DRAGONS IN THE CLOUDS
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| the clouds at Rifugio Genova |
From a rocky platform where a faded Italian flag was flowing lazily, we could watch clouds forming out of thin air. An air stream was coming up from the valley leading to Entracque, beyond the artificial lake. The cold and lower pressure in higher altitude caused the condensation of water in the form of clouds which enveloped the rocks surrounding us. What is extraordinary with clouds is that they can form or vanish in a matter of minutes.
The sun lingered on a bit still, allowing some day visitors to bask on the wooden long chairs set on the rock platform in front of the rifugio as well as warming those who had come for a polenta lunch on the terrace. But progressively, the clouds swelled in woolly spirals and hid the nearby peaks, letting them sometimes reappear in a hide and seek play. The lakes, sapphire blue under the sun, would echo the transformation of the light by changing colours to the tune of what they could reflect.
It was a great spectacle to see the permanent reconfiguration of the clouds that resolutely flowed up towards the top of the mountain as if summoned by the god of thunder, for there would be thunder later that afternoon. Then everything would come back to a serene state once the god of thunder had been heard and perhaps shed tears upon the Earth.
An old donkey, with an injured foot, lied at the back of the rifugio. It didn't seem to want anything to do with anyone. In the evening however, it rose up to go grazing. Some marmots came closer, intrigued by him. The donkey too was willing to have a look at them. They took fright as it was walking closer. Then came the night, the night of the eclipse of the Moon by Mars. From our standpoint, the darkness was ideal to look at the stars, but the eclipse happened behind the peaks. Anyway, we were tired and didn't really want to wait for the stars to go and sleep.
The Chiapous pass is a huge pile of broken stones with still a bit of snow. It opens on the valley that leads to Terme di Valdieri, a village known for its thermal bath. A particular sort of algae is growing in the water and is used for treatment in the spa. It was a long descent from the pass to the village, stones, stones and more stones, in which a remarkable path had been carved, stone by stone to serve as a military road in the early last century. We arrived at the Rifugio Morelli, a little before 12 noon, which seemed to be fully booked for lunch judging by the number of "escursionisti" we met walking-up there on that Saturday. Some of them had taken their dogs along, which would enthusiastically hop from stone to stone. I was wondering how the smaller ones could cope with the mass of scrambled stones, but apparently they were doing fine.
Mid way down the valley a torrent traverses a flat area and forms green coloured pools. That was the favourite spot for picnicking and sun-tanning (a bikini can always come handy right in the middle of the Italian Alps, please take note). The grass was quickly disappearing under the growing number of towels to the point that the place had a feeling of being at the beach.
The rest of the walk to Terme took place in a forest over a path made of roots and stones. Not sure which one was more comfortable for our feet.
A light rain started when we reached the village and the Albergo Turismo, a family hotel opened in 1953 by a man who had come to Terme, with his family, as caretaker of the thermal property. It was initially a small osteria which led the family to add rooms to their hospitality business. They had very diverse customers ranging from mountain explorers, people coming to harvest plants, others coming for thermal treatment and last but not least soldiers. The border zone with France saw Mussolini's large-scale ambition to build military buildings (casermas), bunkers and countless military roads that are still existing today and serve as walking path for wanderers but also as access roads for all those coming to the mountains. In a way, Mussolini's military ambition involuntarily resulted, years later, in making mountains accessible to the masses.
The hotel corridors' wooden floor creaked at every steps and so did the staircase. Some signs hung on the walls invited to absolute silence between 10pm and 6am made us understand that everyone had to behave.
On Sunday morning, we were not alone to hike up to the Vallone di Valscura, it reminded me of the walk we had done between Saint Jean Pied de Port and Roncevaux on the Camino de Compostella. There was a particular excitement to go quickly, perhaps simply to secure a good spot for picnic.
Up upon reaching the high altitude plain of Valscura, the crowd thinned a bit but many wanderers were aiming for the lakes farther up. Along the way we saw a man carrying his mountain bike on his shoulders while two women on an e-bike breezed past effortlessly. We realized that e-bikes were going to push-back the boundaries of cycling in the mountains.
We had just exited a tunnel when we heard a sound of tyres on gravel approaching behind us. We narrowly escaped being knocked down by a fat lady enjoying much faster speeds than she could ever dream of on there e-bike. She continued her hazardous ride unimpeded, afterall she hadn't yet hit anyone.
