Day 20: Misadventures in Montgenèvre on a Monday…

Day 20 – July 22 – 27 KMS – 10 HRS – 384 KMS TOTAL

Start: 7:35 AM, Plampinet, End: 5:30 PM, Briançon

Ascent: 1350 m (21 215 m total), Descent: 1650 m (20 265 m total)

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Starting at 7:35 AM, I hiked out of the small village of Plampinet and up the first ascent of the day, past what looked like a tiny abandoned village, home to a few stone chalets and a small church. The path, a gravel road, switched up and up, offering those trademark terrific views of massive, calm and aged mountains; behind, beside and in front of my every step. Surrounded by such spectacular sights, breathing in the crisp, clean country air, and feeling strong and free as I hiked all day, every day, I thought to myself, Can life get any frickin’ better?

Here and there, the road was bordered by an old stone wall, supporting the steep slope into which the path had been cleared. Out of one of these walls, an assortment of pretty, delicate flowers emerged from the cracks. Yellow buttercups, purple Alpine bellflower, Purple Saxifrage. The tiny branches of an evergreen shrub poked through another crack, sporting bouquets of tiny white flowers, whose petals were adorned with one adorable polkadot each. Its fledgling twigs also carried sprays of tiny red berries. From another crevice sprung what I think is called meadowsweet; fragile little clusters of tiny, light pink flowers whose four petals curl back giving them a quadratic look. Together, the mass of miniscule squares reminded me of the plastic string boondoggle crafts my students make and which I, too, made as a child. 

Today’s route is historically significant. Caesar, Charlemagne, Charles the Eighth and Napoleon all travelled through here en route to and from the important military town of Montgenèvre, which I will pass today en route to Briançon, yet another ancient garrison town, which is famous for its massive fortified walls. As I walked, I passed an aged stone shelter. Was this once used by shepherds? The army? Or simply for storage? There is endless food for thought on the GR%, if one wants to think at all, that is. 

Later on, after passing the Chalets des Acles, I may have taken a wrong turn. The red and white blazes were faded, barely visible. However, yellow blazes, indicative of an alternate route, were more freshly painted. Whether I was on the main route or an alternate, the path nevertheless wondrously wound its way through storybook meadows and by way of sprawling valleys host to boulder fields, Alpine flowers a-plenty and fir trees, all bordered by rolling heights of scree mountainsides. I didn’t see another person all day. This is what I imagine heaven is like. 

Normally, at a col (a passage between two mountains, located at the highest point of  the footpath and offering sweeping vistas of miles of mountain tops as well as deep valleys below), hikers will stop to eat their lunch and take in the views. However, there wasn’t another soul around when I reached Col de la Lauze, at 2529 metres. For as far as the eye could see in all directions, I was the only human. 

The steeply descending switchbacks from the col brought me to a lowland of  hundreds of humps, knolls and hills, a myriad of mounds tucked neatly beneath its grassy carpet, giving the valley an interesting texture, wrinkled and pimply. 

At noon, I passed beneath the Télésiège du Rocher Rouge, or the Red Rock Chairlift. Thirteen kilometres done, fourteen to go.

Today, the fields of flowers and meadows of buds, buttercups and blossoms are on a rapturous repeat reel between and throughout the varying mountainscapes. 

Hungry and excited to shop for some much-needed food provisions, I arrived in Montgenèvre just after 1 PM. Unfortunately, the Proxi, one of a chain of grocery stores, located at the small ski town’s entrance, is closed on Mondays. Carrying on, I soon found a local boulangerie/patisserie. There, I bought a pizza square, a baguette, and two savoury tarts. Using the wifi from the local office du tourisme, I saw that there was a Sherpa (another grocery store chain) just a short way’s away. I headed there to further fuel up my waning Ursack of food. Crushed, the sign informed me that the store is closed from 1PM to 3Pm daily. Argh! It wasn’t even 2 PM yet. I sat outside the closed business and ate the pizza slice and one of the pies. Ten more kilometres to Briançon. Let’s do this!

A short stretch of road-walk quickly turned into a long traverse through forest. Between the trees, I glimpsed a bit of that red rock for which the earlier chairlift was named, in a massive mountainside divot, like a gash exposing bloody innards.  

At 3PM, I came upon an old stone structure camouflaged into the terrain to my left, covered in moss, and derelict. Its heavy metal door read, BÂTIMENT MILITAIRE, DÉFENSE D’ENTRER, DANGER DU MORT. Military building, do not enter, danger of death. But the door was wide open, so in I went. An old military camp of sorts, it was barren of any relics. In orange spray paint, Briançon, 1h was graffitied on a wall inside. Fantastic! Not much further now, Papa Smurf!

Fifteen minutes later, I passed another such military base, this one carved right into the rock mountainside. Unfortunately, the heavy, rusted metal doors here were firmly locked shut and I couldn’t go exploring. About to leave, I noticed a barely detectable cave-like opening to the far-right. I dropped my hiking poles and backpack and climbed in. Unfortunately, I was only able to penetrate the forbidden fortress a few meters before being thwarted by fallen earth and rocks. Oh well, I tried!

Just before 4PM, I finally began to catch glimpses of the much-hyped Briançon and its impressive stone fortress, seamlessly built into the jagged rock mountain side. Finally, at nearly half past four in the afternoon, I crossed the historic and impressive Pont d’Asfeld, spanning a deep gorge below, bringing me to the city’s doorstep. Suddenly, there were tourists everywhere! Passing under a stone gateway, I entered the well-fortified Cité Vauban, or the old part of Briançon, not unlike the feel of Old Montréal in Montréal, Canada. Swarming with crowds of tourists, I immediately fled the pretty and historic tourist trap. 

The GR5 does not go through the town where all of the much-needed or desired amenities are for a weary hiker; grocery stores, cafés, sporting good stores, accommodations, etc. Instead, the trail ducks into parallel woods and walkways, bypassing all the fruits of a major urban centre. Naively, I stuck to the blazed path and missed it all. At 5 PM, weary from the nearly 10-hour day of hiking with my 30-pound-plus thru-hiking backpack, I wondered whether I would hike on to the nearest camping, still another three kilometres away and off-route, or if I would wild camp somewhere. And then I saw a beacon of light: a sign that read, “Hôtel de la Gare.” There I went. 

Alain, the owner of the restaurant/bar/hotel, informed me of two things. The first was that this day was his 78th birthday. Joyeux anniversarie, Alain! Secondly, he told me that one night’s stay was only forty Euros. DONE. My little room consisted of a cot, a tiny bedside table, a TV, a window, a sink, a small dresser and a chair. A shared toilet and shower was situated at the end of my second-floor hallway. After settling in, I walked to a local grocery store and stocked up on needed food items, taking photos of street art along the way. Finally resupplied, sheltered and certainly tuckered out, I watched the freaky 1979 French film Le Tambour on my little TV screen as I finally, finally fell asleep.