Eva on the Via Francigena (and beyond)

Song of the Day: I am the Cosmos — Chris Bell

“Every night I tell myself I am the cosmos / I am the wind”

This is what I texted my parents when I finally reached the pass — I am the Cosmos! What else is there to say when you’ve crossed two countries and surmounted the Alps, following in the footsteps of Hannibal and Napoleon, not to mention many other pilgrims over thousands of years?

I climb mountains. I cross countries. I’ve done it — I am halfway done with the Via Francigena. I have walked across France and Switzerland, and am at the literal high point of my journey. To be honest, it feels surreal. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I slept poorly last night — tossing and turning and having weird dreams. I also was woken up by the lights of cars coming down the road. I didn’t think I was nervous for today, but in my subconscious I must have been. Plus, I woke up and discovered that my phone had not charged overnight as the outlet in my room didn’t work. Luckily, I woke up before my alarm and caught the error, so had an hour to charge it before we left. I packed my things, had a small breakfast, and listened to the rain outside. It was quite chilly so I layered up in my light hoodie plus my rain jacket.

Sam and I met up outside the hotel and made the quick walk into Bourg Saint-Pierre proper, where we met up with Patrick just outside the church. We followed the VF signs out of town, and started our day going downhill — not a great omen — to a wet, grassy path on the edge of a steep hill. Here our walking companions were a hard of sheep, many of whom had been grazing on the path and quickly darted out of our way as we walked. I stopped to take a photo when I heard a “bahhh” behind me. I turned to congratulate Patrick on his very accurate sheep impression and realized it was not him — a large sheep was running up the slope behind me.

Leaving the sheep behind us, we started on a very steep uphill section on a wide gravel track. Sam’s high-altitude marathon training was clear as he loped ahead of us, Patrick and I periodically stopping and gasping for air. Soon the path narrowed into a normal hiking trail and we were picking our way across a rocky landscape, in the shadow of a massive hydroelectric dam. This was the last time we would see trees all day, and the changes from yesterday’s walking were obvious. Gone were the brilliant green of pastures and forests: now the predominant colors were beige and gray.

The dam was really something to behold, imposing as it hung over our heads (I tried not to think about the podcast I recently listened to regarding poor dam maintenance). We meandered our way by a small stream, past a few abandoned huts, continuing to climb until we were above the dam and had a view of the reservoir behind. We poked our heads into a small restaurant (closed, though we watched the proprietor pour a bunch of wine into a pot and start stirring — morning fondue?) and listened to the symphony of cowbells from a grazing herd nearby. Here the path flattened out substantially and we moseyed along above the reservoir, admiring the peaks that were beginning to emerge from the clouds. On the far side of the reservoir we decided to break for a bit and dig into our quickly-dwindling snack reserves.

The next section following this break could only be described as a mountain goat section, so naturally Sam led the way. Even the idea of a tree was at this point long gone: the landscape was all boulders, some grass, and some fragrant alpine herbs that probably would make a good cough drop. The path wound its way up the side of the mountain this way, narrow and occasionally quite steep, as the sun came out for the first time all day. Below us lay the non-village of Bourg Saint-Bernard (really just a bus stop and the tunnel entrance), and a babbling alpine brook. As we had all day, we continued to say “surely, just around this next bend we will see the pass…right?” However, this was not true — yet.

I’m not mentioning conversation because there wasn’t much at this point — all three of us focused on pushing on, uphill, trying to cover more ground. We joked around a bit — referring to all steep sections as “efficient” since they got more vertical out of the way faster — but mostly it was a quiet walk with ample time to enjoy the views of craggy peaks and the valley below.

Eventually we descended towards the valley floor, where the road wound its way slowly up. The road was actually supposed to be closed for roadwork at this point, but to our confusion we saw cars, bikes, and even the bus making their way uphill. Before we crossed the (freshly paved) road, we passed a large group of American hikers headed to Zermatt. Patrick and I explained we were headed to Rome from Canterbury, and they were very congratulatory and cheered us on. I wished them well in Zermatt and we continued on, with the Americans’ promise of “puppies at the pass” ringing in our ears/

But we were not there yet, and while we could now see further upvalley, a dark grey cloud was descending from the peaks. We had crossed into the shade already, and with the clouds and the addition of some mild wild the temperature was starting to drop, even as we climbed another goat track over rocks and streams. Eventually we decided to have our final “pack off” break in the semi-shelter of a large rock, where we added additional layers and delved into our sad assortment of snacks: for me, a rectangle of chocolate and half of a bread roll. Then it was packs back on and off we went. Sam promised this was the “final push” for the first time of many.

I moaned and groaned about the distance — we could see the road off to our right was switchbacking its way much higher, so we knew we would have to make up the elevation somehow. The trail now loosely followed the bed of a stream (so, lots of rock-hopping, boot-wetting scenarios). We dodged a few electric fences, crossed over some slippery wooden bridges sans-handrails, and climbed up steep stairs built into rock. All the while we kept an eye on the road and the mountains ahead for a sign of reprieve. Past a mountain rescue hut, Patrick and I stopped to catch our breath and take in the view of the still-sunny valley behind us, while trying to warm up our extremities. Sam called out to us that the view was better from his perch a few meters up. “This sounds like trickery to me!” I shouted back, with Patrick in agreement, but we trudged up. And Sam was right — there, above us, we could just see a building between two peaks. We were approaching the pass.