We had a brief picnic by the shore of a lake before resuming our walk towards the pass of Valscura, thankful that Mussolini's soldiers had, last century, toiled to create a path through the scree on both sides of the pass which offered a striking view over the Argentera.
As we started to descend towards the lake of Malinvern, we met a group of scouts, with large backpacks full of camping gear. One of the girls was not well, very red faced. The sun and the exertion seem to have deeply affected her. As I greeted her, she was looking only at the ground immediately in front of her. She replied absent-mindedly "hello and have a nice day". I tried to comfort her by saying that the pass was now very close. She didn't say anything, moved on one foot at a time. For us, the hard part of the journey was behind us. After a little while we spotted the Genova lake in a beautiful setting. This was the highlight of our day. Beautiful colours, cristal clear water reflecting the sky and the surrounding landscape. We arrived at the rifugio Malinvern around 4.30 pm. The manager, a woman, asked us if we could have dinner early because it was the birthday of a boy working in the kitchen and his parents were coming to the nearest town in the valley as a surprise. We agreed and indeed were left on our own, as we happened to be the only guests in the rifugio that evening, after the whole staff had departed to town. Two scouts came knocking much later. They wanted to call their boss and get some bread. We told them we could not do much for them as our phones didn't work and we were alone in the rifugio. We looked at them go back into the night to setup their tents around the corner.
Mid way down the valley a torrent traverses a flat area and forms green coloured pools. That was the favourite spot for picnicking and sun-tanning (a bikini can always come handy right in the middle of the Italian Alps, please take note). The grass was quickly disappearing under the growing number of towels to the point that the place had a feeling of being at the beach.
The rest of the walk to Terme took place in a forest over a path made of roots and stones. Not sure which one was more comfortable for our feet.
A light rain started when we reached the village and the Albergo Turismo, a family hotel opened in 1953 by a man who had come to Terme, with his family, as caretaker of the thermal property. It was initially a small osteria which led the family to add rooms to their hospitality business. They had very diverse customers ranging from mountain explorers, people coming to harvest plants, others coming for thermal treatment and last but not least soldiers. The border zone with France saw Mussolini's large-scale ambition to build military buildings (casermas), bunkers and countless military roads that are still existing today and serve as walking path for wanderers but also as access roads for all those coming to the mountains. In a way, Mussolini's military ambition involuntarily resulted, years later, in making mountains accessible to the masses.
The hotel corridors' wooden floor creaked at every steps and so did the staircase. Some signs hung on the walls invited to absolute silence between 10pm and 6am made us understand that everyone had to behave.
On Sunday morning, we were not alone to hike up to the Vallone di Valscura, it reminded me of the walk we had done between Saint Jean Pied de Port and Roncevaux on the Camino de Compostella. There was a particular excitement to go quickly, perhaps simply to secure a good spot for picnic.
Up upon reaching the high altitude plain of Valscura, the crowd thinned a bit but many wanderers were aiming for the lakes farther up. Along the way we saw a man carrying his mountain bike on his shoulders while two women on an e-bike breezed past effortlessly. We realized that e-bikes were going to push-back the boundaries of cycling in the mountains.
We had just exited a tunnel when we heard a sound of tyres on gravel approaching behind us. We narrowly escaped being knocked down by a fat lady enjoying much faster speeds than she could ever dream of on there e-bike. She continued her hazardous ride unimpeded, afterall she hadn't yet hit anyone.
We had a brief picnic by the shore of a lake before resuming our walk towards the pass of Valscura, thankful that Mussolini's soldiers had, last century, toiled to create a path through the scree on both sides of the pass which offered a striking view over the Argentera.
As we started to descend towards the lake of Malinvern, we met a group of scouts, with large backpacks full of camping gear. One of the girls was not well, very red faced. The sun and the exertion seem to have deeply affected her. As I greeted her, she was looking only at the ground immediately in front of her. She replied absent-mindedly "hello and have a nice day". I tried to comfort her by saying that the pass was now very close. She didn't say anything, moved on one foot at a time. For us, the hard part of the journey was behind us. After a little while we spotted the Genova lake in a beautiful setting. This was the highlight of our day. Beautiful colours, cristal clear water reflecting the sky and the surrounding landscape. We arrived at the rifugio Malinvern around 4.30 pm. The manager, a woman, asked us if we could have dinner early because it was the birthday of a boy working in the kitchen and his parents were coming to the nearest town in the valley as a surprise. We agreed and indeed were left on our own, as we happened to be the only guests in the rifugio that evening, after the whole staff had departed to town. Two scouts came knocking much later. They wanted to call their boss and get some bread. We told them we could not do much for them as our phones didn't work and we were alone in the rifugio. We looked at them go back into the night to setup their tents around the corner.
