LANDMARKS AND PASSES
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| the Oserot pass, next to Rocca Briancia |
Was there a wedding going on in Ferrière (or Ferrere, the official Italian name)? That was the question that took over my mind when we first saw, from a distance, the village nested on the slope of green hills. The church had rainbow-coloured ribbons tied like a beam originating right above its entrance door and spreading all over the pavement. The bells were ringing, but we were too far to conclude on what was happening. Ten minutes later we entered Ferrière and found no traces of a wedding but we were told that the rainbow ribbons had been put up, a few days before on July 25th, on the occasion of the village procession held in the honour of San Giacomo. On that day, a wooden representation of San Giacomo on a wooden cart is carried in procession by members of the Church all around the village.
The Posto Tappa was located into the former priest house, right next to the church. It was quite small for a hostel. As a result, the two eight-bed dormitories were very tight, both of them on the second floor and accessible through a creaking wooden staircase. The kitchen and restaurant were on the upper ground floor. The tightest space of all was clearly the bathroom where the shower was materialized by a perforated wooden plank to be put on top of the standing toilet, the whole thing next to the sink! 1.5 square meter. I reminded me of an old apartment I had seen in Paris in which water was accessible only in one room, which resulted in having the shower in the middle of the kitchen.
Ferrière has a contraband museum, one small house displaying how a typical villager house would have looked a century ago. It also made a point that Ferrière is very close to France's actual territory. There is just a pass to cross to reach the border and the nearby Mount Ténibres which is in France. That route was apparently part of the trade routes that connected the Roya valley in France and Liguria.
But this wasn't the direction we he had chosen to follow, instead we were meant to proceed further north on the Italian side first passing through the Stura valley in Pontebernardo. To get there, we climbed to the pass of Becco Rosso which played a central role in military surveillance of the Stura valley. The whole rock of Becco Rosso was pierced with tunnels and fitted with bunkers to watch the what was happening down in the valley. The path to Pontebernardo used an old military road, that had been built at the same time as the bunkers, from the pass all the way down to the valley. Pontebernardo is a small village a few kilometres away from Sambucco. It is composed of severe dry-stone chalets, with wooden balconies often decorated with red geraniums. The village looks very proud of its "transhumance" eco museum which was recently been designed with interactive media and talks about the traditional migration of sheep leaving from the Camargues (around Arles) in Spring to go and graze in the alpine pastures passing through the Stura Valley. The cattle came back at the end of the summer. This provided income to people in the Stura valley who were collecting a fee per cattle grazing in the mountain. The sheep in the region are from a race called "brigasque". These are tall sheep with long legs and a head with a hooked profile and a pair long falling ears.
The other source of pride in village is called Stephania Belmondo, a country skier born locally who won two Olympic gold medal, one in 1992 in Albertville, where half of the inhabitants went to support her as part of her official fan club, and in 2002 in Salt Lake City. Time has passed but her posters are still visible on some walls of Pontebernardo
We spent the night at a guesthouse called Il Barricate, where an old lady with young sparkling light blue eyes received us. Her body might have been tired by the years but her mind was still alert as her penetrating and straightforward gaze indicated. The portrait of a deer was filling-up a wall in the entrance hall behind a wooden desk, there was a collection of wood carvings using the existing shapes of branches. The café had two rooms, one for the bar, dimly lit and fully stocked with liquors, the other one with tables for breakfast or dinner. The old lady explained that she had stopped cooking for lunch because she was too tired. But when the village restaurant closed, she accepted to cook dinner for her own guests (her deer stew was excellent). Her son was helping for breakfast. He told us that he was spending a lot of time hunting as there were a lot of wild animals in the surrounding forests. He was also breeding horses.
We left Pontebernardo through the old road that crossed the gorges at the feet of a cliff wall of more than 600 meters height and branched on the right side to climb towards the pass of Rocca Brancia. White cows filled the air with the sound of their collar bells and their mooing and were accompanied by the voice of shepherds and the barking of their dogs. As we moved higher, the pastures were left to marmots and a variety of colourful flowers. Grass thinned as we progressed upward towards the barren peaks, edelweisses could be seen everywhere. Clouds played their usual hide and seek with the sun, showing the mountain in an ever changing light.
