July 31, 2024

Chalet la Grange, Champex-lac to Auberge Mont Blanc, Trient 

10 miles 

Another morning, another half-awake scramble to get moving followed by another delicious breakfast. More of that tangy, thick alpine yogurt that I love! Melissa has provided us with little tureens of it, along with jam, cereal, and of course, freshly baked bread. The talk this morning is about which route people are taking. There’s the standard TMB, and there is a high route that supposedly has incredible views but that is very challenging. Also there is the fact that it’s supposed to rain in the afternoon. We opt for the standard route, given that we’re more than satisfied with the views we have experienced already on the regular route, and that we don’t want to get caught in a thunderstorm. 

We thank Melissa, bid happy hiking to the others, and set off. The first part of the day is downhill and meanders through pretty woods and little towns with charming Swiss houses and their adorable shutters and lace curtains. 

We soon start going uphill along a wide gravel path. At first it’s well-graded, but then the path narrows and turns into proper trail. We pass some ruin of a structure covered in moss. It looks mysterious among the ferns. 

We continue up, up, along the steep and progressively rockier trail. There are several creek crossings and then there are suddenly views of a craggy ridge high above. Going uphill is hard, but it’s the only way to get back up in those good good views, so I’ll take it. 

I decide that it’s time for a break and we sit awkwardly on a couple of rocks. I eat the apple from the “pic nique” that Melissa made for us. Then Grace notices something that’s been surrounding us.

“Are those blueberries?”

I look where she’s pointing and suddenly all the blueberry bushes materialize into view. 

“Oh my god! They are!” I leap up and start picking berries off the bushes. Thank you, trail! 

We take photos of and with the berries and snack for a little while longer before eventually moving again. It’s not the toughest climb we’ve had but it’s still quite steep and it takes me a while. We pass the nice Dutch couple from last night taking a break and they cheer us on as we plod up. Finally the trees thin out and we are nearing the top. There are views now, to the mountains, to the valleys below. 

As we round a corner we start hearing those typical Swiss cowbells. They sound like a giant wind chime. There are tons of cows and it seems like they’re getting closer. We watch as, in the distance, a cow walks up onto the trail and a hiker, seeming totally unbothered, walks towards it. Then he actually pets the cow on the head. 

We gasp. We are slightly scarred from our last cow encounter, no matter how much we mentally explain to ourselves that they probably aren’t actually that dangerous. 

The bold hiker and his group successfully pass the cow and nears us. 

“You’re bold!” I say. “We’re a little nervous about the cows.”

“Oh, they’re harmless!” he responds. “These are yearlings. They haven’t had calves yet. They’re very used to people. You can walk right up to them, even pet them, and they won’t bother you.” 

I hesitate, not buying it. 

“You want me to go with you?” he offers. 

I look at Grace and back to him. “Maybe?”

“Sure, come on!”

Our bovine savior leads us up to the cow, pushing against the animal to show us that she won’t bother us. Then he grabs one of her horns.

“Here, you want to pet her? Just right there, between the eyes.”

We pat the cow and make high-pitched noises at her. What a good cow! 

I thank the cow-confident hiker, and then, wondering how he knows this, I ask him if he’s a guide. 

He shakes his head no. “No, but all these guys”—he gestures at the group around him, who I take to be his family—“all grew up around cows. We’re used to them.” 

We thank him again for his help and his confidence-instilling and then continue on. We pass a little refuge, appropriately named Alpage de Bovine, but we don’t stop because we have plenty of food for lunch and we’re determined to get to the true top of the climb before we stop. 

Before long we reach the end of the uphill, view a wooden cross memorial that’s nestled in by the trees, and then walk over a cattle guard to begin the descent. It’s immediately shady and there are so many purple flowers bursting into bloom on the side of the steep hill. It quite literally takes our breath away, and we both stop to take photos of the gorgeous purple carpet blanketing the hillside. 

We keep looking for a place to stop for lunch as we descend, but it’s just a continuous downhill in the trees with no places to pull over. Finally we find a little spring with a small flat grassy spot next to it. Lunch at last! My very impressive “picnic” sandwich from Melissa at La Grange is delicious. The American mind cannot comprehend the idea that “sandwich” here literally means “fresh baguette with fully dressed lettuce, tomato, cheese, and mustard.” I am suddenly starving and it tastes like the best thing in the world.

It’s still really early, and if we wanted to, we could just stay here and vegetate for a while, but alas, it’s starting to get cloudy and we’re feeling some raindrops, so we decide to get a move on and continue the downhill. 

We’re emerging from the trees and walking around the corner at Col du Forclaz when the rain starts picking up, I mean really picking up, close to hail. I see a building on our left and get excited as we near it. It’s a souvenir shop! A rather large one, from the looks of it. We walk out front and place our packs under the awning, which the guy working inside the shop extends for more cover. I flash him a thumbs up.

“Oh no!” I say in mock horror as we walk towards the door. “A souvenir shop! And it’s raining! I guess we have to go in… how terrible.” But it is not terrible. It is excellent. We spend the next half hour or so meandering through the silly but fun assortment of Swiss knickknacks. I exercise uncharaceristic willpower and do not buy much, about which I am irrationally proud. But it’s still a ton of fun.

We don’t have much longer to go until Trient now. We exit the shop and follow the trail to a metal walkway that hangs somewhat precariously on the rock over the valley below, but the views are top quality. We’re kind of slaphappy out of nowhere and start giggling about nothing throughout the last mile.

Right before we get to town, there’s a lovely view of the spire of the church, and on the other side of the path, tons of wild strawberries that look delectable with the rain dripping off them. We take photos, then taste their sweetness. 

In town, we make a visit to the picturesque pink church, the Église Rose, Our Lady of the Glaciers, and then walk towards our refuge for the night. On the way, there are raspberries growing in abundance against the side of a building! It’s been a magical three-berry day. 

Our place for the night is Auberge Mont Blanc. It’s huge, with at least three levels of private rooms and dorms, but it still manages to be pretty nice. Since we’re early, we get to our six-bed dorm first, walk right into the showers, have a rest, and then go downstairs to the bar and order a small bottle of wine and a brownie to split. What follows is two extremely peaceful hours of sitting on a couch in the reception area drinking wine, relaxing, writing, and transferring photos from my camera to my phone. Mert from Turkey joins us, and later Jeanne and George as well. It’s fun that we’ve been hiking around some of the same folks for a few days now—we’re in the bubble, if you will. 

Dinner is served at 7, and we sit with two American girls, a couple from Brazil, and a couple from Italy. It’s an exceedingly pleasant time talking about the TMB and all our favorite experiences so far. The main course is fondue—an enormous pot of tomatoey cheese for the table, which we pour on top of potatoes. For dessert, there is an ice cream in the shape of the Swiss flag. Cute! We piece it together later that August 1 is a Swiss national holiday something like the Fourth of July for Americans. How fun to be here on the eve of this celebration!

After dinner Grace and I walk down the road to digest and chat. We stumble upon a strangely nice privy next to the bus stop that’s labeled as “a toilet with a view.” Inside there is a bucket of sawdust for the toilet and some surprisingly cute curtains on little windows A toilet with a view indeed! We both have far too much fun with this magical mountain toilet. 

We walk all the way to the campsite in Le Peuty, pleasantly chatting, noting the soft color of the darkening world. Not having to get anywhere, enjoying the meander.

It’s hot in the room when we get back, like it always is in these refuges, but I feel full, comfortable, and grateful for this magical day.