WE ARE IN ITALY!!!
Snow was our greatest fear and it was, in the end, our greatest challenge. Having patted ourselves on the backs for getting to within a kilometre of Montgenevre on broad, high altitude tracks without any real snow, we then hit a river crossing and 500 metres of deep snow, with no way to go back. If Nellie had not been so familiar with the stuff we would not have made it, but we did, though we lost one of her precious boots in the snow (no amount of searching finds it, but fortunately we have a spare). Then coffee and a sandwich (we had left our woodland campsite without breakfast because we had none) and mounds of dry bread for Nellie in Montgenevre, donated by the only cafe open in the whole of the town. Off-season it is a depressing place to be.
Our entry into Italy is uneventful, in fact we are not even sure where we enter, though the signs must have changed at some point. After this we leave the SS24, a fairly main road, and go off into the mountains and the snow, with some trepidation and promises to turn back if it got to risky.
If it were only the ascent, I would describe this as one of the best days so far. Sun shining, Nellie revelling in her return to snow - eating it and once even trying to roll in it with her packs on, which, sadly, I have to forbid – the sense of climbing and walking at eye-level with the other peaks around, then finally reaching 2000 metres with our amazing horse, dog and each other. If only it could stop there.
The descent is hell, 6km deep, crevassed snow that Nellie falls into up to her belly and we stumble through like three-legged drunkards. The only one who seems to be able to enjoy it is Flea, because he is light enough to skip over the surface. Again, without Nellie's experience of snow, the ending could be very different, but she sets the example and we follow and we survive and walk into Cesana and the Italy we fell in love with the last time we were here. Suddenly we are surrounded by interested, warm admirers. Every one of them complementing us on our horse, our appearance, our expedition and all wanting to help. The only people who seem to be cold and aloof are, we discover as their car drives away, French. Apologies to the French nation, we live there by choice, so it can't be all bad, but the difference in attitudes and human-warmth between you and the Italians is stark. Within half an hour Paul has, with the help of the Tourist Office, tracked down a hotel willing to take us and our animals, and we are quickly installed in our room while Nellie is once again surrounded by an admiring crowd and proffering hands. We are good at camping 'au sauvage', we can do it and find ways to make it comfortable (particularly with an air bed), but a hot shower and a good dinner are hard to beat.
Accommodation – Casa Cesana, rating: Good, but not PR because of the price – at 45 euros per person, it is an expensive pilgrim option, but for those with a larger budget, the welcome is warm, the food is good and the rooms comfortable.
02.05.2010 – Cesana Torinese – Oulx 27kmTough day, too tough, but in the end productive in terms of our route and the value we can add to it for pilgrims following in our footsteps. Preferring to take people off the dreaded (frankly suicidal for walkers and horse riders) SS24, recommended by the current guide book, we find an alternative off-road route, which is great until it starts to climb steeply and then finally disappears at the top of a rocky outcrop. Having a pack pony is great for 95% of the time, but the final 5% is always indescribably awful. Suddenly at over 1000 metres up, the still climbing track narrows with sheer drops on one side and trees on the other, which means we have to take the packs off every few strides, while teetering on the edge – then Paul has to carry them for whatever distance is required - each one weighs 22kilos. Meanwhile Nellie, our previously hyperactive equine, stands untethered and stock still, waiting for us to do what we have to do and her next instruction. I can't even begin to describe the value of such behaviour – in fact it is invaluable. Then we ask her to slither up and down rock faces, teeter on the edges of vertical drops and scramble over the temporary paths we make where the trees have fallen. She does it all and then we realise that we should have taken a previous turn and must retrace our steps. There are days and moments when I just want to give up, but they are always when we have gone so far that there is no turning back, and now we have the descent. An almost vertical winding path, strewn with rocks and roots that Nellie, with her packs has to find her way down. I am in front, with a ton of horse thundering behind. My instinct is to step-aside and let her go ahead, but I can't because I am the path finder. Nellie steps where I step and when I want to warn of her a large drop or obstacle to watch out for I jump higher so that she is aware of what she must do. We reach the bottom, safe, proud of ourselves for discovering the way out and a better route (for walkers and mountain bikers), but steaming with sweat and fear.
From here to Oulx the going is relatively easy, wide paths and more self-congratulation because we have found our way back onto a new set of via Francigena signers (yellow man) who seem to understand the need to stay away from main roads and other horrors. After Nellie's hotel night, with only a bare lawn to feed on, we our determined to ensure that she gets a bellyfull of the lush grass that lines the valley floor, so we stop off at what looks like the perfect woodland clearing, let her go and start to set up the tent. But Nellie is not impressed, in fact she is sniffing the ground and giving it an equine thumbs-down. Then we look more closely at the slightly broader leaves and Paul becomes aware of a pungent, but familar smell – garlic. We have parked ourselves in a field of wild garlic and though French, Nellie is not a garlic-eater. So we move onto the next clearing and find better fare for Nellie and shelter from the threatening rain for us. Another night under the stars, slightly damp, rather cold, but free and easy, with the help of a box of wine that Paul found in Oulx.
Meanwhile … Flea has been rechristianed DH (the Deer Hunter). Previously a furious, but futile, hunter of butterflies, Flea has discovered a new and presumably much more exciting prey. These woods are full of them, so much so that we have given up commenting on the sight, but Flea is in dog-heaven, forgetting his place in our team and our place as his masters. When he picks up a scent he is deaf and blind to anything else, disappearing so often and for so long that in the end we refuse to wait or call, leaving his fate to fate, which to our surprise proves to be the miraculous cure. Finally he is back, whimpering, tired and obviously scared by the prospect of losing us – he has not strayed again …. yet.
Curious to know what supplies you carry. You stated each pack was 22 kilos? Do you have a list of your clothing and supplies, etc?
ReplyDeleteHaving fun reading this, for I will be walking it in 2012.