A tiny marmot sprinted past me to go and hide in its den dug below a large stone overlooking a lake. I silently followed it just to be able to look where it had taken refuge. It was there monitoring the situation with its shiny black eyes. It wasn't moving. Then it perceived my presence and quickly retreated in the safety of its underground hide. It came out again, a few minutes later, to check if there was still danger around.
Slowly but surely we reached the pass of Rocca Brancia which ushered us into the next valley. The view was exhilarating with a curved rocky ridge dropping softly into a plateau where the Rifugio Gardetta was in sight at an elevation of 2335m above sea level. In the background, one could see the Meja Grande, a rock that looks like the upper half of a coin emerging vertically from a pile of stone.
This was the frame for large meadows, green with colourful dots of summer flowers. Cows were ruminating. A new born calf was trying to stand-up under the encouraging watch of his mother. Another cow approached to look at the scene and eventually the calf managed to gather both strength and balance to stand. The clouds were coming up, veiling and unveiling the peaks. The sky progressively gathered evidences of an upcoming storm coming down from the valley which was obscured by an opaque dark grey mass with occasional lightings followed by thunder. Up here things were still looking brighter though, but we were not sure for how long. The Meja Grande had now disappeared, swallowed by a large cloud, and the rest of the peaks around us were now under attack from thickening cloud fringes. We thought it was wise to walk back to the refuge and pick-up our clothes that must have been nearly dry by now. Rain lasted for a couple of hours after which the sky became cloudless again as the night settled in.
The next morning, bright and strong was the sunlight. My eyes were fed-up with so much light, they itched unpleasantly. This made me moderately appreciate the magnificent landscapes we passed through in our descent to Chialvetta, a small village composed of stone and wood chalets. I stayed indoors away from daylight for most of the day, to let my eyes recover once we reached our accommodation. I believe I had looked at the sky and the clouds too intently the day before.
I had to keep my eyes behind sunglasses and looked mostly at the ground the following day to avoid the sun's glare on our way to the Ciarbonet pass. After the pass, we descended in the shade of a fir forest and the sun disappeared anyway.
Ferrière has a contraband museum, one small house displaying how a typical villager house would have looked a century ago. It also made a point that Ferrière is very close to France's actual territory. There is just a pass to cross to reach the border and the nearby Mount Ténibres which is in France. That route was apparently part of the trade routes that connected the Roya valley in France and Liguria.
But this wasn't the direction we he had chosen to follow, instead we were meant to proceed further north on the Italian side first passing through the Stura valley in Pontebernardo. To get there, we climbed to the pass of Becco Rosso which played a central role in military surveillance of the Stura valley. The whole rock of Becco Rosso was pierced with tunnels and fitted with bunkers to watch the what was happening down in the valley. The path to Pontebernardo used an old military road, that had been built at the same time as the bunkers, from the pass all the way down to the valley. Pontebernardo is a small village a few kilometres away from Sambucco. It is composed of severe dry-stone chalets, with wooden balconies often decorated with red geraniums. The village looks very proud of its "transhumance" eco museum which was recently been designed with interactive media and talks about the traditional migration of sheep leaving from the Camargues (around Arles) in Spring to go and graze in the alpine pastures passing through the Stura Valley. The cattle came back at the end of the summer. This provided income to people in the Stura valley who were collecting a fee per cattle grazing in the mountain. The sheep in the region are from a race called "brigasque". These are tall sheep with long legs and a head with a hooked profile and a pair long falling ears.
