Vervey to Grand St Bernard Pass

Vervey to Villeneuve 2nd October 

Sun dropping down the mountains to our left, we’re sitting in an outdoor cafe built on a jetty in Villeneuve. There are only 2 things to write about today, it’s a short day but fantastic.

We start by walking 8 km beside the lake agaian, out of Vevey and through Montreux, site of the famous annual jazz festival. It is a beautiful day and people are out in force, the locals on bicycles or beautifully dressed walking their elegant dogs.

This is a tourist town and there are massive hotels along the waterfront called Palace and Majestic. The area has splendid flourishing gardens and parks all the way along.

I was just pondering the observation that all over Switzerland young children walk home alone from school, doors are left open, there are no bars on the windows, wood is stacked and left in the forest, there are vegetable patches on the mountainside and the public toilets always clean and with toilet paper and taps to flush that you turn on and then off and the authorities confidently expect that you will actually do it. And then in Montreux I went into a public loo and it had the blue anti injecting lights. What a shock. I can only assume it is because Montreux attracts millions of international visitors every year.

Something else interesting has occurred to me, maybe it’s different in the North but here in the south the Swiss are dark – brown skin and brown hair.

Now the second part of the day, Chillon Castle. Oh!!! What to say! It’s like a flipping filmset but it has been there just like that since the 15th Century perched on a little island in the lake just past Montreux. Very complex and with internal buildings which gives a fantastic feel for what it must have been like centuries ago. And all the tourists wandering around actually add to the sense of what bustling life must have been carried on there. Fairy princess castle. We love it and it was hard to tear ourselves away. We’re so glad today is short k’s. We take out time and soak it up.

Now in Villeneuve, a couple of k’s along, looking back at the setting sun, picks up the buildings all along the beachfront to our right, including that magical castle, now dwarfed by a huge expressway crossing the valley far above on massive pylons.

Long day tomorrow, but a great destination, very excited about that.

Villeneuve to St Maurice Sunday 3rd Oct 

So Renato says, you want a definition of looming – look up there　! Mountains everywhere all day which we know must soon be climbed. Finishing with this evening St Maurice jambed between two massive rock walls, gigantuan slabs of grey harsh rock.

Tonight a strong wind is whistling through the town, not cold but you can sure imagine how it is when winter sets in.

On the other hand, today has been blue sky and warm. We set out from Villeneuve and having said goodbye to the Hotel du Soleil with the nice hotelier who let us use his computer to create a word document then email it to the blog sitting in the breakfast room, how helpful (unlike the fat ugly pension owner in Vevey (Pension Burgle) who wouldn’t let me take a cup of tea up to our room after breakfast).

The road strikes out from the lake and heads for the hills. The massive range of mountains, the Dent du Midi, (teeth of noon – go figure, but it is jagged) is there all day, has been for days, it dominates the landscape. We get closer and closer and it moves around but it’s always there.

Now it’s beginning to be autumn and we are walking right beside the Rhone river (I never really knew where that was before). It is a swiftly flowing grey green river with the odd kayaker on it. We walk on a path right beside it nearly all day, with autumn leaves showering down.

There are lots of cyclists around, even a professional looking peleton. Then we see a huge velodrome world cycling centre and the sound of someone commentating an event inside. Ready set go…bang! Blah blah blah blah. Now this really gets me – you know those cheap motels, with a tacky picture hung, slightly crooked, on the fake wood panelled wall, you know, the one with a sparkling river, a sweep of autumn leaf trees on the curve of the river on the left and at the back the mountain with a dusting of snow. That’s the picture we walked through all day. Nature can be so tacky sometimes. I was determined to soak my feet in the cold water but the path was too high and the bank too steep so we ploughed on, and on, and on. We finally gave in and lay down under some huge piping to a factory on the hill to get some shade. Later on we found a place to scramble down and soak our aching feet in the cold water. Despite being beside the river we were short of water. Renato drank the river water. I didn’t dare because of my sore tummy. It’s been difficult to find anything to eat on the hoof. I’ve mostly been surviving on yogurt and apples so I definitely didn’t drink the river water. I’m now gingerly starting to put things back, little invalid bites of bread dipped in soup, a tiny sliver of cheese.

Anyway after walking miles very thirsty we were very pleased to see a camping area with apparently an open cafe. The people were a surprise, a Swiss guy who spent 27 years in India and now runs a cafe in the shadow of a mountain range in Switzerland and his charmingly lucid English wife. We had a cool drink, filled up our water bottle and staggered on to our destination – the Abbey of St Maurice.

Now there^s a lot of history with this abbey – it has been continuously in use since 515AD. St Maurice is a martyr who, fighting with his team of christians for the Romans, was ordered to massacre a group of christians, refused, and he and his thousands of men were executed. Made him famous, here anyway. We rocked in, were taken by an aged monk in black to the hospice house, shown our room, showered and went down to dinner. Met the Abbot – very suave and sophisticated and English speaking who told us that they are canons (and made it clear that he is bishop of the region).

