Buying Ecstasy Les Houches

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Buying Ecstasy Les Houches

When people refer to the GR5, they are usually only talking about the French Alps section. But in actuality, the GR5 is a much longer trail that begins in the Netherlands. Length of Alpine Section: miles depending on alternate route choices. Terrain: Moderately difficult and strenuous on well-graded trail. No mountaineering skills required unless early in the season. France allows camping above tree-line most of the time except in national parks. And the food is superb! Gingolph in Switzerland. The French start is longer and more gradual, with easier access from the Geneva airport by train or from Nyon or Lausanne by boat. In the summer of , I boned up on my schoolgirl French and set off to Geneva to walk miles along the spine of the Alps. I had exactly four weeks to meet my return flight in Nice, so once hitting the ground, I wasted no time and snagged a train out of the airport and bought a ticket from the city center to San Gingolph. They had none, but loaded me up with gel fondue fuel. Once it let up, I tested the fuel and found it useless in my closed stove, so night number one ended with a cold dinner, wild singing forest birds and the striking clock from the village below. I was in heaven. The next morning, I found the wet bundle of my travel clothes right where I left them in a puddle outside the tent covered with slugs. I packed up and pressed higher and higher in the forest, ready to see the craggy cliffs ahead. The air was heavy in its humidity as my hair and top plastered to my skin. Two passes needed to be crested and the scene was filled with day-hikers and melodious cowbells. But Richard understood enough to realize I was well on my way. It was here too, that they filled my bottle with liquid alcohol for the stove from a giant canister right at the table. Sated and with that task checked off , I set off back up the mountain to find the flattest available spot in a muddy, slanty field looking straight out toward Pas de la Bise and its foreboding peaks. The sky turned pink and my tent grew heavy with damp. The night was damp and uncomfortable. The Hornet had a nasty way of clinging to itself, so the fly would encourage condensation to build on the inside of the tent which dripped onto my face. There was nowhere dry to cook or even sit, so I packed up and slip-slided up to the top, finding a crisp sunny morning and my first view of the Mont Blanc far in the distance. I pushed down through muddy cowpat-filled fields soaking my boots all the way through, my wool socks beginning to reek worse than the fields. But all this moisture brought out an extraordinary multitude of wildflowers. Soon I began walking on a rocky trail that pushed me along the edge of Dents du Midi and Dent Blanche. In asking pouvez-vous prendre ma photo? I met the first in a series of women of a certain age who found middle-aged me, hiking on my own and using French, charming. The exchanges began with questions, followed by a cascade of conversation where only every other sentence registered. I was invariably invited to lunch or a drink or to share addresses, but declined as I pushed on to my next camp spot. As I came down the pass, I thought I might find a nice wooded spot, but things were too bumpy and it felt too early. In my frustration, I dumped an entire pot of food and took it as a sign to press on. It was only a couple miles and a few thousand feet to the next pass, so I headed up, finding a flat grassy knoll just out of sight from the trail. As the sun set in pinks and oranges, cave dwelling birds created a racket nearby accompanied by distant cowbells. Rocky, rutted and eroded, stuck in the trees with no view and absolutely relentless, the reward was finding the spooky Gorges des Tines just beyond town, where a via ferrata was set for climbing over the mossy, fern-encased rock. Asking in French for a photo, I was greeted in heavily accented English by a smiling man about my age. He asked if I was walking the entire way. Of course, I said and his teasing answer was that he was truly walking the entire way. Gerton was lovely and generous. He understood that I wanted to push on to get my view, but explained it was already 4 pm. Another pass took me past a glorious lake flanked by peaks then up a steeper and longer rocky pass, which opened onto the view. Worth it? You bet. The snowy Mont Blanc massive sits thousands of feet above the surrounding peaks and was seemingly placed just there for me to see. Gerton ran on ahead and organized a fondue dinner and beer as I set up my tent next to the refuge in the flattest spot yet on my hike. Sadly, the next morning Gerton felt unwell and bid me farewell. I kick myself that I kept my phone out of site in the drizzle and tried to just remember the amazing beauty of the region enclosed by these mountains and out of site of the bustling tourist towns of Chamonix and Les Houches. Streams tumbled over perfectly placed rock gardens of flowers, and shrubs sang with riparian creatures. I had the hike all to myself as most people left far earlier to avoid being caught out in the storm. It was an environment that answers all the questions regarding why I take on these sorts of hikes. But I made a bad mistake once coming out of this wonderland. As nice as a few relaxed days might be in this famous mountaineer town, it was out of my way. Finding myself thousands of feet down on the other side of the mountain left me teary and full of frustration, but it only fueled my stubbornness to not use any assistance in walking this trail. So I marched