The other source of pride in village is called Stephania Belmondo, a country skier born locally who won two Olympic gold medal, one in 1992 in Albertville, where half of the inhabitants went to support her as part of her official fan club, and in 2002 in Salt Lake City. Time has passed but her posters are still visible on some walls of Pontebernardo
We spent the night at a guesthouse called Il Barricate, where an old lady with young sparkling light blue eyes received us. Her body might have been tired by the years but her mind was still alert as her penetrating and straightforward gaze indicated. The portrait of a deer was filling-up a wall in the entrance hall behind a wooden desk, there was a collection of wood carvings using the existing shapes of branches. The café had two rooms, one for the bar, dimly lit and fully stocked with liquors, the other one with tables for breakfast or dinner. The old lady explained that she had stopped cooking for lunch because she was too tired. But when the village restaurant closed, she accepted to cook dinner for her own guests (her deer stew was excellent). Her son was helping for breakfast. He told us that he was spending a lot of time hunting as there were a lot of wild animals in the surrounding forests. He was also breeding horses.
We left Pontebernardo through the old road that crossed the gorges at the feet of a cliff wall of more than 600 meters height and branched on the right side to climb towards the pass of Rocca Brancia. White cows filled the air with the sound of their collar bells and their mooing and were accompanied by the voice of shepherds and the barking of their dogs. As we moved higher, the pastures were left to marmots and a variety of colourful flowers. Grass thinned as we progressed upward towards the barren peaks, edelweisses could be seen everywhere. Clouds played their usual hide and seek with the sun, showing the mountain in an ever changing light.
A tiny marmot sprinted past me to go and hide in its den dug below a large stone overlooking a lake. I silently followed it just to be able to look where it had taken refuge. It was there monitoring the situation with its shiny black eyes. It wasn't moving. Then it perceived my presence and quickly retreated in the safety of its underground hide. It came out again, a few minutes later, to check if there was still danger around.
Slowly but surely we reached the pass of Rocca Brancia which ushered us into the next valley. The view was exhilarating with a curved rocky ridge dropping softly into a plateau where the Rifugio Gardetta was in sight at an elevation of 2335m above sea level. In the background, one could see the Meja Grande, a rock that looks like the upper half of a coin emerging vertically from a pile of stone.
This was the frame for large meadows, green with colourful dots of summer flowers. Cows were ruminating. A new born calf was trying to stand-up under the encouraging watch of his mother. Another cow approached to look at the scene and eventually the calf managed to gather both strength and balance to stand. The clouds were coming up, veiling and unveiling the peaks. The sky progressively gathered evidences of an upcoming storm coming down from the valley which was obscured by an opaque dark grey mass with occasional lightings followed by thunder. Up here things were still looking brighter though, but we were not sure for how long. The Meja Grande had now disappeared, swallowed by a large cloud, and the rest of the peaks around us were now under attack from thickening cloud fringes. We thought it was wise to walk back to the refuge and pick-up our clothes that must have been nearly dry by now. Rain lasted for a couple of hours after which the sky became cloudless again as the night settled in.
The next morning, bright and strong was the sunlight. My eyes were fed-up with so much light, they itched unpleasantly. This made me moderately appreciate the magnificent landscapes we passed through in our descent to Chialvetta, a small village composed of stone and wood chalets. I stayed indoors away from daylight for most of the day, to let my eyes recover once we reached our accommodation. I believe I had looked at the sky and the clouds too intently the day before.
I had to keep my eyes behind sunglasses and looked mostly at the ground the following day to avoid the sun's glare on our way to the Ciarbonet pass. After the pass, we descended in the shade of a fir forest and the sun disappeared anyway.
It was a useful coincidence that we had planned a day of rest in an agriturismo, called La Provenzale, in Chiappera. I would be able to rest my eyes a little more. Our room was a mixture of traditional dry-stone walls and apparent wooden beams with a contemporary twist, particularly the bathroom. The shower was a one-square meter glass box lit up with blue light even during the night. We thought we had hired a room in a night club. We learned on the room literature that we could book a light therapy session (in our shower). In retrospect, this was certainly the coolest bathroom we have ever had.
There it stroke me that the word "landmark" is very appropriate for the mountains, because they are the outcome of the friction of two tectonic plates bearing two continents, Europe and Africa in the case of the Alps. The friction has left massive marks on the land. Looking at a map, all peaks have a name that often tells about their shape or which originated out of the imagination of locals who adopted the name to refer to it. It could also be in connection with the name of a man who did something particular about the place. The name of La Provenzale, a rock overlooking Chiappera at the beginning of the Maira valley is said to come from a man who climbed that rock to erect a cross on top of it.