There has been lovely singing while we waited and a group of men walked through while we were waiting to eat. I think Renato would have eaten with the gang but a woman would never do, so we dined alone with the elderly monk making crazy conversation. He had lived his whole life here in the seminary (since about age 13). The building is huge, awesome. We walked around the town, nothing much there, buffeted by the wind. Now in our monks cell, warm dry bed and wondering how to spend the rest of the evening. Whoops – where is the plasma screen? These monks really live lives of deprivation.

St Maurice to Martigny 4th October 

The wind howled all night, wailing through the cracks in the shutters. We don’t dare open them in case the wind teaars them off their hinges and sends them to Italy. There since (we reckon) about 1700 and destroyed at our hands.

Down to breakfast in the Abbey, alone this time. The benign old monk shows us in and leaves us to our loaves of bread, slab of cheese and a whole bowl of jam. We asked to see the fabulous treasury but are told firmly that it is closed.

Now it is lovely to be tucked up under a cozy dooner when the wind is whipping round the building but of course we have to get out in it. It is crazy – my mantra for the day is (tune of I’m to sexy for my shirt) is It’s too windy for my hat.

We trudged all day through this narrow valley and the wind doesn’t let up. Now rain is unpleasant, but wind is obnoxious. It’s like it’s alive, and pushing into it at every step is exhausting and depressing. It messes with your brain. At one point we round a corner and the wind almost knocks me off my feet. I hear myself cry out Oh! as I battle my way around.

So it is a great relief to head off into the forest and one of the spectacularly simple walks along a path with earth and leaf underfoot and not a soul to be seen. There are chestnuts and walnuts lying on the ground and when we get to Martigny, we pick two pears from a trellised orchard. Martigny is a bigger town than we expect and we set out to do a few chores. Internet cafe directly across the road. And my old walking pants have finally died, falling to rags. I‘ve been sewing them up but they’re too precarious. So the lady at reception directs us to a sports store like Rebel where I find the perfect replacement. Now eating vegetable soup and waiting on a ham omelette and a plate of rosti for Renato to arrive. A couple walked into the restaurant and we had a great conversation. The guy has hiked to India in the 70s and was in Afghanistan. Very interesting and also very cultured. Martigny is a very arty town and this couple had come to see a particular artists exhibition. An interesting thing about Martigny – the town water is pure ice melt from Mt Blanc. Back in our room at the end of the night we see something striking. Some lights along the top of a massive dark hill, just a few houses up there, so high they look like UFOs hovering.

Martigny to Orsieres 5th October

No way, it’s too much! Throw me a bag of adjectives I need some more. Out of Martigny looking at a long day, only 20km but a lot of up and down. Now I had been anxious about this section because it was said to be very steep (tick) very narrow (tick) and very strenuous (tick). An amazing path – too narrow for horse or bike, so only walkers can drink this particular nectar. And sweet it is. Only as wide as 2 boots side by side and there’s a long long drop through the trees. Concentrate, don’t make a mistake, this is no time for a misstep. You would have a megapixel close up look at the autumn leaf as you crash through the branches all the way to the valley floor far below. In a few places there is a bit of chain to hang on to but mostly it is just go very slow be very careful. Up up up, the down again, surrounded by the outrageously beautiful forest in all the colours. Then into a pine forest, soft damp pine needles underfoot. We scramble over huge tumbled rocks covered in moss, struggle up steep slopes picking our way. Out of sight there is a road with a steady hum of traffic but the forest has a thick silence. Every now and again we emerge and see stunning vistas. After hours of this the countryside changes, opens out. This is Heidi country – tell you what, if you are scything those steep stepp hillsides you are definitely not going to any pilates class to keep your core happening.

Martigny has (wait for it) a cow fighting event and some of the big black cows we pass look seriously mean. They aren’t call betsy or buttercup, they’re called crusher and stomper. With a big broad black head with hefty horns.

We could see our destination in the distance, but took a wrong turn. A sign was missing from a post and we ended up climbing to 1142 metres getting a bit anxious as we went higher and higher. I keep thinking this is so beautiful and it’s so absolutely stunning, and I’ll never be back here, and we’ll get there in the end.

We follow our hunches and are almost all the way down again and can see Orsieres again but not exactly how to get there. Then we meet a couple out for a walk, we ask them, they take us back a little bit and we discover we are staying at the same hotel. They bring us right to reception and they say to the patron, we found some Australians, but Houston, we have a problem. Renato and I lost sight of each other in the forest today. He stopped to photograph a fungus and didn’t see I had turned uphill. We had an increasingly anxious time, unable to find each other. We were both yelling but the sound was swallowed up. We took a little while to reconnect and when we did I found that Renato, panicked and rushing, had slipped and fallen on steep rocks, sending boulders cascading to the valley floor. He has hurt his arm and shoulder. Using Ian’s definition if it’s an Injury call an ambulance, if it’s hurt get up and play, we decide to continue and see how it settles. Oops! Or as the young frenchwomen say, oopla! With a charming smile and a carefree toss of their ponytail. I think if you said to them, got a problem, both of my legs have just been cut off their response would still be Oopla! Flash! Toss!

