Their cheeks flushed with a light hue of red-violet as their paths crossed the following morning. Along with the essence of coffee beans, a new emotion hung in the air in their regular watering hole. A feeling to which they were both naive – shyness. Their exuberant morning conversations had suddenly petered out to a few pleasantries. Although they both tried to avoid eye contact by looking down at their phones initially, they were unable not to lock gazes and get lost in each other’s dilated pupils. For a fraction of a second, the hustle and bustle around them seemed to slow down before the barista snapped them out of the trance with their orders. They quickly gathered themselves and headed out to separate morning lectures, their paths diverging across the sun-kissed campus. Both knew how the other felt. But, they didn’t know how to proceed.
The lectures, which were once enthralling, felt like a dense fog. Their minds were preoccupied with the events of the previous evening. To properly understand the lessons, they both sauntered to the library, where once again, their paths collided.
However, this time they were adamant about having a proper conversation. So adamant that they spoke at the same time, paused to let the other speak at the same time, and speak again at the same time. Their awkward start drew out a chuckle from her, which he had grown to adore, and it broke the ice. But since their following lectures were fast approaching, they nestled in adjoining chairs to get their work done. He set up the Pomodoro timer while she pulled out her Lofi playlist. Like they had always done, but this time more endearingly, they shared earphones and began their notes with their elbows grazing.
Our goal for the final day was Lac Blanc. Resting on the upper ridges of Grand Balcones du Sud (the southern balconies), the lake is TMB’s THE photography spot. However, the Lac Blanc route was a more challenging variant than the standard run-of-the-mill route as it included a set of ladders and steep sections. The standard route did not include Lac Blanc, but we wanted the photo. So, instead, we went to the endpoint using a cable car and hiked backwards towards Lac Blanc. And we were not disappointed.
But the photo only shows half of the picture. We were slightly disappointed, but the blame is on global warming. The European heat wave had evaporated the lake to such a low point that the lake had split into 2 ponds. The water level had dipped below a submerged rock wall that now served as a barrier between the two bodies of water. Nevertheless, we did get the photo.
This time with us in it too!
We again met the Kolhapur – Belgium couple from a few days prior, and we shared a meal at the Refuge resting just above the lake. Based on their description of the hike from the Le Moulin direction, our path, hiking up from the endpoint, seemed much more difficult, apart from the ladders. And, looking at their photos of the ladder, in hindsight, we might have taken the wrong decision and should have come up through our initially planned route.
We returned the way we had come. Covering a 3600ft elevation change in 5 miles, we ended our final day of Tour du Mont Blanc at la Flegere. As we covered the last few yards, we heard a familiar “hey guys” from Tímea. At a cafe in Flegere, Tímea, we celebrated the end of our journey with walnut-covered brownies. By this point, she was exhausted. While most of the hikers take transportation or cable cars a few miles here or there, she had never taken a single ride. She was a champ and a purist. But in the last few days, she caught a stomach bug, which drained her. So, she finally relented to taking a cable car down to Chamonix with us.
At the bottom of the cable car, we met the three 70 years-young ladies who we had first met in Refugio Elena on day 6. We encountered them a couple of times later during the tour when my mother once asked their reason for completing the TMB. They answered because they were stupid and crazy. They were definitely not stupid, maybe a bit crazy, but every bit of inspiration for us.
Even though we were done with all the hiking, the tour did not feel like it was over. It felt incomplete. Maybe, it was because we were missing a photo at the TMB famed arch. Tímea felt the same way and managed to muster enough energy to accompany us to the arch.
Now it felt finished, and to celebrate, we all (the three Britishers, my family, Tímea, and another Scottish hiker we had met along the way) decided to meet Harry for a fancy French dinner in Chamonix. We first needed to freshen up, so we beelined for our hotel in the neighboring town of Les Houches.
As we were about to enter our room, an extremely lean person exited his room in a quarter-zip sweater and underwear. He had kindly come to request us to keep our voices down that night. It turns out he was going to run the entire TMB (what we had completed in 10 days) in under two days. He was starting at 2 a.m. that night and so needed some peace and quiet. This professor in the Norweigan School of Economics had already run half of the tour a few days ago but was caught in the same storm we were hit with at Alpage de Bovine on day 8. He was just built differently.
Under the watchful gaze of Mont Blanc, we celebrated our accomplishment with our hikers-in-arms at the posh La Potiniere, located in the heart of Chamonix, for French cuisine. Unfortunately, Tímea could not make it due to her illness.
Looking at the menu, I was bewildered. I had no clue what to get. For a while, I pondered over trying my first Escargot – snails. Tim, who had experience in the culinary industry, saw my hesitation and encouraged me to try it. When I decided against it and went for a good ol’ Texan burger, he offered one from his plate. It took me a minute to remove the meat from the shell and another to put it in my mouth. It ended up being a chewy version of mushrooms. The garlic pesto sauce had smothered any raw flavor snails have, if they have any. I liked it.
Why did the snail paint a giant S on its car?
Because when it speeds by someone, they might say: “look at that S-car-go!”
