France 2026 - Day 7 - Burrowing into Lyon

 My plan today is to dig into the history of Lyon as much as I can. I took advantage of my one-day pass for Lyon to use the metro and the tram to jump from one location to the other, and I even got to ride the funicular up the hill from Vieux Lyon to the top of the bluff to visit again the Roman museum and the two Roman forums.

 

Trying to remain historically chronologic I will mention first the Roman museum. When Julius Caesar conquered Gaulle, the area was divided into Belgian Gaulle to the north, Lyonnais Gaulle in the center, and Acquitaine Gaulle in the south. Lugdunum, on the east end of the Lyonnais Gaul became the most important hub of the whole of Gaulle because of its access to the Rhône. Lugdunum must have been very vast because they keep discovering Roman foundations all over the place, but most of it is covered by the modern city. Of note, emperor Claudius was born in Lugdunum (he followed Tiberius and Caligula).

 

The Roman museum is very cool, but the forums were a bit disappointing. Not because they were not magnificent in scale, but because they have been rehabilitated as concert venues, and the modernity of these installations clashes with the ancient architecture. Did I already mention that Lugdunum was founded in 43 BC? Claudius was emperor sometime around 45 AD).

 

The medieval Lyon was a small town at the foot of the bluff and probably inundated regularly by the Sôen, but enjoyed the luxury of a bridge over the Rhône and a bridge over the Sôen, so it was able to host first two and at the end four commercial fairs every year. Commercial fairs were the gate to prosperity of the medieval world, so Lyon grew to be a very prosperous town. In addition, the Rhône was the main venue for transporting wine (Beaujolais wine), olive oil, and fish meal down to Marseille, and Lyon had the distinction of being the place where bulk merchandise got divided into small barrels for direct trade.

The comment one hears here in Lyon is that the city has three rivers: the Rhône, the Sône, and the flow of Beaujolais wine. To celebrate the confluence of the two rivers the Rhône is represented as a young and powerful man, who shelters in his arms the delicate feminine form of the Sône.

Because the Vieux Lyon is long but not very deep, merchandise had to be brought to high ground in some efficient way, so the Lyonaise opened passages perpendicular to the long streets, called taboule. These passages, of which there must be at least a hundred, have regular doors so from the outside they look like the entrance to an apartment building, but if you know where they are you just open the door and walk in, getting to take a look at the rear portion of several apartment buildings. In fact, some of the apartments use the taboule as the regular way of reaching their homes.

I should mention here that Lyon was the place where the first book in French (La Légende Dorée by Jacobus de Voragine) was printed, following closely on the footsteps of Gutenberg in Germany.

Much later, in the 18th century, Lyon became the center of silk weaving, starting a long tradition of French carpets and tapestries. Unfortunately, that was one museum I didn't get to, so I cannot provide further details. On the same vein, I was not able to visit the home of Ampere because it is a few kilometers outside of Lyon, but I mention him here as one of the distinguished Lyonaise.

In the 1800's the Lumiere brothers (Louis and August) and their father, Antoine, became a prominent industrial family because of Louis' interest in optics, photography, and film. Their factory was the French equivalent of Eastman Kodak and produced cameras, films, and even medicines (August was a doctor). The big invention, however, was the movie camera, the strip film, and the projection of the film to create a movie! It was an exhilarating time for the visual arts.

The Resistance and Deportation Museum brought me to the bitter time of World War II. Lyon was within the area covered by the Vichy regime, which folded its hands to the pressure of Nazi Germany and became occupied territory. To its honor, Lyon became the birthplace of the Resistance, and there is a long list of names of the guérilla fighters who fought the Nazi advance by all means possible. The Nazis relocated many of the "undesirables" to concentration camps, and Lyon was one of the hubs for those deportations until, after the war, was able to welcome back the survivors of the Holocaust.

Finally we come to the modern age, which is celebrated in the Musée des Confluences, an ultramodern building at the confluence of the two rivers, where the ancient collection of curiosities accumulated over centuries has been arranged in parallel with the scientific history of the Earth, the evolution of life, and the rise of ancient and modern cultures. A very innovative way of putting together a museum.