right back up the long road under the cable car, to the correct path, and the down — what the guide warns — is one of the longest, hardest descents of the entire trail. In rain and on crumbling muddy rock, the walk was totally dispiriting. I paid 3 euros for a coke at the normally crowded Refuge de Bellachat, now completely in cloud and run by a few cynical ladies, then continued down and down, getting wetter and colder. I was a sad sack when I came into town looking for a place to stay. I jumped into the hot with all my clothes on, stringing things along every available spot. Needless-to-say, dinner that night was glorious. It takes only a little bot of kindness and comfort to change your entire perspective. I would need better spirits as the climb out of Les Houches was steep and long. This is the part of the trail that meets with the famous Tour du Mont Blanc. It was packed with hikers, but the weather was clearing and I was happy to keep moving. The trail crosses tracks where a train, originally intended to scale the Mont Blanc, still takes visitors for a closer look. Then up to Bionassey where climbers get intel and the glorious Glacier tumbles into the verdant valley. At the refuge I saw tents so decided it was enough for one day and pitched next to a group of young French men smoking and laughing. These boys seemed a bit rough to me, but picking blueberries must be a universal leveler of all things macho as we happily crawled through the thickets to find the plumpest. I was moving well, though not fast; enjoying the scenery, while always on the lookout for a cool campsite; and I wanted to get it all done in my four weeks allowing for any required zero days ahead. I had to go down before going up, to the town of Les Contamines. It was only waking as I lumbered through following the gorge past the charming church, Notre Dame de la Gorge, naturally, and up a very steep slope peopled with giggling, colorfully dressed Chinese hikers and scowling, plodding English hikers. It started to feel crowded here and I longed to be past the refuges and intensity, even if it was exhilarating scenery. With a full backpack, I always take it slow — and always take the side next to any safety. You want to go fast? The path was about three feet wide at its narrowest with sloping sides tumbling thousands of feet below and surrounded by sharp, craggy cliffs erupting from green meadows. And did I luck out. Directly around an abandoned chalet was a lawn protected from browsing cattle just wide enough — and flat enough — for my tent. There was even a fountain nearby with fresh water; I had it made. My view that night looked back on the Mont Blanc and all I had walked. A splendid night. The next day took me up the rock-hopping ascent of the Col de Bresson. The air was becoming noticeably drier and the rock rougher and less forgiving. But first I had to make a detour to a fromagerie for some of the finest cheese from this region of the Savoie, Beaufort. Hard, yet creamy, I picked up a huge chunk from a family who moves up to the mountains all summer and lives off the land. It was pure heaven. I took my hunk up the trail nearly catching two young boys flying up who happily took my picture. University of Wisconsin was my first thought, and I was right. He had spent a year living near Madison and practicing English. He found American life boring, but loved how all the girls fell for his accent. Ah, youth. From here, I could see the snowy-capped peaks of the Vanoise ahead of me, still miles away. The descent was flower-studded heaven in the sunshine and I met the first through-hikers of the summer, two English women who offered me proper tea and milk. We ended up getting slightly lost together as we took the passage pieton through Valezan, giving up on finding a snazzy campsite and settling for what they called a ditch on the side of a horse trail. I would highly recommend the detour to Landry and the public campground. It saves unnecessary and wasteful hardship. But once I arrived at the Vanoise National Park, all the recent trouble just fell away. The road opened to a wide valley of wood and stone barns with jagged snow-encrusted peaks high above. It was hard work to crack up into the mountains, but they proved irresistible under a sun-drenched sky. Here I met a throng sitting on their gear in a vibrant green meadow. By law, tents are not allowed in the park, but are tolerated after the sun begins to go down at which time a little buzzer is sounded and everyone quickly created a tent city. The night was crisp as a man climbed up above us carrying a case with a portable alpenhorn. He played a few cascading notes, then ended the evening with Brahms 1. Sheer bliss. It was such a dreamy night; my washed clothes frozen in a ball at the side of my tent hardly disturbed my joy. I packed up shivering and pressed up over the pass only to be jolted out of my reverie by civilization. It was packed with visitors, most with mountain bikes to fly down the summer slopes. Thankfully, they kept the walking trails separate. I found the town friendly and useful as I stocked up supplies and hunted out wifi. Sadly, I would need a local phone number to make it work, but a lovely couple allowed me their account to send Richard a quick note. The views were grand and snowy and led to my favorite refuge of the hike near the Col de Leisse. Run that summer by a young family, they charged me 3 euros for a campsite, but it included a shower in a kind of cabin. I waited in line for my turn with a group of middle-aged French who chatted in the sunshine of that gorgeous view. Three people camped along with the couple in this