Joke courtesy of Tim
Each person finds meaning in an aspect of the tour. For some, it might be the views, the food, the hike, the miles covered, or the stillness in the most remote areas. Mine was the people. It began with a simple bonjour (French for hello) here, or grazie and prego (Italian for thank you and you’re welcome) there. It evolved into exchanging greetings to every hiker or local we met. Even little children out on day hikes with their parents would come up to say hello. It created a wholesome warmth in the TMB community. Interacting with hikers from all walks of life, seeing them triumph over struggles, and being along with them during a noteworthy moment of their lives was the focal point of my tour. Although the tour ended, it is the start of my journey to explore nature’s wonders.
As I write this, the 2022 UTMB festival is in full swing. This trail training event comprises various races ranging from 20 km (12.42 mi) to a 290 km (180 mi) monstrosity. The flagship race, ultra tour mont blanc, follows a very similar route that we took over the previous 9 days.
Our penultimate day was drier than the previous day as we crossed back into France. The downpour alleviated the hiking conditions by dropping the temperature to a cool 20C. Our morning was spent zig-zagging up 2500ft, reaching just shy of the Carraye peak, standing at roughly 7000ft. To minimize the gradient, we took an alternate route that traded the steep incline for a longer distance as the path went back and forth up the slope.
Col de Forclaz ; the col from the previous day
Along the uphill climb, we passed by a meadow. It would have been like dozens we had passed in the days prior, except for a sign. Under the meadow lay shafts and shafts of an iron mine, many dating back to prehistoric times. From Neolithic tribes and the Romans, mining has been a cornerstone in the Alpine economy, but over time Tourism has overshadowed all the sectors. This particular mine had put up its picks and shovels over a century ago since much of the available ore had been excavated.
As we pivoted around the Carraye peak, we were astounded by the sight of Lac d’Émosson. The 227 million cubic meter reservoir is nestled in a mountain range across the valley from us. This reservoir powers multiple hydroelectric power stations, including a recently built 900 MegaWatt Nant de Drance plant.
While we could see the bordering ranges and their unique sights, the central Mont Blanc massif hid behind a series of smaller peaks. But after passing a particularly tricky section of the hike (the sedimentary-rock path was disintegrating in front of us), we were treated with this :
Chalet du Col de Balme against the backdrop of Mont Blanc (peak on the right)
Saddled between the peaks of L’Arolette and Croix de Fer, we had a picnic lunch, scarfing down on our packed – you guessed it – ham and cheese sandwiches. On our way up, my mother had almost lost her balance a couple of times, which had warped her sense of level ground. So, when I sat down to have lunch on a relatively level field, she got worried that I was going to topple over. We had a good laugh after. Then to satisfy our sweet tooth, we hiked down to Chalet du Col de Balme (the small inn in the photo above) to treat ourselves to a round of thick hot chocolate. While sipping the sweet brew on the French-Swiss border, we admired the view.
As pleasant as the uphill climb was, the downhill was equally bad, especially for my mother. I had slipped the day before and aggravated a pull, which made me more annoyed than it pained. But my mother was in real pain. Over the course of hiking 100 miles, our feet tend to swell, which is why we bought shoes half a size greater. However, my mother needed a whole size bigger as her swollen toes were repeatedly slamming into the shoe tip on the downhill. It killed two of her nails. On the other hand, my father had made a full recovery with his knee. Unlike the first few days, he was leaping across the trail.
So as soon as we saw the village of Le Tour we took a break. We had a nice drinks break to rest our feet before we set out towards our final Refuge – Gite Le Moulin. The remaining trail shouldered the fast-flowing Le Bisme river, where people sunbathed on the banks. One local had turned an eddy into his own private mini pool.
Le TourLe Bisme
That night we all crammed into the dorm for one last time. Over a sloe berry cream dessert, the three Britishers (George, Elena, Tim), Tímea, my parents, and I cracked jokes and talked about our cultural differences. For example, our house in Austin was built in 2014, while Tim’s Cornwall house dates back to the 1500s. It was built by Sir Cuthbert Mayne, who was executed for being Catholic and for which was later canonized. We also had an American couple just setting out on their tour in the opposite direction at our table, and we advised them on the dos and don’ts of the hike. As the remaining “bookatreking 10” went to bed, there was a sense of relief and a bit of poignancy that it was all coming to a close.
Stay tuned for the final day!
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As I write this, the 2022 UTMB festival is in full swing. This trail running event comprises of various races ranging from 20 km (12.42 mi) to a 290 km (180 mi) monstrosity. The flagship race, ultra tour mont blanc, follows a very similar route that we took over the previous 9 days.
On this day, we covered over 11 miles and 6000ft+ total elevation change going around the northern face of the Mont Blanc massif. And, by this point of the tour, the winds had changed direction, bringing in foreboding clouds. The previous day, Harry was caught in a rain storm and pelted by hail. Today was our turn for a similar fate.