And that is it. I am exhausted after a day of playing hard tourism and tomorrow will hop on a plane to land in Frankfurt and visit my dear friends Chrissy and Gustav, together with the remainder of the Kobberger family and related friends.

France 2026 - Day 6 - Tourism in Lyon

I woke up with the intention of being a good tourist, using as my support the Hop Off- Hop On tourist bus that drives in a loop from one point of interest to the next. Lyon is of course a very large city that grew from a starting point at the confluence of the large Rhône river and the smaller Saône. The rivers run parallel to each other for a couple of kilometers before joining, and the land in between is called Presqu'ile (meaning "almost island", although in reality is a skinny peninsula). This is where the chic district of the city is located, with all the big and famous fashion stores. The Saône is deflected to parallel the Rhône by a tall bluff, at the foot of which is located Vieux Lyon, which is only three streets deep parallel to the river.

The bluff was the bastion where the Roman city of Lugdunum was founded, as the most important province of the territory called Gaulle. There are two Roman forums, the little and the big one, but I was unable to visit them because even though the day was hot and clear there was an advisory for a storm (the storm did happen at night, and it was a particularly intense one), although I couldn't see a relation between an open archaeologic site and a storm.

Anyway, I walked to the plaza named Bellecour, in Presqu'ile, where I found an equestrian statue of Louis XIV and friendly Anna of the Tourist Bureau. In perfect English she ran me over all sorts of things to do, and I bought from her two days in the tourist bus, a day pass for all the museums (which I will use tomorrow), and precise instructions on how to get to the airport on Saturday morning. Lyon is the birthplace of the famous aviator and author Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, and the airport is named after him. Sadly, in very French fashion the name has been curtailed and everyone refers to the airport as Saint-X.

I was planning to make first a tour of the whole city, but because of the heat I decided to stop at the Roman forum (a bust since it was closed due to "la meteo"), and from there walk to the top of the bluff to visit the Basilica de Notre Dame Fourviére, which in my opinion is the most beautiful church of Lyon. It is as large as the cathedral, but is beautifully decorated with colorful glass windows and magnificent religious scenes made with small squares of Venetian glass, not unlike the ones one sees in Orthodox churches. Besides, the view of Lyon from its balcony is truly magnificent (in turn, looking up from Vieux Lyon or Presqu'ile, it looks like an imposing white fortress).

Speaking of churches, in Vieux Lyon there are three churches, narrow as it is: the cathedral St. Jean (i.e., St. John), St. George, and St. Paul, so the irreverent Lyonnaises believe a new one should be built to complete the set ... St. Ringo.

A curiosity worth mentioning is the Mur Peint, a fabulous mural painted on the windowless side of a building, which show prominent sons and daughters of Lyon, leaning out of their balconies to chat with each other. The only ones I recognized were Antoine de Saint-Euxpéry, dressed like an aviator and talking to Le Petit Prince, and the Lumiere Brothers, inventors of the movie camera.

Another claim to fame of Lyon is being home to the tradition of Guiñol theater, which is used the world over to entertain and moralize children, but which also was loaded with political and social commentary.

The grand event of the afternoon was meeting my former foreign exchange student Marié Joguet. She appeared out of nowhere in my Hydrogeology class and year and a half ago, and bravely stuck to it to the end. She is finishing her studies as an agronomist, and is currently in Lyon completing the internship that is such an important part of higher education here in France. She actually comes from the foothills of the Alps, in Savoy, and her dream is to get a position back in her hometown, where she can be close to agriculture and nature. She is a delightful young woman and I was very glad we managed to converge and have dinner together.

