Down into Italy

There was much talk of snow but the next day was a cracker. The picture is taken from the Italian side of the lake back towards the hostel. I decided to walk to Aosta and have a rest day there.

It's impossible to describe the feeling of going round the lake and looking down into Italy. Besancon to the Pass had taken 9 days and I'd covered about 130 miles and two lots of mountains and at that point I felt terrific. The way down is along narrow and steep paths so the going was a bit slow but the views are wonderful.

When Rupes and I did a bit of walking in the Pyrenees a few years ago it was obvious that the southern side was a lot warmer and the same seems to apply to the Alps. Within a few hundred yards there were lots of alpine flowers. The day just couldn't get better (but it could get worse).

The picture above is of the entrance to the first Italian village I came to. Elizabetha, who tries to teach me Italian, had said I'd have no problems getting water (as I had had in France) as there were fountains in every village. This might be a bit more of a horse trough but it was full of clear, ice-cold water right off the mountain. There were another two further down into the village.

Side on view of the road down from the pass. Sorry. As you can see the path is pretty steep and after 15km my knees, thighs, quads, calves and toes were giving me hell. I wanted to get to Aosta because I hadn't made any arrangements for the night but as I reached Gignol, about 5 miles short of the target, and the thunder started I realised that I had to stop. I asked in a bar and there was a hotel and it had a restaurant. It was on the Via Francigena route and about 200 yards away. I found "Maisen Pierre" (not a spelling mistake) and they had a room with a balcony and a view over the mountain. I was so happy as at this stage my legs were in agony.

And this is Pierre. He is the Via Francigena representative on the commune with special responsibility for the paths. He's holding a copy of the bells they used to use to signal the arrival of pilgrims and he gave me the traditional welcome. This is the terrace where I had dinner and breakfast. I was enjoying Italy immensely although my legs were in a right state.

I got the boots on an walked down into Aosta, an old Roman town. It was agony. I never thought walking down would hurt as much. The picture above is looking back up towards the Alps.

This is one of lots of street lights on the way down into town. The pilgrim is the sign of the Via Francigena and they lead you down into the town. After hundreds of miles with hardly a sign on the route this felt great. The shot below is of the old town and it is one of the best places I've visited on the trip. The locals speak a sort of mixture of 80% Italian and 20% French which is spot on for me. I've got a two star hotel for a couple of days then I train down to Milan to go home for my birthday and a graduation ceremony in Leicester.

I'll be off line for a week or so. If anyone who reads this feels like meeting up for a beer then let me know. Walking is out though.