But before all that, our morning hike was an enjoyable one. The trees and clouds shielded us and alleviated the troubles of the heat wave. We followed the stream from yesterday down the Refugio through a spacious alpine forest and into a denser jungle. The morning dew could not evaporate in the increasingly humid weather, which made the ground quite slippery.
The jungle, at times, would part for small pastures strewn with wild berries. The first time we saw people picking them, I did not realize what was happening. I thought someone had lost something, and everyone had pitched in to look for something. When we realized they were looking for berries, we pitched in also.
As we hiked along our route, the foreboding clouds got darker and darker, and when we left the safety of the forest, it pounced. Rained it did. It poured and poured, and it was supported by violent updraft winds on the mountainside. The temperatures had plummeted too. Therefore, we were soaked in freezing rain and slammed by the wind. We thought we might find refuge in our designated lunch spot: Alpage de Bovine – a cow farm turned into a hiker’s inn.
But, oh no, we were mistaken. They allowed us to order lunch but asked us to eat outside due to COVID restrictions and a large group with reservations taking up the only spots inside. So, with our 72 Swiss Franc lunch (yeah, Switzerland puts a hole in your wallet), we had to eat in the torrential downpour. While my mother went to convince the inn owners to at least stand inside, my dad and I created an elaborate method to eat without our Rosti (Swiss fried potato dish) flying away in the wind. He would hold one of the large beach umbrellas, which he found stashed on the side, in one hand and one of the Rosti plates in the other. I would hold the umbrella, too, with one of my hands and take a few bites with the other. And, after a bit, we would switch, and he would eat while I held the plate. All the while, our other 2 Rosti plates were soaked on the uncovered bench beside us. However, the wind was so strong, and the thick ceramic plate was so heavy that our static holds began faltering. We had to abandon our plan.
On top of that, my mother returned with an answer – No. Ultimately, we had to resort to sticking to the inn’s walls as the roof extended slightly, giving us barely a foot of dry shade. Even then, the wind would send the rain at an angle to pelt us. We tried to finish as much of the lunch as possible, but in the end, the wind, rain, and cold forced us to discard a chunk of it and return to the trail. But our path was blocked by a herd of local cows. In jest, I asked the cows to move in Marathi (my native language), and they graciously parted. To motivate my tired parents, I began singing “Khandon Se Milte Hai” (an Indian army marching song) to push us forward. Thankfully, no one else could hear my horribly off-key voice because of the loud storm. When we finally reached the tree line, the storm abruptly came to a halt.
The only image we were able to click in that downpour.
For such days, we had packed electrolyte and it had begun to kick in as all the pain faded away. At the next clearing, we even bellowed “Ricola” at the top of our lungs. Back in Singapore, the theatres would always play a Ricola advertisement with a Swiss man in the alps blowing an extended horn accompanied by a friend saying Ricolaaaaa. It inspired my mother and me to make a pact to reenact the commercial when we would go to the Swiss alps.
Our remaining 2000ft descent went relatively smoothly other than the general body aches. After Col de Forclaz, we met the Kolhapur-Belgium couple from the previous day. We all walked down to the town of Trient, where our Auberge (an inn in french) lay waiting. The inn had nice hot showers, which is precisely what we needed. We were drenched, shivering, and caked in mud.
Another thing you get used to by this point in the hike is the smell. Although everyone has applied deodorant in the morning, the long days make us stinky. Your nostrils adapt. But there was a particular French hiker that won the award for BO.
Dorm room #23 was assigned to the “bookatreking 10” group, but there were a few extra remaining bunks because 3 of our members had pulled out. The Frenchman arrived late and was added to our room. Oh god, the smell! Tímea and I nicknamed him “French Cheese.” Even worse, he was very talkative and would catch you. I got stuck in one such conversation for a solid 5 minutes, holding my breath in. Tímea was smart; she managed to avoid him by telling him she needed to pack. I made an excuse that I needed to go down to dinner and escaped.
We had our first cheese Fondue for dinner, and the amount of cheese was overwhelming. Cooked in white wine and served with bread and baked potatoes, the Fondue is a cheese lover’s delight. But we didn’t know the proper etiquette and method for the communal Fondue pot. Due to a seat assignment error, we were placed between 2 large French hiking groups, who couldn’t speak English. We managed to converse through google translate, and they taught us to dip each bite of our carbs (potato or bread) into the pot.
Surprisingly, I didn’t have as much problem conversing in Italian as in French. I could understand the bare minimum of Italian, most likely because of taking Spanish in high school. Another reason I loved Italy. But our Italian leg was already over by day 6, and we were in our last Swiss Refugio. The next day we crossed back into France.
Day 7 was our day for Flora and Fauna. Since the Alpage (French/Swiss dorm) was also an active cow farm, our morning was occupied by watching the resident border collie. He was running around the bovines, shepherding them into a cow milking trailer. While the cows ambled on, bells clinking and munching on their breakfast cereal, the dog scurried about from one point to another. When he got tired, he would take 5 in his mini wooden Alpage outside our dorm.