quiet haven. I ate the most glorious berry pie at this refuge before working my way down and down until my muscles ached to Pralognan. But the weather had other ideas. This refuge was on the road and a bit more upscale — and snooty. When I asked if I could pitch the tent, they pointed out into the flashing lightning and pouring rain and said to go out of site. So I asked how much a bed was for the night. They showed me a charming little room and the price seemed reasonable, but when I agreed and they handed me a key, it was for a different room filled with hikers wet clothes and humidity. It seems the other room was just for show. Hauling my gear through the pouring rain I came upon a dorm of about 25 beds, happy fairytale characters painted on the walls and one bathroom. But I had the place all to myself that night in the crashing thunder. Someone even left a half bottle of wine. It was daunting work over the rock-strewn and snowy ascent which ended at a sheer wall of scree. Fortunately, another hiker was just cresting the top and coming down as I came closer and he showed me the trick to getting onto what appeared to be an impossible route. It was hard going, but I sat at the top with my breakfast for a few hours just enjoying the view and my solitude. This was when I exited the Vanoise and came upon a wholly new region, studded with wispy pine trees and rockier mountains depleted of glacier. It was a long way down past stone houses with stone-tiled roofs. Once in the forest it was simply on and on before reaching a major road, one filled with trucks and commerce. Modane was totally dead and devoid of any place to sleep, but just a few blocks away was Forneaux and an inexpensive hotel where I washed my gear and decided to treat myself to dinner. Right on the border, this town had better pasta and pizza then escargot. I ate up and slept well that night. Out of Forneaux was another huffing and puffing workout, mostly through trees and under the giant N Once out into the mountains again, all the carbs burned off and feeling good, I ran into a Frenchman who snapped my picture and then began criticizing my walking. Alain was the most pompous ass I have met on any hike. He was absolutely tiresome, and yet I was unable to get rid of him. Good grief, this guy was a persistent one! As I came nearer to the Refugio, there he was again. And with that, he was gone for good. Praise the goddess! The site I found was hidden in graceful larch facing the rugged Three Magi. Back in France again, I stopped for a lemon soda with a stunning view right on the edge of the mountain stealing myself for the crossing ahead. Every hike has a bit of the unknown in it. You could look at photos, read blogs and even watch a video of the trail, but until your boots are on it, the actual feeling is hard to calculate. For some reason, I had in my mind that the hardest part of the crest would be the steep climb to the top. The day was getting away from me and most people were coming off the crest, giving me a chance to ask. One woman said there is a tricky spot but just push through. So I cracked up fast, my favorite thing to do as I am built to go uphill. Proudly on top, I could see a few backpackers wisely taking the lower path as grey clouds began to gather over the exposed ridge. Above I met a couple who chatted me up excited about my solo hike to the sea. When I asked how long it would take to cross, they said about two hours…two hours!?! I panicked. It was late and I was alone; I needed to get going. They offered me a handful of candy and wished me luck. Their guess was spot on; it took two hours to walk the narrow trail of crumbling rock along the top of an exposed ridge. And there was one very dicey part where the trail all but disappeared and I needed my hands to carefully slide around a tight edge. It was beautiful and thrilling, but the worst was ahead in a crumbling mass of ball bearing rocks sliding down in a highly eroded path right off the edge of the cliff. I slid and skidded down, finally reaching a wider ridge. In this region, I began to see the remains of past wars in the hulks of derelict buildings lending an air of mystery — and a flat place perfect for a tent. I had a view out of both doors, one to the setting sun and one to the rising full moon. A couple of boys arrived and were just as surprised to see me as I was them. I directed them below next to the barracks and they built a huge fire while I slumbered in my aerie lair. Thrilled by the site of the setting full moon over the valley when I awoke. I instantly took a wrong turn and found myself hiking under the crest. I lingered with an espresso and pain au chocolat before trying to find my way out of town, which was not always obvious up twisting streets and through neighborhoods before hitting a small shop for a coke and cracking up and over the Col des Ayes and entered the Queyras Regional Natural Park. Rockier and drier, this region is loaded with climbing routes including a multitude of via ferrata, the fixed metal ladders that only require clipping into to gain heights only dreamed of. But none of that was on the itinerary as I walked into a campground and set up as close to the accueil as possible so as to return to cook, check wifi and buy a few beers for the climbing friends I made. This is how all camping should be — a bar on the premises, and orders taken for your morning bread. The next day I took an almost zero day walking about 45 minutes as a full-on rain threatened. It was a day of reading and writing, eating and drinking and trying out my French on the poor, unsuspecting guests. It was, in a word, perfect. The