part and every section of the trail, then I haven't really done it.
Like the voice that says that if I don't complete the trail, this whole endeavour doesn't count.
Like the voice that says that other people, real hikers, will not give up even one section, and that I'm a coward for skipping.
Like the voice in my head saying I will regret this.
I don't have any insights or anything particularly smart to tell myself as I think of these things. Regrets and fear are permanent residents in my head, and I feel that slowly, very slowly, I'm giving them less and less space. But as the cliche goes, there's still a long way ahead.
I think about all of this waiting for the buses, and I still think of this as the bus pulls into Cogne. The entrance into Cogne is far from impressive, the bus taking a left at the entrance to town and ending the journey at a very large car park. I follow the other passengers, all looking as if they know where they are going. into a modern-looking building at the edge of the car park. Inside I discover an elevator, taking me not to other floors in the building but to the main street. As I try orient myself, I find a small latched gate leading me through a back garden and into the my hotel's back entrance.
The impressively named Hotel du Grand Paradis - 1899 Auberge Boutique is charming, with snazzy jazz tunes playing as the receptionists is checking my Green Pass. My room is tiny, but will do well for a good night's sleep.
Prato di Sant’Orso, the large meadow just off the Cogne main street
Stepping out, I find Cogne (pronounced Conye) is a charming little town, clearly a tourist hotspot at the end of the season. The main street is lined with restaurant, cafes and stores selling local produce, but it still have a local feel to it. I scan menus placed outside and locate a place that has some salad on its menu (am I a bit obsessed? yes. Three weeks of eating great pasta has wrecked havoc on my digestion).
I'm strangely tired, the kind of tired that comes from a day of travel, of doing nothing but sitting and waiting. It's my least favourite type of tired, and I already feel the regrets - wouldn't it have been better to be tired due to hiking? I try to silence these voices and tell myself that it is what it is.
An evening strol through town and back to the hotel.
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