For breakfast, I tended to go for a hearty bowl of chocolate cereal, as I rarely have them back home. But on this day, I ventured out into European Muesli. Muesli is a mixture of oats, cereal, raisins, and more. It managed to combine all the positives of each of its ingredients.
Pronouncing some of the words on the trip was rough, especially when not knowing the language, and the internet connection was spotty. This tour included the towns of Champex, Chapieux, and Chamonix. In Alpage de la Peule’s case, we did not know if “Peule” had a silent L or not. My mom and I treated it as silent; we called it “Pew.” Over time, we jokingly called the dorm, in a high-pitched voice, “Pew Pew,” like how children imitate gunfire. We were obviously wrong; the L was enunciated.
As the dew began disappearing, we left the Alpage de La Peule, making our way down to the village of Ferret. Although the 1000 ft descent was steep (at some points reaching a 36% gradient), we had become adept at using our hiking poles and reached the bottom in no time. At Ferret, we managed to hop on a bus to the village of Champex in a knick of time. Since Champex was renowned for its beauty, lake (Champex-Lac), and an alpine botanical garden, we shaved off some hiking time to wander the town. However, we still ended up covering over 9 miles that day.
Our first stop was the Flore-Alpe botanical garden. Hidden behind a row of splendid houses, this quaint alpine garden was a treat for painters and photographers. Along with being a tourist attraction, the garden hosted active botanical research, especially on the effect of global warming on the Flora. And the effect was evident. The heat wave had severely impacted the plants, wilting many of them into a shell of their former selves. Coupled with the abundance of medicinal plants in the garden, the impact of climate change really hit home. Many pharmaceutical and herbal medications around the globe rely on such plants, and global warming could significantly impact available treatments.
(Photos courtesy of my mother)
After touring the garden, we made our way to the banks of the lake. The glacier-fed lake was bordered by marshes that sunk a couple of centimeters every time you would step on it. Through one such marsh trail, we went to a secluded shaded picnic spot. We nibbled at our packed lunch from Alpage de La Peule and admired the view. The lunch sack had a small local chocolate bar (how swiss), a ham & cheese sandwich (no surprise there), and a tomato (wait, what?). Yeah, just a whole tomato, and it proved to be a fantastic snack. While we ate, a duck family came to check on us. Flapping their little webbed feet, a mother and her two little ones paddled their way towards us. They hung out with us, swimming around the area.
The hike up to our accommodation for the night was my favorite section of the tour. We were accompanied by a small stream for the entire stretch after exiting the town. I was absolutely mesmerized by the ebbs, flows, eddies, and currents of the water. The stream led us across a waterfall and to our Refugio. This dorm was supposed to be a bit unique. We were booked to stay in their petite arpettes, small wooden cabins. These cabins were so small that they barely housed 2 people each. However, rainwater started leaking into the cabins because of an evening downpour. So, they shifted us into one of their small spare dorm rooms.
At Relais d’Arpette (the name of the dorm), someone overheard my parents and me speaking in our mother tongue – Marathi. It turns out a hiker hailing from Kolhapur, India spoke the same language. It felt nice to converse with someone else in our own language. He was also one of the only 3 Indian hikers we met on the tour. This Johnson&Johnson scientist was hiking with his Belgium girlfriend and they were the most prepared. He had done so much research on the TMB that he probably could have gotten his second Ph.D. in it. To train for the TMB, they had completed the Belgium Dodentocht, dutch for March of the Dead. It is a grueling 100km route with a target to complete under 24 hours, which they had done. Their training showed. Our paths crossed for the next couple of days, and at the end of each day, they were the least tired hikers in the dorms.
By this point, the wear and tear of the tour was starting to creep into the rest of the bookatreking group, who were previously as right as rain. Harry, sadly, had to pull out of the tour after day 7, and the 3 Britishers took a short train ride on one of the following days to conserve their energy. Even Tímea was beginning to show signs of tiredness. And there were still 3 more days to go.
Our latter half of the tour began with temporary frustration. The destination at the end of day 6 lay behind a 15-mile hike with roughly 4000ft of total elevation change. To conserve our energy to enjoy the scenery, we had planned to take the local bus for part of the way. It seemed everyone else had the same idea. And we ended up watching two buses, filled to the brim with hikers, pass us by at the bus stop. After waiting for over an hour and a half, we hailed a cab.
Our short ride took us through Val (valley) Ferret and along the banks of Dora di Ferret. It had the most pretty translucent aqua blue color. However, in his thick Italian accent, the lively cab driver warned us to stay away from the river as it also carried fecal matter from the pastures at higher elevations. In his words, “don’t go swimming in the shittin’ river.”
The alleged shittin’ riverMy dad and IVal Ferret
Upon alighting at chalet Val ferret, we began the ascent to the Italian-Swiss border of Grand Col Ferret. We made a customary pitstop for some hot chocolate at Refugio Elena along the way. It was the thickest and best chocolate beverage. After every sip, the top layer of the drink would cool and semi-solidify. When we make hot chocolate, we put the chocolate in the milk. Here, they seemed to put a dash of milk in the chocolate. Drinking along with us were 3 70-year-old American ladies completing the entire TMB. They remained our inspiration for the rest of the journey.