next day dawned bright and sunny. Breakfast was laid out for me so I could leave early and work my way towards Fort Queyras through a lovely wood and a few road crossings. The air was fresh and the views stunning as paragliders in resplendent colors floated above Ceillac and I walked the gentle trail to a gelato. I staked my claim near Lac Miroir observing the posted rules that were roundly broken by the gathering campers around me who had dogs, set up tents before sunset and built fires. But non of it disturbed my chill experience. I took a late night stroll around the lake wondering if anyone found a better site and was surprised to discover that it was only me who could see the mirror image in the lake of the surrounding mountains. Somehow I had scored. I love hiking in early morning. So it was much to my chagrin that as I worked my way up to the Col Girardin, I saw a man gaining on me below. We were both still in shade but as I came into the sun, I stopped to take off my jacket. As I began walking again — and he was getting closer — I rounded a blind bend directly into the path of a pastous, one of the notoriously protective Alpine sheep dogs. He looked a bit like an overgrown lab with a black muzzle and rippling muscles. His flock was working its way across the trail to a valley below. I stopped as he proceeded on the trail coming close, and bringing into view the impressive studded collar of long, sharp objects, likely there to keep wolves from even considering going on the attack. He stopped in front of me and sat down getting to work watching his herd. I talked nicely and his tail wagged a little even if he looked away from me. I was answered in English with a rather sarcastic retort. So I pushed on cursing this unknown jerk for his disrespect. A few minutes later, he caught me up. A young, tall, lanky thing with a deep baritone. That was ever so kind to let me know what was up ahead. This guy was a nice person and our friendship started that moment. Serge John was his name, from Wales hiking alone and camping every night. No one asked and we just started walking together, sharing the next episode of long road walking before passing a few villages and picking up items in Foulliouse. We found a stunning site in the trees near a rushing stream and Serge built us a fire. A red fox visited and try to run off with the garbage bag, but we scared him into dropping it, though he sat and watched us, one paw curled over the other. Serge and I would hike for six more days, enjoying rich conversation and cooking together. He also ensured I got more calories as I began to lose my appetite with all that walking. We made a good team. We left camp and walked up an old military road to the Barquements de Viraysse and then down to the town of Larche for a hearty lunch. Ahead was Mercantour National Park where we talked about food and what we missed eating while hiking. I wanted something impossible like sushi, his was more pedestrian with chips, or French fries, but served with a condiment not always used but craved on a walk: mayonnaise. High up was another gorgeous lake, views all around and dry brown grass — the humidity of the first weeks was long gone. We waited til sunset then popped up our tents and used both stoves to make a feast. No fires here, but loads of stars. After leaving the lovely lake it was a trudge up to the rocky and fractured Pas de la Cavale, the boundary of Alpes-Maritimes. The rugged path took us down onto gentle velvety humps, back up again and then down through the steep switchbacks of a road below the summer hamlet of Bousieyas. The idyllic mountain town of St. Dalmas-le-Selvage was our destination for shops before finding camping above. The town was charming but felt deserted except for a small store doing brisk business selling artisan cheese and meats. All the while, Serge spied a deep fryer and asked if it might be possible to order some pommes frittes. It would take a few minutes, but sure, she said. Glory hallelujah! The next day became a half day with a long stop in the ski-town of Auron for Serge to organize his bus trip back to Wales and school. It was a steep and hot climb to Auron, far past the helpful traffic signs suggesting the distance was only a few miles, while the path took a far more circuitous route directly over the mountain. I was bushed once arriving, but the town lacked the bustle of Val Claret, and possessed far more charm. We shopped then hogged the computer at the Tourist Office before setting out once again up and up and over the Col du Blainon. Along this hanging valley above one of the deepest valleys, it was remote and splendidly beautiful. But we were in trouble. Serge was determined to camp here so we looked hard for any water source. What we did find was a full rain barrel. Thank goodness we both brought iodine pills as we filled our dromedaries for as relaxed evening. It was a spectacular night on the edge of the cliff, hidden by old stone walls, while the heavens put on a star show and we stayed up late to take it all in. Down and down we went into the valley, finally working our way into Roya where a church listed names of those lost in World War One, five from one family in this tiny village. My heart grieved. That was quite a moment, when the end is in sight, if still days and days away. We took pictures standing on the oddly truncated monument, ate some walnut paste on apples and then pushed down onto the massive open plateau. I was overeager and somehow assumed we were getting close to our destination, But it was still a long and hot haul over another pass of whimsically shaped rock spires and into a lush