La Provenzale is emblematic of Chiappera. When one thinks of the village, the name and the shape of La Provenzale comes to mind. But that rock is also multi-faceted. Its shape is evocative of different things depending from which angle it is being looked at.
From the Colle Ciarbonet or the Monte Estelletta it looks like a cone with a chimney at is back, like those everyone has seen in Western movies, protruding from the slope of the mountain that seem to form a circus around the Maira valley. In Chiaperra, the cone is hidding the chimney. From the Rio del Maurin going up, La Provenzale looks like the petrified mummy of a half-human half-animal creature laid inclined on a bedrock. As we walked up there, on our way to the Bellino pass, the creature was in the shadow, its shape was highlighted by the beams of the rising sun which added light shades of orange to the light blue sky. The sun made its piercing appearance in form of an eye for the creature, reminding me of an adventure movie where a sunbeam touching a cristal was used as a trigger to activate a mechanism to unlock a buried treasure.
La Provenzale is emblematic of Chiappera. When one thinks of the village, the name and the shape of La Provenzale comes to mind. But that rock is also multi-faceted. Its shape is evocative of different things depending from which angle it is being looked at.
From the Colle Ciarbonet or the Monte Estelletta it looks like a cone with a chimney at is back, like those everyone has seen in Western movies, protruding from the slope of the mountain that seem to form a circus around the Maira valley. In Chiaperra, the cone is hidding the chimney. From the Rio del Maurin going up, La Provenzale looks like the petrified mummy of a half-human half-animal creature laid inclined on a bedrock. As we walked up there, on our way to the Bellino pass, the creature was in the shadow, its shape was highlighted by the beams of the rising sun which added light shades of orange to the light blue sky. The sun made its piercing appearance in form of an eye for the creature, reminding me of an adventure movie where a sunbeam touching a cristal was used as a trigger to activate a mechanism to unlock a buried treasure.
This idea of landmark came back very often to my mind as this was the basis of our navigation and therefore the direction of our attention. Monte Viso, a peak at 3800m above sea level, was the one landmark that would always be present around us for the week to come.
We actually distinctly saw it from the Bellino pass (2800m elevation) and we had first seen it from the Stau pass before Ferrière.
Let's take a step back to where we had left the Provenzale, a torrent was rushing down and the path was obviously not marked very well. We missed the river crossing, or rather I was sure we didn't have to cross it but after a while it became obvious that the crossing had been missed when we saw other hikers on the opposite shore. We had walked quite a bit, and going back was annoying so we looked for a place to cross. The current was strong so we needed to find a place which was narrow enough to cross from one stone to the next.
We actually distinctly saw it from the Bellino pass (2800m elevation) and we had first seen it from the Stau pass before Ferrière.
Let's take a step back to where we had left the Provenzale, a torrent was rushing down and the path was obviously not marked very well. We missed the river crossing, or rather I was sure we didn't have to cross it but after a while it became obvious that the crossing had been missed when we saw other hikers on the opposite shore. We had walked quite a bit, and going back was annoying so we looked for a place to cross. The current was strong so we needed to find a place which was narrow enough to cross from one stone to the next.
One such spot presented itself after a few attempts. First I was thinking we could just jump over the water by taking a run-up, but we decided against it because of the uncertain landing in grass which could hide stones and could easily, with the weight of our backpacks, result in a twisted ankle. After much debate, another place was selected which seemed to me less easy than the first one but somehow with a bit of adrenaline we made it safely through without having to jump. The irony is that we crossed the same torrent a couple of times higher up. The moral of the story is that often going up the torrent increases the chances of finding an easier place easier to cross it.
Near the Bellino pass, we had to traverse a large herd of cows that had setup camp on the way. Most of them ruminating in the sun, many calves were visibly enjoying the heat and the softness of the grass. A couple with a boy was looking after them together with a few dogs.