Best Hot Chocolate ever
The chocolate ambrosia gave us the energy to speed hike up the steep incline in a light rain shower. Since the rain was intermittent, we would sometimes be well shielded in our rain jackets and, at others, boiling inside them since they trap body heat. However, the view up at the col (mountain pass) made it all worth it and more.
Surprisingly, we had to wait for the view. We were stuck in a hiker’s traffic jam. A section of the day’s route, while being part of the TMB, was also a popular day hike trail. One such day hike was a group of special needs kids with their parents. It was an inspiring sight. The joy on all their faces was heartwarming.
Traffic Jam!!Cyclers completing the TMB
My mother shed a few happy tears when we got to the pass. There was a point on the second day of the tour when it seemed we might have to leave the TMB for my father’s knee problem on Day 2. But, they had managed to push through, and we were about to make our first border crossing on foot. Our pace had also afforded some time to enjoy our personal victory as we had ourselves a small picnic of bananas, India’s darling tea-time biscuit – Parle-G’s glucose, trail mix, and santra (hard orange) candy.
On our way down to the dorm of the night, “Gite Alpage de La Peule,” we encountered a shepherd and his flock meandering on our path. The flock was guarded by three shepherd dogs, but at the time, they had forgotten their duties and were roughing around with each other. The sight was a delight as sheep are not common in Austin, Texas. In the group, some lambs were glued to their mothers while others frolicked around. But, after a while, these courageous little ones would realize how far they are from their mothers and start bleating for them.
AwwThe flock blocking my path
We made it to our first Swiss Refugio with enough buffer to chow down on another ham and cheese sandwich before the 6:30 PM dinner. At dinner, we were served a tartiflette, a baked dish of ham, cheese, and bread. No surprise there. Although I like ham, cheese, and bread, this was getting a bit too much. We were also offered our first salad for the entire tour. Or, in Tim’s words, “rabbit food.” Nevertheless, it came at perfect timing as Tímea was craving a few greens the night before. Except, at dinner, she and Harry were nowhere to be found. Peculiar, as they used to be one of the first at every Refugio.
The RefugioDinner !
The sun and we began preparing to go to bed, but there was still no sign of them. Just as the kitchen was going to close for the night, Tímea walked in, and then Harry right behind her. Both were absolutely exhausted. It turns out that Harry had a rough day, and Tímea had actually gotten lost. Instead of the 15-mile hike, she walked over 22 miles. Surprisingly, the arrogant staff were unwilling to serve our friends but ended up providing dinner. It was a very uncommon experience as all the other Refugio staff were kind, warm, and very welcoming. To cheer up Harry and Tímea, my dad also bought them drinks. When buying anything at any Refugio, the cashiers only accepted cash and no credit cards because of the spotty cellular connection.
At Alpage de La Peule, I had gotten the most exciting sleeping option. My parents and I were assigned a triple-decker bunk bed. On the nearly 10-12ft+ bed, I got the best sleep because I was far from all the dorm snorers. However, there was still some drama before we could sleep.
The top bed was mine, then second was my mothers, and bottom bunk was my fathers
We placed our bags beside the beds and our down-feather jackets on the mattresses to mark our territory. Even though the dorm staff assigned the bed, we did it out of precaution. But the heat wave had relented that night, and it was chilly. So, we took our jackets to the mess to socialize with other hikers after dinner. And while we chatted, someone pinched our bed.
When I went to get my TMB map from my backpack, I saw a French lady laying out her stuff across our beds. As I attempted to calmly explain the situation to her, she got more stubborn and unwilling to move. Thankfully, Harry had just arrived, and he went off on her. Our good cop/bad cop act seemed to work as she finally left, possibly muttering french curses at us. We got our bed back, and I had the best sleep of the entire trip.
By the 5th day, we were halfway done. We made our way down the ski slopes through the towns of Dolone and Courmayeur to the correct Hotel Funivia in la Palud, a suburb of Courmayeur. Along the way, we stopped for lunch in Courmayeur’s older part of town. Our plan was to have pizza as we were in Italy, but we passed by a quaint hole-in-the-wall crepe place in a side alley, and we couldn’t pass up on the opportunity. Thus, we had Crepes in Italy and Pizzas in France (lunch for day 3).
For many fellow hikers, their tour ended here in Courmayeur. They tend to hop onto a bus line that takes passengers through a tunnel right under the Mont Blanc massif and across the border to Les Houches/Chamonix, France. A far more expensive route, but a treat for the eyes, is to go over the peaks using a series of cable cars. Yeah, cable cars. After our tour, we took part of these gondolas to the peak of Aiguille di Midi. But that is a story for another post.
Around this time, we had gotten the hang of most of the things. The long days, dorm etiquette, packing and unpacking every day, wearing the same clothes, and so forth. However, I found some of the bunk beds a bit tricky. Given a choice, I like the top bunk. But after a long hiking day, if for some reason I need to get down in the middle of the night, it means rappelling down the ladder in a drowsy state and barely lit room. In the Maison Vielle Refugio, I got the unlucky bed, where the ladder was not part of the bunk bed frame. It was just leaning on the side. Let’s just say I tripped a few too many times on that ladder.