hanging canyon of grazing cattle. At the refuge, we met two older white-haired ladies from Switzerland on their first day of their final stage after four years walking the GR5. Later they would ask me if I get bored walking that much. But that was a few days on. Loading up on all the wrong foods I craved we needed to march up and out again but this time into the full sun of Southern France. By the time we reached the village of Rimplas, I was suffering from the heat and needed to lie down. We still had three hours to go that day to the plave where Serge would cut off for Nice, while I would add five more days and end up further east in Menton. I drank water and walked slowly, pleased that the path headed into the woods before pushing up some more towards La Bolline, La Roche and finally St. Camping was on a farm with a cooking area, seating area, wifi and a way to wash clothes too. I felt clean and happy here and recovered fast. I also met Christian who, like the Swiss, was walking for just a week and only beginning his trek. Also two Dutch proudly carrying a giant colorful steepled tent. Serge and I stayed up late laughing and comparing notes before sleeping comfortably on the thick grass. This morning was a sad one as Serge and I walked towards the fork of trails, with me taking the GR52 and him continuing on the GR5. I tried all I could to convince him to come with me, but he really needed to get back and I suddenly felt unsure I could do this on my own. In town we met two more walkers starting their last week after a four-year project, English girls. I was told later that out of earshot Serge asked that they look after me. The trail pushed hard up to Plan de la Gourra where the views open up and immediately answers the question of why bother heading north this far into the trail: because it is so beautiful. Rocky and rugged, the trail winds down again by trees and streams and wild far-reaching views. After a second one, I thanked him and said I wanted to camp further along. We agreed to try and catch each other on the higher route the next day as I continued on up along the rushing river desperately looking for a flat spot. I even tried some dinner on a possible spot that just turned out not to work. Finally — full of gratitude — I found just the beauty near the footbridge and out of sight, the burbling water rocking me to sleep. My day began peaceful next to a brook. When I broke camp it was up and up to a turquoise, glacier-fed lake and a crystal clear day ahead. It required a massive, boulder climb, but was well worth it with such quiet views all to myself. As if on cue, Christian rounded the corner, kissed me on both cheeks, took a picture and flew back down the mountain towards La Madone. I could barely keep up, but I moved faster thinking to myself what could one day of moving like this hurt? The exception being the language of food as Christian searched out a shady meadow to make lunch. I offered some cheese and meat, but he got to work quickly making pasta, even shaving fresh parmesan into our individual servings. When he brought out a little chocolate, I began to cry; what generosity and in such a lovely spot. To that he laughed, packed up fast and scurried us aup a steep and very rocky Pas du Mont Columb. Using hands for some of the steeper sections, it was the fastest I had moved the entire month. This was no Serge, languid, relaxed, and protecting his knees. I was now in the presence of a jackrabbit! Going down that pass was equally challenging; straight on through a slippery rock pile and across a boulder field. But the most lovely site in the Mercantour was still to come as Refuge de Nice came into view tucked deep into a bowl of rock and grassy slopes. I camped high above the refuge after taking dinner with my new friends. As they slept snugly in their dorm, I got strobelight lightning most of the night and echoing thunder scaring me half to death. I ran down to the refuge only to find Christian still awake and wondering what was the problem. The storm passed just as I entered, so I skulked back a little embarrassed to my cozy tent. Christian came around to my tent just as I was finishing breakfast. He wanted to get me running back up another huge pass, Baisse de Bosto, that once reached looked down thousands of feet to my camp spot below. This area was in the heart of the Mercantour, possessing an almost ancient feel, the rising mist adding an exclamation point. I quickly tucked them into my pack as I butt in on a tour describing the artwork in French. It was here that Christian waved goodbye and sped onwards toward the end of the trail. I got a good scare the night before, so I found myself leaning towards a night in the dorm. I had no idea how things were done, but a bed was available in this, the busiest season, so I nabbed it and then signed up for my own tour as no one was allowed into the refuge until 6 pm. An animated young black man with dreadlocks explained these marvels with language I could follow. It was more being in that group of people and sharing the experience that stuck out until it began pouring rain and we all ran down to the refuge. Finally we were allowed in and it was a slight shock; two long rows of beds right next to each other in a crowded room with only the smallest amount of light and air from a single window. It was a rough night of snoring, snuffling and trying not to touch the person inches away. I looked on with envy the people who decided to risk camping. The town is filled with a negative spirit and the people are unkind. It was the only time on the trip I felt unsafe. The walk out of the Refuge is gentle, up the