If you tuned in to London 2012, chances are you’ll have caught a glimpse of a cherry-red, spaghetti-like structure in the corner of Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park. Designed by Anish Kapoor and Cecil Balmond, the… More
The early bird catches the worm – or, in our case, the lift up the hill to rejoin the route at Col de la Forclaz. We’d had to veer off the route the previous day, as all the auberges and refuges around Trient were fully booked, so when our host said he could drop us at the top of Col de la Forclaz on his way to work we gratefully took him up on the offer. We chat about this and that – the lack of sunlight in winter; how Facebook newsfeeds overflow with GIFs and the like – on the short drive up the hill and part ways at the top.
We’re in the queue for breakfast at seven sharp, already eyeing up the bowls laden with yogurt, granola and cereals, plates of fresh bread (a wonderful sight after endless slices of stale loaves at Rifugio Elena two mornings prior) and selection of hot and cold drinks. Over breakfast, the two Canadians we’re sat with tell us how they shimmied along a snowy ridge to make it to Refuge Robert Blanc a few nights ago; we’re rather relieved we decided against venturing up there.
Today’s leg of the Tour du Mont Blanc had several seasons rolled into one: a damp, drizzly start (on went the waterproof trousers and jackets, only to be removed a quarter of an hour later when the rain cleared) followed by blazing sunshine and, later, scattered showers. Having made the most of the breakfast spread – think freshly-baked bread, cold cuts of meat, fruit, orange juice and steaming mugs of hot chocolate – we set off for Champex-Lac.
Earlier this summer, one of my colleagues had the inspired idea of setting up an informal book club. Three Doodle polls later and we’ve read Normal People (did the economical verging on unimaginative prose grate on anyone else?) Educated (which I loved; more below) and are soon to discuss My Year of Rest and Relaxation (which I wasn’t overly keen on, but am still weighing up). I’ve not enjoyed every book, but I have enjoyed reading outside my crime and memoir comfort zone. If anyone has any book club recommendations, I’m all ears!
There was no need for an alarm clock at Rifugio Elena: noisy snores from a neighbouring bunk woke us from our slumber, and a rather inconsiderate person from the far side of the dorm came over and drew the curtains next to our bed. Farewell Land of Nod, hello breakfast: bacon (or was it warm ham?), sausage, a dollop of yogurt mixed with plum jam, (more) stale bread, and a slice of a jammy shortbread tart.
When I last penned an update, I wasn’t sure how the past few months would pan out. As it turns out, they’ve been chock-full with local goings-on and adventures further afield. We spent Easter exploring Dartmoor National Park, and getting somewhat scorched in the process (slight understatement – I returned to work looking like a tomato). Six weeks later, we were up in the Yorkshire Dales, soaked to the skin in a downpour. (Needless to say, a treacle tart from Booths lifted our spirits immeasurably!) We’ve ticked a few more things off our East Anglia to-visit list over the past few months, with a day trip to Saffron Walden (a quaint little town full of colourful half-timbered buildings), an afternoon picking strawberries at Bury Lane Farm Shop, and a cycle ride to Hot Numbers’ new(ish) roastery, near Shepreth.
Fuelled up on multiple croissants (our hotel had not one, not two, but five different types to choose from), yogurt, apricot tart, fruit, bread and juice, we hit the trail. Yesterday, Courmayeur’s piazzas and winding streets bustled with gelato aficionados, window shoppers and holidaymakers. This morning they’re empty, save for a few walkers trickling out of the city towards Rifugio Bertone.