We (my parents and I) also had gotten closer with our fellow hikers. The tour du mont blanc is not only an experience of alpine views and food. It is a shared experience of hardship with others along the journey. The ibuprofens, knee sleeves, and blister plasters bind the hikers into a family. Our core family consisted of 10 hikers that had booked all the refuges through the same hiking travel agency. We slept in the same dorm room and ate at the same dinner table day in and day out. We were the “bookatreking 10.” – that’s how we introduced ourselves at the reception of the refugees every day.
The first member that we met in the group was Tímea, a Hungarian working in Denmark . We had actually seen her when we landed at the airport, and based on her hiking bag with clothes pins hanging on the outside, we rightly guessed she was on tour. She was always the first to reach the refuges and the last to be exhausted. A real powerhouse.
While Tímea brought physical energy, Harry brought social energy. This retired gentleman from Florida seemed to know every hiker on tour, and everyone seemed to know him. He was even once invited to a campsite with a jacuzzi by other hikers he met that day. He was also well-read. From fashion to international politics, he could connect with anyone from any background.
Harry (far left), Tímea, me, and my parents (right)
Our group was rounded by the Brits: Elena, George, and Tim. These trekkers completed the tour using a map, compass, and ruler. While most of us relied on pre-downloaded GPS maps, these college friends went old school. They did not get lost, even once. We bonded over our trans-Atlantic differences, such as measuring weight in stones versus pounds or the SAT versus the A-levels.
Tim, George, and Ella
There was also a father-son duo from the Netherlands originally in our group. However, the trek to Croix du Bonhomme (Day 2) had forced them off the tour early on.
Outside of our bookatreking family, there were many more hikers that we got to know along the way. Our conversations ranged from a quick chat with a Moroccan hiker while washing our clothes or an in-depth discussion with a Johnson&Johnson scientist. Meeting people from around the world with diverse backgrounds and interests was the most memorable and eye opening part of the trip.
On day 3, we went off the road, or more like on the road. After the previous grueling days followed by a steep 3200ft steep descent to Les Chapieux early in the morning, my dad’s knees were just shy of being shot. Our entire tour was in jeopardy.
The hike down to Les Chapieux
However, we had the human embodiment of project management with us – my mother. She revitalized our trek by restrategizing. The stress on my parent’s knees could be reduced through flatter terrain or by reducing the weight of our backpacks. Since the route could not be altered, we arranged a luggage transfer (a typical option taken by TMB hikers) between our Refugios. We also needed a few hours of rest to rejuvenate.
But before we could plan much, we were famished as the sun had reached its zenith in location and temperature. We hailed a cab to the nearby town of Borg Saint Maurice for lunch. Borg Saint Maurice is located in the department of Savoie. This popular ski destination prides itself on its strong local cheese – Beaufort (beau: nice; fort: strong). The cheese is made from the milk of Abondance cows, which we had seen graze the pastures behind our dorms on our first night. In this region of wine fame, cyclers take the direct trains from London, Paris, and other big cities to ride the winding turns that were included in the 2017 Tour Du France.
The streets of Borg Saint Maurice were decorated with the flags of Savoie (white cross on red)
From Borg Saint Maurice, we went to Hotel Funivia at Courmayeur, Italy. Or at least what I thought was Hotel Funivia. I had booked A Hotel Funivia for the night. But after a good amount of confusion at the reception, I realized I had booked the Hotel Funivia in Bormio. Bormio, like Courmayeur, is a lovely town in the Italian alps famous for cycling, hiking, and skiing. The only issue is that Bormio is separated from Courmayeur by 250 miles.
Thankfully, the adjacent Hotel Vallee Blanche had an open room for us. They even recommended Restaurante La Palud, where we had gnocchi and eggplant spaghetti. Out of the three countries on tour, Italy offered the best food.
Gnocchi Cakes !!And more Cake
The next day after a breakfast of tarts, cakes, chocolate croissants, and fruit salad, we got back on tour with a hike up the Courmayeur ski slopes ending at the Maison Vielle. This TMB refuge doubled as a ski chalet in the summer and had the most spectacular views of Mont Blanc. Until then, our views on the tour were obscured by the clouds or by adjacent peaks, such as the dome de mont blanc. To admire the view, we laid back on the ski slope grass, taking in the majesty of the Massif.
When we checked in, a lovely couple from NYC sat, sharing a decanter of wine. They were celebrating their 40th anniversary and his 70th birthday by completing half of the TMB. He was a theatre combat professor at NYU, and she worked in the New York City Ballet. They defined living life to the fullest.