Pas du Diable as you exit the national park. Things felt wrong immediately as I approached the visitor center for this tiny ski town and was greeted by a sour young lady, unhelpful and rude. Once in town I found a bustling restaurant and my two English friends arrived. The owner arrived three hours after his sign indicated and was an angry prune of a man, ungracious and filled with some sort of bile of which I had no explanation. His porch had the best view in town of the mountains and the place seemed well-appointed. I told him I was camping, but asked if I might use the shower and he said no. But it made little difference to me as the day had been short and cool, I had no need for a shower. I only wanted dinner with my friends. I was able to sign onto the wifi and write home as we all had a drink and chatted. The Dutch woman — who had been cranky nearly all of her walk — came out of the hotel, flushed, happy, giddy, talking a mile a minute. It seems her husband had sprung for a private room and it was absolutely lovely. She felt restored and wanted to share. Since the room had a bath, she asked would I want one. So her husband took me in and found me a towel and some soap. It was a deep tub and so luxurious, I felt like a princess. It was such a generous act. But when I came out on the patio, the owner came at me with venom screaming that I was not to eat at his establishment, I was not welcome, to get out of his site and off the premises. I could hardly believe it. His guests invited me into their room and he was ejecting me? A woman? A solo hiker? I slinked off the property humiliated and hungry, even if very clean, and went to my tent. I had a few bites left, but it was a full day in the hot sun the next day and I would have nothing for the day. This impulsive and angry man put me in danger. It was a long, scary night wondering if this man might come out and cause trouble for me. He handed me a big hunk of cheese and wished me wel. The walk was long and hot with only one high point before working down and down for miles along a zigzagging descent to beautiful Sospel. I lucked into a little room in an Auberge right on the old bridge. Right away the proprietress discerned I was an American and began speaking to me in English. She showed me the room and asked if I needed anything. I had drunk at least two liters of water from the first fountain I came to in town, but I was still parched and emotionally drained. I asked for water and then again, broke down in tears. This is my problem, being surprised that bad people exist. I think I was more shocked by how he treated me than the fact that he was angry fat somehow being lied to or ripped off of his water, even though we all offered to pay for it. It was being picked on and then put into a potentially dangerous situation that left me feeling defenseless. The unreasonableness of the entire episode caught me off-guard. Feeling such a huge amount of validation immediately calmed me down. I never saw the Dutch people again. The English girls and the Swiss never said a word to me and I suffered thinking they had so little regard for the damage this little man inflicted. But I did see them again, at least the English. As I walked into the beautiful historic seaside town of Menton, sweaty and dirty and looking for my hotel, they called for me across the square wanting to make a date for dinner. I wonder if they felt a wee bit guilty for not checking on me in my dark campsite, just to see if I was ok. The last day was another series of passes rising up and up until one final spectacular view straight down to the deep turquoise of the Mediterranean Sea. I yelled loudly from the top there, happy to have arrived and trying to shake off the ugliness of the previous days. As I walked along the Promenade de la Mer, I came upon a shop catering to woman of a certain age. Hey, I am a woman of a certain age, so I walked in and interrupted the three ladies relaxing on the little sofa out front, smoking and gossiping. They were overjoyed to see me, my sweaty, skinny, dirty self only just drying tears of frustration and feeling lonely in my success. These lovelies invited me in and began dressing me in every possible oufit in the shop. I know that in my whole life, I have never had such fun shopping. We finally settled on a one-of-a-kind Italian number made of linen with big, loud flowers. I bought it, bid farewell and took my sassy little yellow bag tied up with a bow, along with my backpack and walking sticks and made my way to my hotel, a hot shower and eventually dinner with the girls. Thanks Rudolf! The Alps were stunning and wonderful. My longest hike at that point and hard, but oh so beautiful. The terrain changes so much for thick damp, to dry and arid. I loved it. Your email address will not be published. Save my name, email, and website in this browser for the next time I comment. Yes, add me to your mailing list! This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed. GR5, France. NEXT Next. Traveling along ancient trade routes from Lake Geneva to the Mediterranean Sea, this is a thrilling week thru-hike through some of the most glorious scenery of the French Alps, dipping briefly in and out of Switzerland and Italy, with high variations through three national parks. In Parc national Mercantour , extending the walk by five days on the GR Pingback: TA walking hand-in-hand with Beethoven blissful hiker. Older comments. Leave a Reply Cancel reply Your email address will not be published. Quick Links. Speaking Emceeing Insights. Facebook Instagram Youtube LinkedIn. Follow in blissful footsteps. Your Name. Your Email Address.