The boy had red cheeks from the burning sun, like altiplano children we see on TV reports. He was lying in the grass doing his holiday homework. The adults called the dogs so that we could cross without being seen as a threat.
The Bellino pass was still two hundred elevation meters higher. A cold wind made itself increasingly present on the way up so that one could enjoy the sun more thoroughly. At the pass we discovered a range of peaks, like a sea of them to get back to Victor Hugo's description, which we left behind us. We hid behind some large stones as a shelter against the wind to have a picnic with a view. Panini, what else! Below the pass, in the direction of the Varaita valley, we could see large altitude pastures with stone houses at intervals. These were cowsheds used during the summer migration. The green carpet of the slopes highlighted white dots, the cows, while the wind spread the tinkling of their bells at its own discretion.
Near the Bellino pass, we had to traverse a large herd of cows that had setup camp on the way. Most of them ruminating in the sun, many calves were visibly enjoying the heat and the softness of the grass. A couple with a boy was looking after them together with a few dogs.
The boy had red cheeks from the burning sun, like altiplano children we see on TV reports. He was lying in the grass doing his holiday homework. The adults called the dogs so that we could cross without being seen as a threat.
The Bellino pass was still two hundred elevation meters higher. A cold wind made itself increasingly present on the way up so that one could enjoy the sun more thoroughly. At the pass we discovered a range of peaks, like a sea of them to get back to Victor Hugo's description, which we left behind us. We hid behind some large stones as a shelter against the wind to have a picnic with a view. Panini, what else! Below the pass, in the direction of the Varaita valley, we could see large altitude pastures with stone houses at intervals. These were cowsheds used during the summer migration. The green carpet of the slopes highlighted white dots, the cows, while the wind spread the tinkling of their bells at its own discretion.
The path to Chiesa di Bellino continued through steep gorges which eventually opened on a wider valley with the first villages of Prafouchier and Celle. They looked very mineral with their thick stone walls and flagstone roofs. The only concession made to wood was the galleria balconies and cut wood for heating, piled up against the walls. Streets were narrow and cobbled. They were in the shadow most of the day. The wind was the one in charge drying clothes hanging on ropes above the streets. Frescoes from the 18th century have survived on some walls with words in French, a reminder that the Bellino valley had been part of France for four centuries, before being swapped for the Ubaye valley with the Count of Savoya in application of the 1713 Treaty of Utrecht. However the swap effectively happened much later under Napoleon III, a century and a half later. But even until now it is still possible to obtain legal documents in French language. Many families have French sounding names and occitan is still widely spoken. Laila Chapel, a lady we met at the Grongios Martre rifugio, is from Pontechianale where she was raised. She says her mother tongue is occitan. She learned Italian only later at school.
At the end of a long walk we arrived in Chiesa di Bellino under a hot sun. This small hamlet has all the attributes of an open-air museum and has a hostel (posto tappa) where we stayed for the night. At dinner we could feel that the food was carefully rationed because we had booked half-board. The waitress, who happened to be the owner brought a pot of soup, served it in our plate and took the pot away so that we wouldn't get a second helping, which was rather unusual compared to all the other places we had been having dinner at, expect a few fancy ones. To be fair, food was enough because we weren't hungry at the end of the dinner.
The next day, we climbed to the pass of Battagliola and achieved our two thousandth kilometre since our departure from Hendaye. On the way up, we were copiously barked at by a patou, a huge white dog in charge of the security of cow herds. The good thing was that he was barking from behind a fence so we weren't really bothered! At the pass, Monte Viso appeared much bigger than at the Bellino pass. We were now fully in the Varaita valley whose symbol is a six petals flower in a circle.
We descended towards Pontechianale, a ski resort next to an artificial lake where kite-surfers crisscrossed the surface of the water.
The one striking thing about Pontechianale, seen from the sky, is the size of its camping ground and that of its camping-car parking lot where trucks are packed one next to the other as a perfect guarantee for zero-privacy. The center of the village was abuzz with people doing their Saturday morning shopping. Cafe terraces were full as coffee fuelled conversations.