On the way back home I knew I had to get out at the Garibaldi metro station, but when I got out and reached for my phone to have Google Maps take me to my residence I found out that my phone was completely out of battery, dead, dead, dead. I was a victim of our total reliance on the electronic memory, not remembering the name of the street I had to get to, nor even the general direction to see if I could recognize a landmark. With deep shame I had to stop at a gym and ask for help. The nice woman there had to look for an old style charging cable, and I had to wait there for ten minutes for the phone to charge enough to release the information I needed. Turns out I was only a couple of blocks away but I had been walking in the wrong direction! I hope this teaches me to be more careful about the battery level of my phone :(

France 2026 - Day 5 - Paris to Lyon in the TGV

Today is a workday for Géraldine, so with blurry eyes we got up early and prepared for the day. I am heading south to Lyon, to say hello to my friend Marie, and visit a city that I have not seen before. Actually, I was in Lyon 38 years ago, and remember getting trapped in its toll peripheral road because I couldn't find a place to pay with cash (I don't remember how I escaped, but it was the start of my hate relation with automated toll roads).

Géraldine accompanied me to the light rail station, and gave me very precise instructions on getting out at the station Gare de Lyon (a bit obvious, isn't it), two stations past her own station. It was also time to say au revoir to my dear friend, but I will see her in about ten days for our joint trip to Sweden, Finland, and Denmark, so it was not a sad au revoir.

The Gare de Lyon is an enormous train station but is reasonably well provided with signs and electronic boards, so I had little trouble getting to the TGV to Lyon (TGV stands for Train de Grande Vitesse), which on good stretches can reach speeds of 300 km/hr). The trip to Lyon was thus less than 2 pm, which I spent looking at the beautiful French countryside.

Things started to go wrong when I arrived in Lyon at the height of la canicule at noon. My unfriendly lodging had specified that I could only get access to the apartment at 4 pm, and no, I could not come in earlier to drop off my backpack. Grr! Doing touristy things in the heat, carrying a backpack, was out of the questions. Géraldine had suggested going to a movie theater, and indeed right in front of the station was a huge shopping center with a movie theater. But so was also a very large public library, which is a traditional way to escape the heat. I went there and was welcome with open arms, so I sat in a quiet corner with access to the internet, until it was time to walk to my apartment. They were supposed to send me an access code and entrance instructions before 4 pm but they hadn't, so I sent them a reminder message and got something back as I was getting to the correct address.

I needed to post a deposit of 300 euros using my credit card and a secure website they directed me to. I sensed trouble, because my American credit cards want to confirm the expense by sending a text message to my American phone number, which of course doesn't work abroad. So the first attempt ended hanging in hyperspace. I tried a second card, without success. Finally I tried my ATM, which didn't ask for authentication, but again sent the payment app into hyperspace. So I called and it was a management company where the lady only spoke French. I explained the problem and she couldn't help me. Maybe I could have someone else with French credit card do the deposit?

In frustration I decided to look for a nearby hotel (expensive) and I was almost there when I got an email saying that my deposit had gone through! So I walked back to the original address and found myself in an old building, without elevator, trudging old stairs to the fourth floor, where I found a hot and tiny apartment that brought me to the France of the post-war years, where people lived in very reduced quarters. It was probably a single-occupant apartment that someone inherited, fitted it with a double bed (barely leaving enough space for anything else, and then put it in Booking.com to make a bit of money from it. I was not very happy, but at least I have a place for tonight and a quick visit to the supermarket provided me with the necessaries for dinner.

I am sure tomorrow will be a better day.

France 2026 - Day 4 - Bastille Day and the France vs Spain match

As expected, we woke up late and had no interest on going to the Champs Elysées to watch the military parade. But Géraldine has an enormous TV so we were able to see President Macrón arrive, review the troops, and then sit for two hours seeing the many different sections of the French armed forces march in perfect timing past the VIP area, where one of the main guests was President Volodymyr Zelenskyy.

My personal favorites were the representatives of the Foreign Legion, who moved at a much slower pace than the marching pace of the other units, and had axes and aprons as opposed to sabers or automatic weapons. They looked like a tough bunch. Besides the units of the regular army, navy, and air force, the Gendarmerie, the police, the fire fighters, and the diverse number of military academies had a good representation.