A 10-Day Tour du Mont Blanc Gear List

Buying Ecstasy Les Houches

Covering km, the trail loops around Mount Blanc massif itself. The constant ascents and descents will have your knees begging for mercy. Though it is a challenging trail, completing each stage makes it that much more rewarding. Over the span of 10 days, I was able to hike the entire trail, traversing mountains, crossing rivers, and dodging local cattle throughout France, Italy, and Switzerland alongside my parents. The TMB is the ideal hike for those who love both grit and comfort. We camped in some of the most scenic locations of our lives, though we also had to opportunity to sip on wine and be catered to in a handful of mountain refugios and hotels the specially curated cheese plates at a mountaintop refugio were always a highlight! I highly recommend this trail to anyone looking for a challenging hike that leaves you filled with accomplishment for the climbs you crushed, astonishment for the mountains that constantly surround you, and an appreciation for the rich culture that you will experience along the way. Much of the gear I used was provided by Osprey for the purpose of filming a short film about my time on trail. Countless melting glaciers contributed to the flow of gushing rivers all throughout the hike, while dozens of refugios were strategically placed along the trail providing food, drinks, and accommodation. In exchange for food and water weight, I was able to pack extra camera equipment as my goal was to create a short film about my time on trail. My gear list is not ultralight by any means, though I do try my best to keep the weight down where I can. Osprey Lumina 60 1. I am absolutely in love with this pack! Sponsorship aside, Osprey is one of my favourite outdoor brands because of the quality, longevity of their products, and their fair prices. For a framed pack, this pack is lightweight! Osprey provides! Includes stuff sack, stakes, poles, etc. The Dragonfly 2P tent has been a staple piece of gear in my set-up for the past 2 years. NEMO Aya 15 2 lbs, 1 oz. This sleeping bag is my babyyyyy! Coming in at 15 degrees, I find this bag easy to use in all seasons. During colder nights, I simply zip up the gills on the front of the bag, sinch the hood around my face, and hunker down for the night. During hotter nights, I unzip the gills, unzip the bag totally, and use it like a quilt. The down keeps it warm, fairly lightweight, and easily packable. Paired with the pump sack, this pad fills up quickly and stays inflated all throughout the night. I do find that it makes some noise when moving around, but it is far quieter compared to competitor sleeping pads this is a major perk, especially for light sleepers! HOKA Speedgoat 5 17 oz. HOKA Speedgoats are the best shoes ever. Teva Original Universe 1. It was nice having sandals to wear at the end of the day to give my feet a break. Osprey Ultralight Waist Sack 2. The ultralight waist sack is super light, has tons of pockets, and is the perfect easy access snack compartment. I am a massive fan of these trekking poles! I was also surprised that I loved the gloves that attach to the poles vs. I found that I was able to pull myself up steep ascents much better with these gloves and was still able to quickly take them off when needed. I wore this as a top. Secondary top: Gymshark Tank-top. I tried to wear things that were airy to combat overheating. I tend to wear just a sports bra when I hike in hotter climates. Shorts: Aerie 7-inch Bike Shorts. Leggings: Aerie Offline Leggings. I dabbled with the thought of bringing an extra change of hiking clothes, especially considering I was trying to keep my weight down to offset all of my camera equipment. Thank god I decided to bring an extra set! I rained and I mean rained! These were great to wear during the rainy days. They kept me warm-ish and dried super fast once the rain lifted. Mountain Equipment Co-op no longer sells this jacket. Which is sad, because this jacket is incredible! Rain jacket: On Running Waterproof Anorak. Safe to say the rain soaked through the jacket and I found myself cold when stopping for a short moment to grab water or a snack from my pack. This is a great jacket for hiking and running in normal levels or rain. I would suggest finding something a bit more durable if you plan on hiking during the rainy season throughout the Alps. Camera: Sony A This is my baby! Lens: Sony mm f4 Lens. This lens was perfect for those close up shots of the mountains I was aiming to get, while also having a decent wide angle range that allowed me to grasp the vastness of the environment around me. Lens: Sony mm kit lens. This is the kit lens that came with the Sony A upon purchase. Tripod: Manfrotto Element. Coming in at 2. It also had a center ball head, allowing me to tilt, move, and position the camera in any direction that I needed. I used it quite a bit until one of the legs stopped collapsing and one of the nobs at the bottom of the foot had fallen off. Huge bummer. Battery Pack: Anker 10, x2. I freaking love Sawyer! Their customer service is incredible as well. Stove: Pocket Rocket Deluxe Stove. Feel free to pop over to my instagram kendraslagter to check out some more pictures and updates from my hike. This website contains affiliate links, which means The Trek may receive a percentage of any product or service you purchase using the links in the articles or advertisements. The buyer pays the same price as they would otherwise, and your purchase helps to support The Trek's ongoing goal to serve you