From Malinvern, through the Orgials pass, we reached the Sanctuario of Santa Anna located on a flat area, south-facing and not far from a couple of lakes that are used as water supply. This beautiful setting, a few meters from the French border was a favourite place of the former King of Italy who used to come and spend time there. He was a keen hunter.
On the way to Santa Anna, we came back to France for a short while at the Lombarde pass which is a favourite of bikers. The "Col de la Lombarde" signboard is covered with bikers' stickers to the point that one can hardly read what the sign reads.
The path, which followed the crest that serves as border between France and Italy, offered a view on both Italian and French Alps. White marble border signs with I / F initials were anchored in the ground in 1947 to mark the border. On both sides remains of a darker past, in form of sprawling rusted barbed wires, reminded us that there had been no man's land.
A little up from Santa Anna, along the stone track, we saw a couple of small stone-made shrines dedicated to the Holy Mary. One of them carried the name of Medugorje, a Christian holy place in the Bosnia and Herzegovina, revealing the pilgrimage connection between the various holy sites in Europe. Next to the parking lot, a statue of the Virgin Mary stands on a rock, facing a kneeling Santa Anna. Both are painted in white. We filled our water bottle at the spring of the village which is also considered holy. Today Santa Anna is essentially a pilgrimage destination. The sanctuario has very comfortable rooms for pilgrims but is also opened to other guests.
From there we ascended the Tesina pass and had a long walk down to San Bernolfo where we stayed at the Rifugio di Dahu. The Dahu is a rare species. It looks like a chamois but has the two legs on one side shorter than the other side to cope with the slopes. It can therefore only comfortably walk around the mountain in one direction because the inclination of the slope. This rifugio is run by Beppe Degioanna who decided to come and live in the settlement of his elders (the village, made of stone and wood chalets, was abandoned by his family in 1961). Back then it didn't have either electricity nor any access road.
Now things have changed, winter and summer tourism makes it possible for him to work there most of the year. Not everyone could have done so, as it requires a lot of Do It Yourself. Beppe is serving his own Genepi that he collects early morning from the surrounding peaks. He also does a lot wood work. Our washroom sink was literally a tree trunk in which a basin had been carved. Every room had been designed to achieve a particular style. I remember the one where the bed had been fitted into a large wine barrel. It was certainly looking more peculiar than it was user-friendly. Going in and out of the barrel must have required some form of suppleness! Food at the rifugio was excellent.
We stayed two days there and used our rest day to explore the lakes around the pass of
Collalunga. We met a group of hikers travelling with vicunas.
The following day, a very steep ascend took us to the Laroussa pass, it felt like a nearly motionless jogging (breathing like during a jogging but progressing like a turtle at about 2km/hour). Going down was steep but comparatively easier. Soon the Rifugio Migliorero appeared like a matchbox in the middle of giant barriers of stone. The rifugio was built in 1936 near the lower Ischiator lake. It still has bunk beds from that period! The landscape around it was very scenic with green patches of grass punctuated with colourful flowers, white cotton grass by the lake shore and a few trees here and there. The whole area was dominated by rocky peaks that seemed to be living their own life up there.
Two people, a couple, are managing on their own the whole rifugio which has over ninety beds. They were telling how difficult it is to prepare and serve a three-courses dinner for ninety people. Usually they tell that the rifugio is full when they have thirty guests to keep things manageable. Fortunately, Beppe from San Bernolfo had helped us in making a reservation there the day before. Dark clouds visited in the afternoon and then disappeared in the evening. From the lake shore, the rifugio looked, in the evening light, like a Scottish manor being slowly sucked into the darkness of the night.