Our dinner that night at the refuge rivaled the views. Italian main courses are divided into two meals : primi piatti and secondi piatti. The primi piatti usually consists of pasta or spaghetti, and a meat-based dish is the focus of the secondi. At the refuge, a hearty portion of marinara spaghetti warmed us up for the tenderloin dish sided with carrots and peas. All three parts of the secondi piatti were as tender as the name suggests. However remote the refuge or numerous the guests might be, there was always a desert. Maison Vielle offered a homemade chocolate cake topped with cream.
Mornings in Refugios begin bright and early at 5:30A.M. With limited restrooms and breakfast at 6:30 A.M., it was essential to get ready before everyone else. More importantly, we had to get to the next Refugio before 6 P.M. to catch dinner. It also helped to hike in the morning when temperatures were cooler. Europe was amidst a record-breaking heat wave, melting much of the glacier packs too early in the season. Some Refugios had even shut down due to a lack of water.
Before we left, I frightened my mother – our walking sticks were missing! With both my parents being patients of multiple leg surgeries, those sticks were vital for the downhill, when there is the most pressure on the joints. However, I had neatly stashed them in a corner. After a hearty breakfast, we were off. Our Destination? Refuge Croix du Bonhomme. A refuge so remote that supplies are helicoptered in.
Our first pit stop was in the town of Les Contamines-Montjoie, 1600ft below Aburge du Truc, for a ham and cheese baguette, a staple in the region. We had a combination of ham, cheese, and bread every day of the trip. We also hitched a ride from the town center for a short bit to Notre Dame de La Gorge. Our ride was necessary for what was to come.
My dad and I hiking through Les Contamines-Montjoie
As we ascended the first third of the day’s 3000+ ft, the soaring temperatures had us cursing under our breaths. The snowcapped peaks stood naked, stripped by the Global warming-fueled European heat wave. The same heat wave beat down on us and drained our water tanks. For a moment, it seemed that we had never left Texas with all the yellow grass. But we found solace at the water fountains. These continuous spouting fountains were sourced directly by the adjacent glacier-powered river or stream. The fountains spouted into a carved-out log that drained the excess water back into the river.
Watering Holes along the route
After a pitstop for a refreshing local sparkling lemonade and pies in refuge du la Balme, our last 2200ft of the ascend began, and it seemed to never end. Along the route, our path was also blocked by an aggressive Alpine Ibex. Naive as we are to this wildlife, we stood frozen, doing the only thing sensible at the time: staying far away and taking photos. However, a runner, prepping for the UTMB, nudged it to the side and opened the path to us. However, the wildlife was not the real obstacle. It was the terrain. We traversed melting ice packs, dusty roads, and crumbling boulders. The Alps were formed by the collision of the Eurasian and African tectonic plates. But in between the plates existed the pre-historic Tethys sea. As the African plate pushed itself above the Eurasian plate and gave rise to the alps, the sea evaporated, leaving behind sedimentary rock deposits. Sedimentary rocks are very susceptible to breaking down from natural forces, such as wind and rain. This phenomenon had our route itself crop up at steep angles and erode off into thin shards. It made the journey even more challenging.
When we made it to Col de Bonhomme, we didn’t even have the energy to sit and admire the view. The sun had started to go down more than we liked, and the weather could get quite unpredictable in the latter half of the day. The last mile was the toughest, as they usually are. We were pivoting around a peak called “Tete sud des fours” as the refuge lay on the opposite side, but it was too stubborn to present itself. It felt like a Ross in Friends – Pivot, Pivot, Pivot.
Every day along the trip, we made new friends. On our second day, we met a lovely couple from Singapore. He was a tattoo artist, and she was a diving instructor. They were on their way to a music festival in Belgium and were doing the TMB along the way. They had a more significant challenge than us as they were also lugging their camping equipment. On that last ascent, we became hikers-in-arms as we urged each other on.
Finally, at 7 – 7:30, a full 12 hours after we left in the morning, we stumbled in as most of the refuge were midway through their dinner. We reached just in time as a thick cloud rolled in behind us, enveloping the dorm and blocking any view 2 feet away.
The adventure didn’t end there. The heat wave still hadn’t finished its business. It had dried up many water sources and left the 100+ hikers only 2 dry toilets outside the refuges. We had to also wash up and brush with the donkeys in the yard. Furthermore, one of the outdoor restrooms had an awkward lock mechanism that jammed and locked me inside. Since everyone was inside for dinner, I thought I was stuck there for a while or had to Slumdog Millionaire my way out of there. Thankfully, a passerby got me out of there.
That night we found solace after the long day in the sumptuous portions of soup, pasta, and brownies – all again plated on ceramic dishes adorned by artwork. It still amazes me how the Refugios could provide such service in remote locations. Because of the location, no power cables reached such peaks, and all energy was sourced by solar panels. Therefore, to conserve electricity, our dinner was illuminated by candles held up by wine bottles.
While the candlelight illuminated indoors, the milky way illuminated the outdoors. The canvas of the night sky was pristine in the mountains, and the brush strokes of the celestial bodies sparkled brightly.