quality backpacking advice and information. Thanks for your support! To learn more, please visit the About This Site page. World traveller. Since then, we've been chasing trails and encouraging others to get outside. Hey, PJ! The refugios book up months in advance, so most refugios are booked up for the season. Day 1: Took the cable car from Les Houches to the start of the hike. We ended up camping about km past the Nant Borrant Refugio. It was such a dreamy spot! You hike up the hill past the refuge and take a left at the fork. I highly recommend camping here vs. Day 2: We ended up camping outside a tourist office next to another refugio in Les Chapieux. This was a great spot to stop for the day and the views were equally as incredible the night before. Day 3: It was a pretty short hike for the day. We walked from France into Italy and stayed at Refugio Elisabetta. I highly recommend trying to get a bed here. We got here around 1pm, so there was tons of time to enjoy a free drinks, have some food, and connect with other hikers. Day 4: We hiked into the town of Courmayeur. The breakfast in the morning is incredible. They have a full spread of fresh breads, cheese, meats, yogurt, and everything else you could possibly think of. You definitely want to fuel up on breakfast, because the climb the next morning is pretty intense. There was a torrential downpour and the road actually closed down due to flooding. Day 6: We took a bus back to the trailhead, though we decided to not climb up back to Bonatti. We went to the last possible bus stop, which shaved off 5km. We were dropped off right at the bottom of the mountain, which took us into Switzerland. If I recall correctly, it was 11CHF to camp in an open spot with other hikers. It was the dreamiest camp ground and the views getting there were amazing. Day 7: This was a fun hike because it was drastically different compared to the other days. It takes you through small Swiss towns, which almost felt like walking through a Swiss postcard. We ended the day camping at Camping Les Rocailles, which is right at the edge of town in Champex. Day 8: Still in Switzerland. I hiked solo this day and really went for it. I finished my day at Hotel de la Forclaz. I finished around This is a super nice hotel to stay at and the food was great! Beware: it is super expensive in Switzerland, so it was fairly pricey to stay here. You could choose to push forward another 4km or so to a campground at the bottom. Day 9: We hiked back into France this day. We camped outside of a refugio I forget the name! It was delicious and the vibe at this refugio was very communal. It was only 8 CHF to camp. Day I decided to combine the last two stages. I hiked for about 10 hours from the refugio back to Les Houches. A lot of the people I had hiked with decided to call it quits at Flegere, where you can take a cable car down to Chamonix. A lot of hikers actually choose this option because the descent into Les Houches is known to be tough. If you do decide to combine the last two stages, make sure to pack lots of water! Unlike the rest of the trail where water is frequent and abundant, there was rarely water in this section. If you have any more questions, feel free to reach out to me on instagram kendraslagter. We are staying in hotels, but loved reading your notes. We are so excited. We are between the ages of We have been training hard so hoping we can do it all. Loved reading your suggestions. Best wishes on your future hikes. Indiana Ladies. Hi, Durena! How fun! Truthfully, she had a pretty difficult time. She typically experiences some knee pain when she hikes, so the steep descents on the TMB were super challenging for her. She decided to take a few days off to rest her knees because of the pain she was feeling. Definitely considering carrying a knee brace and lots of ibuprofen. The extra weight was definitely a factor. I just finished up another article about the TMB! Hi Kendra, thanks for your TMB gear list. I was particularly interested in how you fared wearing the Speedgoat 5? I often hear advice about hiking the TMB with mid-hiking boots for the ankle support , so hearing you wear a pair of trail runners is something different. Hi, John! The trail is mostly a wide, flat-packed trail. In my opinion, the Speedgoats are ideal for the TMB! The Speedgoats were for sure the only reason my knees lasted the entire trip because of its cushioning. Notify me via e-mail if anyone answers my comment. Jul 12, : Kendra Slagter The Trek. Leggings: Aerie Offline Leggings I dabbled with the thought of bringing an extra change of hiking clothes, especially considering I was trying to keep my weight down to offset all of my camera equipment. Lens: Sony mm f4 Lens This lens was perfect for those close up shots of the mountains I was aiming to get, while also having a decent wide angle range that allowed me to grasp the vastness of the environment around me. Lens: Sony mm kit lens This is the kit lens that came with the Sony A upon purchase. Battery Pack: Anker 10, x2 I ended up not needing both considering how often we came across a power source. Affiliate Disclosure This website contains affiliate links, which means The Trek may receive a percentage of any product or service you purchase using the links in the articles or advertisements. Kendra Slagter's Bio. Comments 8. Great read, thanks Kendra! I was wondering if you might be willing to share you hike tinerary with me? Thanks PJ. Happy to help! Thanks for your thoughts, very helpful. What Do You Think?

Buying Ecstasy Les Houches