After sunrise, the mountains are painted in deep orange, which progressively bleaches as the sun goes up. Marmots are starting their ennemy-watch exercise with piercing calls that travel effortlessly throughout the cristallin air of the valley. I found their call nonetheless joyful when put together with the blue sky and the warming rays of the sun. Time to either go for breakfast or else hit the road to the next pass. We started a nice little climb to the Rostango pass. It was another thumping-heart session. A chamois family had squatted the rooftop of a bunker right by the side of the path. They looked at us from above with curiosity before retreating on the safety of nearby rocks. After the pass a green valley opened up. It wasn't really steep and fairly green after we had passed the scree that was leading to the peatland fed with melting water from remaining firns. We still had to go through another pass and a tunnel built under a fortification before connecting with the valley of Prati di Vallone where we would call it a day at the local hostel.
Prati di Vallone was a quirky place with its water stream running through the valley, a camping ground and a hostel serving very good food. At first we saw two female dwarves who looked underwit. They were travelling together with a group of people that stayed at the camping. We came across another group of people, French people, apparently doing volunteer work for an association. One of them, a man in his late forties could have been coming straight out of "La cage aux folles" with his gay mannerism. The tone of his voice and the way his hands were always at a right angle from his arms when he wanted to affirm something was really a caricature.
All those people disappeared with the rain brought by an afternoon storm. At the end of the rain, we went to sit by the torrent and contemplated the clouds that were moving in an unpredictable way.
Dinner was plentiful with a very nice Barbera d'Asti wine called Crocera. It was time to go to bed. Interestingly, despite the perceived remoteness of Prati di Vallone, the girls helping for service at the restaurant were in tune with the latest fashion of mini-shorts over which only a mini-apron could fit.
Saturday 7am, some early excursionists wanted to have their coffee at the bar. But the host in charge of breakfast had not arrived yet. She had slept through. The excursionists were all giddy about dealing with the mountains, some left without any coffee.
In order to go to Ferrière, we had to go through the Di Stau pass, which had many ruins of bunkers and military barracks. The early clouds thinned and the sun came brilliant and warm, lighting up a multitude of beautiful flowers of pink, white, yellow or purple colors. At the pass we could see the Monte Viso, the tallest peak in this part of the Alps, culminating at about 3800 meters altitude. The mountains were covered in grass all the way to Ferrière, hundreds of white cows were grazing along the torrent. The tinkling of their collar bells could be heard from a great distance.
During our picnic, a black and white butterfly chose to stay put on the tube of my camel bag for nearly fifteen minutes, even when we resumed walking. So to speak, that butterfly got a free ride with me!
The path, which followed the crest that serves as border between France and Italy, offered a view on both Italian and French Alps. White marble border signs with I / F initials were anchored in the ground in 1947 to mark the border. On both sides remains of a darker past, in form of sprawling rusted barbed wires, reminded us that there had been no man's land.
A little up from Santa Anna, along the stone track, we saw a couple of small stone-made shrines dedicated to the Holy Mary. One of them carried the name of Medugorje, a Christian holy place in the Bosnia and Herzegovina, revealing the pilgrimage connection between the various holy sites in Europe. Next to the parking lot, a statue of the Virgin Mary stands on a rock, facing a kneeling Santa Anna. Both are painted in white. We filled our water bottle at the spring of the village which is also considered holy. Today Santa Anna is essentially a pilgrimage destination. The sanctuario has very comfortable rooms for pilgrims but is also opened to other guests.
From there we ascended the Tesina pass and had a long walk down to San Bernolfo where we stayed at the Rifugio di Dahu. The Dahu is a rare species. It looks like a chamois but has the two legs on one side shorter than the other side to cope with the slopes. It can therefore only comfortably walk around the mountain in one direction because the inclination of the slope. This rifugio is run by Beppe Degioanna who decided to come and live in the settlement of his elders (the village, made of stone and wood chalets, was abandoned by his family in 1961). Back then it didn't have either electricity nor any access road.
Now things have changed, winter and summer tourism makes it possible for him to work there most of the year. Not everyone could have done so, as it requires a lot of Do It Yourself. Beppe is serving his own Genepi that he collects early morning from the surrounding peaks. He also does a lot wood work. Our washroom sink was literally a tree trunk in which a basin had been carved. Every room had been designed to achieve a particular style. I remember the one where the bed had been fitted into a large wine barrel. It was certainly looking more peculiar than it was user-friendly. Going in and out of the barrel must have required some form of suppleness! Food at the rifugio was excellent.
We stayed two days there and used our rest day to explore the lakes around the pass of
Collalunga. We met a group of hikers travelling with vicunas.