This was our next “final push” and I’ll admit that seeing the pass, even knowing it was still quite far away, did give me another burst of energy. However, picking my way over steep and unstable rocks, this was quickly depleted. Even so, Sam graciously let Patrick and I walk ahead of him for this long final ascent.

It’s hard to show in photos, but the last maybe 50 meters or so of the path are just an extremely steep uphill, picking your way between small rocks with a steep drop-off to your left. And so even though today was not that long of a day distance-wise, and not that much more difficult than yesterday elevation-wise, this was an absolutely brutal end to the stage. I thought I might need to resort to crawling, but the thought of finally reaching the pass propelled me upward. Chest heaving, barely breathing, I forced my exhausted legs to just move forward a bit more, and in a few final steps was on the tarmac. I had made it to the pass.

Patrick and Sam were close behind me, and we whooped and exchanged high-fives in celebration, turning back to look at where we had come from today. I was starting to feel a bit emotional, or maybe just altitude sick, at the idea of finally reaching this point. Halfway! 500 miles, give or take. I was amazed.

We made our way to the actual pass, as opposed to the first parking lot, for celebratory photos, first with the “Col du Gran Saint Bernard” sign, and then down the road at the Italian border. It was very chilly up at the pass now that we were no longer climbing, and thick clouds descended on the mountaintop lake, obscuring the view of the famous hospice. We made our way into Italy (a 5 minute walk) for a celebratory lunch at the Bar du Lac. It was the perfect setting: wooden alpine cabin, a fire going in the corner, the low chatter of people enjoying themselves. Patrick picked up the guitar in the corner, which only had four strings, and began to play. Afterwards, the restaurant put the Beatles on the sound system — there is some irony in hearing “Here Comes the Sun” as you watch another cloud descend outside, completing whiting out your vision.

It was a joyous occasion of delicious wine, pasta, and tiramisu. We sampled local delicacies, including honey-soaked chestnuts served with shaved lard — an unexpected combo but delicious. Patrick was blown away by the price differences here versus in Switzerland. We reminisced about the journey so far and joked around. After a long and leisurely lunch, we put the packs back on and headed to the Great Saint Bernard Hospice to check in.

The Hospice was opened in 1050 by the Saint himself in order to provide refuge for the travelers and pilgrims crossing the pass. It’s been continuously open ever since, and the monks there take in travelers in all seasons (though for much of the year the pass must be reached by snowshoe). I had booked a room in a dormitory and Patrick was hoping there would be “room at the inn” for a weary pilgrim, which as it turns out there was.

After changing into the hostel-provided Crocs (house shoes), we went up to our dormitory to discover its layout was….interesting. An 8-person dorm it was equipped with 4 sets of bunk beds. But they were arranged as 2 sets of 2 each pushed together, so it almost looked like double beds. Literally, the mattresses of the adjacent beds are right next to each other. It’s bizarre, and a quick look around suggested that not all dorms were organized this way. Honestly, this put me a bit on edge — I don’t mind sharing a hostel room with men for a night, but essentially sharing a double bed with a man I don’t know? That’s too much for me.

But, we were able to drop off our clothes to be washed — and said hello again to Beatrice and Daniele, who had made it up here via the bus. Then Sam and I headed back out to hang out for a bit until his bus down to Orsieres. We visited the Hospiece Museum, which isn’t much but whose main attraction is visiting the Saint Bernard dogs who are still trained here at the pass (though no longer used for mountain rescues). They are not energetic dogs at all — we could barely get them to lift their heads to look at us. After a few attempts at engaging with the dogs, we gave in (after a quick chance to pet one of the dogs actively being trained) and then did a quick lap of the museum. Afterwards we wandered some of the paths around the pass and sat for a bit by the lake.

Finally, it was time to say goodbyes. I thanked Sam for rearranging his schedule last minute to come join. Truly, this experience was made so much more enjoyable by his presence — he’s a great travel companion (and pace setter, etc.) And, I was really happy to see him embrace the pilgrimage aspect as well, not just the hiking, chatting with Patrick and others we have met along the way. Patrick was out exploring when Sam left, but managed to track him down and say goodbye, and gave him the gift of a small stuffed dog keychain as a thank-you for the company. And then there were two — briefly.

Patrick and I discussed if we thought the room would end up being full, and as I went downstairs I met the men who would be our roommates. A group of 5: three Italians, 2 Belgians, all walking together for a few days. One, Antonio, was very happy to chat with me in Italian, and had helpful advice as he had already walked the full trail (including the VF del Sud). I had a cup of tea with them and chatted for a bit before leaving for Vespers. Honestly, the service was not quite what I expected, a bit smaller and clearly more for the benefit of the travelers, not the monks. Afterwards Patrick and I headed to dinner, where I was seated with our new Belgo-Italian friends and an American mom and daughter. The mother had started the VF in July and was making good pace, walking double stages most days — she had come from Orsieres this morning! Her daughter was joining just for the Lausanne-Aosta section. Unfortunately, between the exhaustion, the altitude, and the goodbyes, I was not in the best headspace and perhaps didn’t fully get into the communal meal atmosphere, but did my best to keep up in the conversation. Exhausted, I finally headed back to the room to head to bed — my 6 roommates had kindly left an open space next to me, so I could rest comfortably.

Tomorrow — on to Italy!

Final mileage: 9.29mi
Walking time: 4h 25m
Elevation gain: 3,583ft

Accommodation: Hospice du San Bernard, which has been hosting travelers and pilgrims like me for almost a thousand years! An interesting experience, not quite as historic-feeling as I might have expected (and the bed-sharing situation was a bit much, even if I was spared), but a very interesting experience.