We walked along the lake shore down to Castello a pretty village located right by the dam of the Pontechianale lake. The village looks like a fortress build around its church which is fitted with a very efficient alarm system. A lovely church indeed whose front was entirely painted with fine frescoes. I was very impressed with the quality of frescoes inside the church too. I actually wanted to get a better look at an Annunciation scene which was partly hidden by an electrified golden Holy Mary. I leaned my head a bit towards the area of the altar which was off limit for visitors to get a better vantage on the frescoes. It was really stunning. But at the same time, the sound of an alarm started blasting outside the church, a bit like the one of a car alarm. Two men came hurrying into the church, soon followed by a third one looking at me suspiciously. I was the offender, I realised. I asked them what had happened, they told the alarm was triggered by a presence beyond the limit which was indicated on a small signboard in Italian. A man asked me if I was French, maybe as a tentative explanation for me not to have understood the signboard. I confirmed. I also explained that I thought the alarm must have been triggered when I was leaning to see the frescoes. Everything was well, no harm done, and the alarm mechanism had proven to be very efficient!
At the end of a long walk we arrived in Chiesa di Bellino under a hot sun. This small hamlet has all the attributes of an open-air museum and has a hostel (posto tappa) where we stayed for the night. At dinner we could feel that the food was carefully rationed because we had booked half-board. The waitress, who happened to be the owner brought a pot of soup, served it in our plate and took the pot away so that we wouldn't get a second helping, which was rather unusual compared to all the other places we had been having dinner at, expect a few fancy ones. To be fair, food was enough because we weren't hungry at the end of the dinner.
The next day, we climbed to the pass of Battagliola and achieved our two thousandth kilometre since our departure from Hendaye. On the way up, we were copiously barked at by a patou, a huge white dog in charge of the security of cow herds. The good thing was that he was barking from behind a fence so we weren't really bothered! At the pass, Monte Viso appeared much bigger than at the Bellino pass. We were now fully in the Varaita valley whose symbol is a six petals flower in a circle.
We descended towards Pontechianale, a ski resort next to an artificial lake where kite-surfers crisscrossed the surface of the water.
The one striking thing about Pontechianale, seen from the sky, is the size of its camping ground and that of its camping-car parking lot where trucks are packed one next to the other as a perfect guarantee for zero-privacy. The center of the village was abuzz with people doing their Saturday morning shopping. Cafe terraces were full as coffee fuelled conversations.
We walked along the lake shore down to Castello a pretty village located right by the dam of the Pontechianale lake. The village looks like a fortress build around its church which is fitted with a very efficient alarm system. A lovely church indeed whose front was entirely painted with fine frescoes. I was very impressed with the quality of frescoes inside the church too. I actually wanted to get a better look at an Annunciation scene which was partly hidden by an electrified golden Holy Mary. I leaned my head a bit towards the area of the altar which was off limit for visitors to get a better vantage on the frescoes. It was really stunning. But at the same time, the sound of an alarm started blasting outside the church, a bit like the one of a car alarm. Two men came hurrying into the church, soon followed by a third one looking at me suspiciously. I was the offender, I realised. I asked them what had happened, they told the alarm was triggered by a presence beyond the limit which was indicated on a small signboard in Italian. A man asked me if I was French, maybe as a tentative explanation for me not to have understood the signboard. I confirmed. I also explained that I thought the alarm must have been triggered when I was leaning to see the frescoes. Everything was well, no harm done, and the alarm mechanism had proven to be very efficient!
images
1/ the Oserot pass, next to Rocca Briancia
2/ Ferrière
3/ Cattle at the Bellino pass
4/ The Provenzale
5/ The lake of Pontechianale
1/ the Oserot pass, next to Rocca Briancia
2/ Ferrière
3/ Cattle at the Bellino pass
4/ The Provenzale
5/ The lake of Pontechianale
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| Ferrière |
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| cattle at the Bellino pass |
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| La Provenzale |
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| the lake of Pontechianale |
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