The following day, a very steep ascend took us to the Laroussa pass, it felt like a nearly motionless jogging (breathing like during a jogging but progressing like a turtle at about 2km/hour). Going down was steep but comparatively easier. Soon the Rifugio Migliorero appeared like a matchbox in the middle of giant barriers of stone. The rifugio was built in 1936 near the lower Ischiator lake. It still has bunk beds from that period! The landscape around it was very scenic with green patches of grass punctuated with colourful flowers, white cotton grass by the lake shore and a few trees here and there. The whole area was dominated by rocky peaks that seemed to be living their own life up there.
Two people, a couple, are managing on their own the whole rifugio which has over ninety beds. They were telling how difficult it is to prepare and serve a three-courses dinner for ninety people. Usually they tell that the rifugio is full when they have thirty guests to keep things manageable. Fortunately, Beppe from San Bernolfo had helped us in making a reservation there the day before. Dark clouds visited in the afternoon and then disappeared in the evening. From the lake shore, the rifugio looked, in the evening light, like a Scottish manor being slowly sucked into the darkness of the night.
After sunrise, the mountains are painted in deep orange, which progressively bleaches as the sun goes up. Marmots are starting their ennemy-watch exercise with piercing calls that travel effortlessly throughout the cristallin air of the valley. I found their call nonetheless joyful when put together with the blue sky and the warming rays of the sun. Time to either go for breakfast or else hit the road to the next pass. We started a nice little climb to the Rostango pass. It was another thumping-heart session. A chamois family had squatted the rooftop of a bunker right by the side of the path. They looked at us from above with curiosity before retreating on the safety of nearby rocks. After the pass a green valley opened up. It wasn't really steep and fairly green after we had passed the scree that was leading to the peatland fed with melting water from remaining firns. We still had to go through another pass and a tunnel built under a fortification before connecting with the valley of Prati di Vallone where we would call it a day at the local hostel.
Prati di Vallone was a quirky place with its water stream running through the valley, a camping ground and a hostel serving very good food. At first we saw two female dwarves who looked underwit. They were travelling together with a group of people that stayed at the camping. We came across another group of people, French people, apparently doing volunteer work for an association. One of them, a man in his late forties could have been coming straight out of "La cage aux folles" with his gay mannerism. The tone of his voice and the way his hands were always at a right angle from his arms when he wanted to affirm something was really a caricature.
All those people disappeared with the rain brought by an afternoon storm. At the end of the rain, we went to sit by the torrent and contemplated the clouds that were moving in an unpredictable way.
Dinner was plentiful with a very nice Barbera d'Asti wine called Crocera. It was time to go to bed. Interestingly, despite the perceived remoteness of Prati di Vallone, the girls helping for service at the restaurant were in tune with the latest fashion of mini-shorts over which only a mini-apron could fit.
Saturday 7am, some early excursionists wanted to have their coffee at the bar. But the host in charge of breakfast had not arrived yet. She had slept through. The excursionists were all giddy about dealing with the mountains, some left without any coffee.
In order to go to Ferrière, we had to go through the Di Stau pass, which had many ruins of bunkers and military barracks. The early clouds thinned and the sun came brilliant and warm, lighting up a multitude of beautiful flowers of pink, white, yellow or purple colors. At the pass we could see the Monte Viso, the tallest peak in this part of the Alps, culminating at about 3800 meters altitude. The mountains were covered in grass all the way to Ferrière, hundreds of white cows were grazing along the torrent. The tinkling of their collar bells could be heard from a great distance.
During our picnic, a black and white butterfly chose to stay put on the tube of my camel bag for nearly fifteen minutes, even when we resumed walking. So to speak, that butterfly got a free ride with me!
images:
1/ the clouds at Rifugio Genova
2/ the Malinvern lake
3/ Santa Anna kneeling in front the Holy Mary
4/ Migliorero, a matchbox in the mountains
5/ Beppe serving his home made Genepy
1/ the clouds at Rifugio Genova
2/ the Malinvern lake
3/ Santa Anna kneeling in front the Holy Mary
4/ Migliorero, a matchbox in the mountains
5/ Beppe serving his home made Genepy
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| lake Malivern |
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| Santa Anna kneeling in front of the Holy Mary |
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| Migliorero, a matchbox in the mountains |
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| Beppe serving his own Genepy |
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