At that time the demonstration jets flew overhead, painting the sky on the colors of the French flag, which opened the parade of the jets, radar airplanes, strategic planes, and helicopters. In the meantime, the mechanized units got going and rumbled through Champs Elysées. The planes and mechanized units included other members of the European Union, so together they showed a significant defense force.

After hearing a rousing version of the Marseillese the parade finished at about noon, we had lunch, and then made plans to join Jean-Michel and his daughter Emma for a metro trip to Les Invalides, because in the past some of the tanks and helicopters had been in display there. Alas, this year cuts to the budget nixed that part of the celebration, so after moving like true Parisians through the Paris metro we arrived to the lively gay district, where we stopped to have a drink.

Once we were back at the home of Fabién and Jean-Michel we met Rasmus, Emma's pug, who was naturally enchanted to see people and in particular his favorite person, Géraldine. We had gathered there to see the match between France and Spain, and naturally we all hoped that France would win. But any gathering is a good excuse to eat, so our gracious hosts had prepared some delicious appetizers of cheese, salmon, Arab bread, and a large amount of pizza of every sort you can imagine. The French have embraced the American style of pizza and are not shy to pile several ingredients on one pizza (e.g., chorizo and onions, ham and gorgonzola cheese, or hashed roast beef and bell peppers - but I didn't see any pizza with pineapple, so they have not committed the ultimate sin). It was a great, amiable afternoon, marred only by the two goals scored by the Spanish team, whose defense Les Bleus were unable to crack. Quel dommage!

France 2026 - Day 3 - A look into French royal history at Vaux-Le-Vicomte

If you go to bed late you inevitably start the following day late and with considerable sluggishness. So we did start slow, closed the house to keep the heat out, and eventually had to go shopping for food. I love going shopping while I am abroad, and happily wander through the aisles looking at the wonderful choices one has for constructing a meal. Géraldine tells me that food inflation has not been as alarming at what we have had back home, and that even fuel costs have not increased as crazily as we have seen (probably because fuel cost is high in Europe to begin with).

The plan today is to take it easy during the heat of the day, and in the afternoon to go visit the Chateaux of Vaux-Le-Vicomte, 60 km away from us to the southeast. By now I have been in Paris several times, so this was my chance to see something new and to learn some more about French history during the long reign of Louis XIV, the Sun King. He was king of France from 1643 to 1715 (72 years!) and defines an age of absolutism, war, and expansion of the French colonial empire. I am sure one or two of the current world leaders have his biography by their bedside tables, because many of the geopolitical moves we have seen during the last two years seem designed after what Louis XIV did through his many executive orders, broken treaties, vindictiveness toward his political adversaries, tax protection for the nobility, and undertaking of many costly wars.

Vaux-Le-Vicomte plays a small but important role in this story, because it was the blueprint for the Palace of Versailles that Louis XIV built as the seat of his court. It was built by the Superintendent of Finances of the kingdom, Nicholas Fouquet, who made the great mistake of creating a residence fit for a king, and a magnificent garden second only to that of Versailles. Building such a place did not come cheap, so Fouquet probably took advantage of his position to divert public funds to his home project. Louis XIV came with his court, was lavishly entertained, and Fouquet even offered to gift the whole place to Louis, who refused arguing that it would be bad optics for him to accept such gift. A few weeks later Fouquet was detained, rapidly judged by a court assembled with considerable haste, and condemned to exile (which Louis promptly modified to life imprisonment). Quite a nice guy, the Sun King.

For our visit we met with two of Géraldine's friends, Jean-Michel and his wife Fabién. Jean-Michel went to university with Géraldine, so they have known each other for a long time. Both of them speak good English, so we were able to chat in Frenglish all along during the visit.

We started with a tour of the chateaux, which was both opulent and oppressive because all the windows were shuttered to keep out the heat. The furniture was heavy and of rococo style, and the beds were very short (we joked that both Lucas and Theo would have had their feet dangling at the end). One of Fouquet's friends was the fabulist and poet Jean del la Fontaine, who should have written for him a fable whose final lesson was not to trust the hungry wolf he had welcomed as his king in his home.