Orsieres to Bourg St Pierre 6th October

How do we know it’s Wednesday? Because as we walk through a little village at lunch time and I said, no chance I know, but I’d love a fizzy drink lo and behold, there was a little restaurant and we zoomed over to it. But zut alors! It is closed – ferme Mercredi (Wednesday) of course! Any way we used the facilities – ie pull the still damp socks out of the pack and spread them on one of the tables. Settle down in the sun to have a nice long relaxed boots of feet up ahh!

We climb up and up today to 1640 M but it’s a nice steady gradient all day. Through very lovely mountain scenery with picture book houses perched on the mountain side. There is a higher narrower path as an alternative so we choose that. Only as wide as a cow path really with stunning views and then a long dark track thriough the pine forest. It’s so quiet, just a muffled thud of boots.

I really like that in this country, they assume you have half a brain, and will use it. Everything is not fenced off, locked off, forbidden. Childrens playgrounds still look like fun. Why do you need two sides to a walking bridge? Just take care, you can see it’s steep. Dont’t go near the edge, you can see it’s high. Yes you can hunt deer in the forest if you’re careful. There is an occasional sign like along the rivers as they tumble over rocks on the way down from the mountains – don’t hang around in the river bed, water can come down in torrents unexpecedly. But mostly it’s use your commonsense. We came on a fallen tree across our path in the forest and had to get round it. Renato climbed over then said don’t do that, it could fall. Oops that would be a long fall. Use your commonsense! I wish I was as nimble as a mountain goat. We go so slowly, testing the footholds, putting the boots flat on a steep loose surface, edging round difficult tree roots. I often think how Ryan would go here flitting through the forest, bounding from rock to rock, his feet hardly touching the ground. The hills go up down up down, just choose one. Either would be fine – maybe just up. Whoa wait a minute, just up is the meseta on the Camino in Spain. Up and up and up to a huge flat plateau scoured by relentless icy headwinds. No, cancel that order, up and down is fine.

Anyway it gives the opportunity to keep rounding corners and see…no don’t tell me, let it be a surprise, here it comes..voila! a hill with a cluster of houses with shutters and window boxes, a fountain spilling into a trough, a tableau of mountains in the background with a stream tumbling down, an old man leaning on a stick, you’re walking? Yes we are from Australia, we are walking from Besancon to Rome. The eyebrows go up, a big smile missing a few teeth cracks the weathered face. He pushes his hat back a bit to Rome! Ohh la la! We look nonchalant and humble as we walk off.

Walking provides an opportunity to ponder the big questions like this. They don’t do tea and coffee in the rooms here, but in this town, high in the mountains where we are kept awake by the sound of cow bells, there is a jug and tea bag in the room, but why do they use whitener instead of milk?

This is the absolute first place where it is untidy and slightly grubby, but the heaters switch on, and the lady in reception is so jolly and helpful, letting me sit in the reception office to use her own computer. And she has two lovely border collies there too. Hordes of Italian road workers come back to the hotel from work, calling out as they pass me, bo soir, Signora.

Just now finishing dinner – Renato has rosti with deer salami and local cheeses and Maggie has vege soup and provencale salad. Very nice. Now tired and ready to end the day. Tomorrow…very exciting, walking to the Grand St Bernard Pass!

Bourg SP to GSB pass Thur 7th October

This won’t take very elaborate description Renato said. It was steep. Really really steep. I’m not kidding, really steep! 2472 metres pretty much just up over about 10 km fort he last 1000M. Like climbing stairs only it was rocks, narrow paths, crossing little streams. But we made it!!

Up out of BSP and before you could blink it was far below. I had imagined walking through forests today but almost immediately we were above the tree line. Russet heather, tiny wild flowers, great lumps of rock and on every side massive brown mountainsides with snowtopped crags in the background.

We lunched at some very old farm bldgs, low rock hut, hunched against the hillside with sod on the stone roof. I guess they were for blizzards to save the lives of animals and people. We lie in the sun behind a rock wall out of the wind and sleep for a while, stretched out in the soft grass. Then up again. The signs show not mileage but walking time and we are pretty perfectly average except that we add half again for little breaks to drink, photos (just one or two) and standing looking at the scenery, gasping and throwing superlatives around.

Stagger up the last bit, the air is pretty thin and it is extremely hard going. R’s fine but I’m done. Then into the Hospice where a lay brother welcomes us, invites us to take our packs off and pours us each a breakfast bowl of black tea. We chat (sort of) as best we can without a common language. Out of the sludge at the back of my mind I find that another french word rises to the surface like a bubble of gas in hot roturua mud.