Alta Via 1 Hike: Stardust and Paris

I once leaned from a Parisian hotel window at 430am with a friend as we bid adieu to a Brit who capped off THE epic day with a simple farewell – Ladies, thank you. It is not often one can wake up for work on Monday and realize they are in the wrong country…

That Sunday is the day I go to in my mind for serenity, energy, confidence, smiles and really anything. My second trip out of the country, first time as a grown-up and there I was in Paris for a weekend with plans melting under an unusual February sun. I speak of that day fondly to others but hold the true treasure locked behind my eyes and tattooed in my memory. For reasons difficult to articulate, it is a day that stands alone thus far in my life…

Until Day 3 of my hike…

It was a day of such immense peace and happiness without any significant event. Nothing extraordinary (beyond the National Geographic highlight real before my eyes) occurred, but I spent hours awake in a state of absolute, exhilarating, unbridled peace. Not bad given I was going to have a healthy 1200m climb ahead of me as I made my way toward Lagazuoi in blasting heat. I was stupefied with happiness the entire day – my feet danced, my eyes smiled, my fingernails tingled and my legs sang and begged me not to stop.

I was up at five for no apparent reason so I toiled around the hut until it was breakfast time. Eggs would be my protein source and a quick smattering of orange marmalade on homemade mountain bread and I was out the door. Logic told me that the previous days's tour group would 1. Still be asleep and 2. Not back track and retrace their steps towards Lagazuoi. All the same – I had an intense desire to break the silence of morning along the trail in a party of one. 

The first signs of exhilaration flickered in the pasture dotted with summer flowers, an occasional marmot and sleepy cows stretching their legs and making their way towards a breakfast of their own. I had a 15 minute staring contest to see who would move from their position on the trail – assessing that if I lost to this teenage bull and survived getting trampled, my landing pad would be the ice cold stream that itself was carved from a Walt Whitman poem.

The day progressed with a climb to Forcella del Lago which only added to my exuberance. I was ahead of scheduled time, I was catching my breath faster and I could feel myself getting stronger. The view from the top offered a smack in the face challenge to my small accomplishments – an instant rewind of the height I had just gained and then a cheeky equal ascent to the structure perched eye level ahead, only a mountain away.

And so I went, all the while I had quieted my mind to an unparalleled level and was able to feel every step of my feet, hear the wind whistle through the flowers and taste the sweet salt in the sweat that saturated my lips. I memorized the shape of every rock that passed beneath my stride and watched the clouds cast finger puppet shadows on the mountain sides before disintegrating like cotton candy. And I stopped twice…to hear the silence. I smiled at the sound and purity of nothingness. The school groups, stubborn winter snow and final climb barely registered on my euphoric state. 

After I snuck in front of unassuming tourists in line for lunch and beer, I surprised tonight's host being not only a solo hiker, but female and having the name 'Andrea'. It was clear I was getting out of Süd Tirol and really getting deeper into the Italian part of the region. Same story: room assigned, territory marked, half attempt to wash clothes in the sink, thick hot chocolate sipped while retreating to the corner of the deck overlooking a panorama that warranted a gondola lift to pluck tourists from their cars only to be put down again in a hug from clouds.

I waited for the last group to retreat to the mechanical trip down tomorrow's tunneled trail before I made the last 50m to the Piccolo Lagazuoi summit. I took my shoes off, dangled my feet over the side and repeated phrases of amazement at what lay before me. My attention span with the four Italians was short lived and I retreated to my perch after final doggie kisses from a sweet yellow canine that smelled a bit like my clothes thanks to his efforts on covering half of the AV1.

 

Words seem to fall short for the day. It felt magical, unworldly, divine and yet so accessible. I used my one trail 'phone a friend' allowance in an attempt to articulate the sunset scene that was unfolding before me, but failed miserably to translate the fairytale scenes and tickle of stardust from the night's wind into a vocabulary structured and dictated by man. It was a vision and an emotion for me. Its beauty now rests behind my eyes and colors my days back in Munich ever since. Best of all, it tattooed itself in my mind next to the February music on Sacre-Coeur steps and the vision of rain-coated cobblestones of a Parisian midnight street.