I’ve learned this from an American couple I meet two years ago on the TMB. I first noticed the woman, white haired, walking in measured steps, very upright. Her pace had nothing to do with difficulty, and everything to do with being a seasoned hiker who has an well-tuned internal rhythm. I was sat with her and her husband at dinner that night. They were from the north-east (I want to say New Hampshire?), and have hiked all over the US. They were in their last 60's, early 70's, and were exactly what I wanted to be when I grow up.
I met them again in Chamonix, post-trek. While I was idling in the small town, bored in a way I never was on the trail, they were just coming back from a day hike. The best way to get over a long trail is with a short trail, they said. They tried to explain why, but there was no need. It made all the sense in the world.
So from Hone I took the train to Aosta, and from there the bus to Courmayeur. One last meal in Courmayeur, a place that feels so familiar by now, and then the bus through the Mont Blanc tunnel into Chamonix. I was nervous about the tunnel. Funny to be nervous about something like that after hiking on my own for so long. But tunnels, never-ending darkness, can trigger a panic attack for me. But the almost 20 minutes ride through 11.5km of tunnel went smoothly, and soon I found myself in Chamonix.
Chamonix is an anti-climax to the sleepy villages of Aosta. Even Courmayeur, busy with thru-hikers and day-trippers, feels like an overgrown village. Chamonix, even this late in the season, is bustling. Its long main street full of every adventure gear store you can imagine, every big and small brand represented here. While French is the local language, English is heard and spoken everywhere. Chamonix is one of the first centers of mountaineering in the Alps, and has a big expat community. It's very much felt everywhere.
First thing's first: hotel, shower and then heading out for a celebratory burger. I’ve been craving this burger for weeks now. It’s funny, I have not gone hungry on this trip. I’ve eaten well, very well – the Italian’s respect and love of food has an almost daily presence on the trail. I’ve eaten a lot of carbs, and sugar. But I've been looking forward to this burger like a starving person would. Burger is the last bastion of self-conscious eating for me. I’ve been eating on my own for so many years. I have no issue with sitting in a café on my own, or even eating in a restaurant, but I would never order a burger. The combination of a women eating on her own (pathetic) and a women eating a burger (the calories!) was just too much of a self-imposed cultural barrier for me to cross.
But I'm dying for a burger.
And those are not hard to come by in Chamonix.
Burger, fries and a beer, and I'm making my way back to the hotel, tipsy and full.
The Alpina Eclectic hotel is flashy and upscale, in the center of town and right next to the river, gushing even this late in the season. Strangely decorated with images of a Yetti everywhere, It's expensive, but I don't care. I want a lush bed, space to spread the content of my backpack, and a balcony to sit on and do nothing.
I have two full days before my flight, so I decide to spend them hiking. Last time I was here I loved the Aiguillette des Posettes section right next to the border with Switzerland, so I decide to hike it again.
The train from Chamonix to Montroc is full of day hikers, going through the heavily populated valley, slowing down to make way for a couple of deer galloping across the tracks. Blink and you'll miss them.
Heading up the trail, through modern houses and up into the forest, I'm on my own for a while, but before long I meet a group led by a barefoot guide. I hear them before I see them, clearly Americans, and clearly on their first day, as they are busy in introductory conversation - who they are, what they do. The one British man in the group stands out in his manner and northern accent. While I understand why people do this, I truly cannot imagine joining a guided group to do a long distance hike. The thought of someone else setting the pace is just too much for me.
The hike is as lovely as I remembered it. The blueberry bushes are packed with fruits. I even see a few locals busy picking them, using the traditional comb-like tool (google it - it's a strange contraption, but totally makes sense when you see it in use). It's a ridge path, and every few steps I take reveals more of the trail. The soil made of rocky layers, soft and crumbly. On occasions there are wooden steps and metal rungs, but the hike is an easy one. Very different from what I've had for the past three weeks.
Reaching the Col, the view is incredible, stretching all the way into Switzerland, the Mont Blanc range and the mountains on the other side of the Chamonix valley. The imposing wall of the lac d'emosson dam can be seen in the distance. Before long the weather changes and the winds start blowing. That's my que to start the descent.
An easy trail takes me into La Tour, and from there - the train back to Chamonix. Finding a café in the high-street, I sit down and order, what else, a blueberry pie.
Tomorrow I'm heading into Geneva, a hotel by the airport, and a 5am cheap flight back home to Tel Aviv. Tomorrow is goodbye to the mountains, goodbye the the trails. Tomorrow is the day to grieve the end of the trip, and start processing it, slowly turning it from a life into a memory. Until next time, because there will be a next time. There has to be one.
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