After strapping over 20 lbs on our backs, our attempt at the Tour du Mont Blanc (TMB) began with a 1600 ft descent from Bellevue, a ski spot near the town of Les Houches in France. The tour led us through Col de Voza, the hamlet of Bionnassay, and into the village of Le Champel. This path crisscrossed the first of many pastures with herds of cattle and sheep. In alpine fashion, the livestock wore a heavy bell for farmers to quickly locate them. While the livestock munched their lunch nonchalantly, we marched along and into the alpine forests with an empty stomach. We had planned to stop at inns at Col de Voza and Bionnassay for breakfast and lunch, but they were all shuttered. Our only saving grace were Parle-G’s glucose biscuits and trail mix that we had packed for emergency. The chiming cow bells dimmed as we crossed streams and rivers powered by glaciers. These bodies of water were flocked with baby blue and indigo butterflies. Joining us for a part of the way, a french father outfitted in pink shorts, a blue polo shirt, and a straw hat was out on an excursion with his four-year-old son collecting fallen pinecones.
By the time we emerged from the forest, we were starving. Thankfully we found refuge in Refugio de Miage, nestled at the confluence of Torrent de Miage’s headwaters. We gorged down on a ham and cheese baguette with the Plan glacier in the backdrop. Sadly, our day was not over yet. We had to climb Mont Truc to reach our accommodation at Auberge du Truc.
The last climb of 600ft was tough, or so we thought. An ultramarathon runner sped past us with ease. While the TMB is a famed route for hiking, it is also the course for the Ultra TMB, where runners complete the 167 km (~ 100 miles) course in under TWO DAYS! Unbelievable. More impressive is that the fastest time was 19 hours.
Upon reaching Auberge du Truc, we got a chance to rest our aching legs and meet our fellow hikers. Within the 23-person, bunk-bed style dorm room were seven other random individuals who had booked the tour through the same company. All of us stayed in the same dorms throughout the tour, ate together at breakfast and dinners, and by the end, we had become a family. Every night we would introduce ourselves to the reception as “bookatrekking 10,” and the group name stuck.
Although the refugios (mountain huts/dormitories) were cramped at times, they were clean and environmentally conscious. Not a single time did the accommodations use single-use plastic. Our meals were always served on ceramic dishes with metal cutlery. Oh, and the meals were impressive.
On our first night, we were invited to a sumptuous 4-course meal. It began with pumpkin soup to warm our stomachs, followed by cheese-filled scrambled eggs and pasta. We even got to sample the local cheese of Tomme du savoy for the third part. Each area of the alps has its cheese, which they prize and have strict production rules. The inn raised 2 of the three types of cows that produce Reblochon, a cheese local to the part of Savoy. Since it is a universal rule that where there are cows, there are files, we were mobbed by flies. Not only during our stay, but they pestered us throughout the tour. When we thought the meal was over, we were presented with a bowl of Creme Brulee.
That day we had ascended 2200 ft and descended 2400 ft. We tucked in early in preparation for what was to be the most challenging day of the tour.
Those 3 months. A memory locked deep in my heart. Its keys in her eyes.
Like a late spring bloom, the petals of our relationship slowly unfurled, but not quickly enough. The sly jabs and witty banter evolved into messages trailing late into the night. The tone became softer as we connected on a deeper level.
With each passing conversation, the tinge of affection grew. But I kept mum, afraid to jeopardize the friendship. She did too. However, on the last day, the secret needed to escape. And it did, in a blurted confession before we parted ways. She seemed taken aback, which became a catalyst for all possible negative scenarios to rush to the forefront of my mind. A second passed.
Then another, and other. Before she gave me half a laugh, the nervous kind. I was pretty sure I was done for.
“I like you too, but”
Ah, there it was, the “but.”
“But we only have 3 months before we go to the opposite ends of the country. This is not going to end well.”
A wave of relief washed over, taking all but one worry.
“But why worry about the future and skip out on the present?”
She still wasn’t convinced.
“But … but … but what if we go into it knowing that there is an expiry date attached. It will give it meaning. We will cherish every moment knowing that it won’t happen again and create a core happy memories?”
Her face lightened up a bit, and she agreed to a trial period of one date.
The first date was awkward, and so was the second. However, by the third, our relationship slowly began morphing into an extension of our previous friendship. The jovial leg-pulling was reintroduced alongside the candle-lit dates.
On the backs of one of the midsummer showers, we drove away from the bleeding lights of the town to gaze upon the skies. Under the light of a thousand stars, we ate, laughed, and danced. We waltzed, slow-danced, and tried a bit of swing dancing to the lyrics of Porter, the voice of Valli, and the rhythm of Goodman. The ride back was quiet other than the smooth tunes of a slow jazz saxophone. Both of us were lost in each other’s thoughts. Her smile, sparkling eyes, and laughter from those dates remain permanently engraved many years later.
As the expiration date approached, we began drifting apart, but a small part of us tried to still latch on. That part still remains attached. Our paths took us in opposite directions, and in the decades since, our contact and tabs petered out. I hope that she is content and happy wherever life has taken her. Despite losing her name and with the details fogging up, the emotions of the summer will remain.
Conscience of Aniket 