The gardens are a slightly smaller version of those in Versailles, which is no surprise because they were designed by the same landscape architect. We took a walk from one end to the other, which apparently represents a distance of 2 km each way, and I couldn't help but thinking that Cooper would have been a happy dog making this promenade. I wonder if Fouquet or any other of the nobles of France ever walked their dogs this way (my guess is no, but instead rode a horse or drove a carriage to a suitable place to have a pique-nique (French spelling). We took advantage of one of the restaurants now located inside the park to have our own pique-nique, surrounded by a dense cloud of non-stinging wasps.

We waited until 11 pm for the drone light display, which was to replace the traditional fireworks to open the festivities of July 14, the Day of the Bastille and national holiday of France. I believe the fireworks got nixed because of the high risk of forest fires (in fact, there is a forest fire in the Forest of Fontainebleau, 20 km from us). The drone light spectacle was interesting, in that nearly 200 drones were in the air (computer controlled I presume), and wove in an out making geometric shapes of different colors, clustering to form a big ring or the flag of France, and then "exploding" into what could be expected from regular fireworks. It was an impressive display of technology!

But of course we had to start for home at midnight, and it was not until 2 am that we got there, navigating through a maze of highways (Paris has the most complicated road network of any other city in the world). Bless Géraldine for being such a good driver, and for not falling asleep at the wheel! She may just be the perfect woman (smart, attractive, good driver) but she sure extends her waking hours way past mine!

France 2026 - Day 2 - Big birthday celebration in Orléans

We had a slow morning because Géraldine came back home late from her university reunion (not High School as I had initially thought). However, by 11:15 am we headed toward the birthday party, which was to take place in a bistro owned by one of the cousins in a small town near Orléans. It was a big affair because Aunt Dany was celebrating her 75th birthday, and her husband Uncle Michel was celebrating his 80th birthday. This is Géraldine's mom side of the family, and just by chance when Maya and I were in France, in 2015, we had attended the Father's Day celebration with the same large family! There were lots of aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandchildren, and many of them remembered me from 11 years ago and welcomed me warmly. They also remembered Maya, to whom they send many greetings.

Turns out there were 50 guests, plus the celebrating couple, and the voices of so many people chatting and laughing loudly in French was a sort of impromptu concert about French life.

After a suitable coming together time, out came the punch and the hors d'oeuvres and it became pretty apparent that the AC of the bistro was going to have to work extra hard to keep the temperature comfortable. The main dining area had been fitted with three long rows of tables, cleverly decorated with grape leaves and photographs of the celebrating couple from the time they were babies, through adolescence, courtship, and many years of happy marriage.

We then sat down for the first course. Me and Marcel sat together because I can understand much of what he says. This astounded Lucas, who tells me his grandfather speaks very fast. Maybe it is because we are both older and share a lot of the same ideas and concerns. The first course was fruit, salad, and a seafood and cream dish. Very yummy. Then came the main course of roasted piglet (a specialty of the area) with a side of roasted finger potatoes and zucchinis. I had a piece of the head, with an ear attached, and enjoyed it very much. Needless to say, there was good wine and lots of cool water to keep the party in good spirits.

Then Dany and Michel distributed presents, but in a very interesting way. They had looked carefully at the list of guests (me included), and had gotten a present to suit everyone's peculiarities. They then attached a clue to every present to indicate to who it belonged, and wrapped it in newspaper so there was no outside indication of the intended person. The presents were then distributed among the 52 people present, and everyone had to guess from the clue to whom it had to be delivered. For example, Marcel likes to go to the dances organized by the city on weekends, and has the reputation of being a good dancer, so he got a couple of CD's of tangos and other ballroom dancing music. Géraldine got a graphic novel about Finance Secrets because she works as a Finance Adviser. I got a mat of Orléans and a jar of the local specialty of chocolate-covered berries, on the clue of "having recently debarked in the region as a visitor".  It was great fun and tested the knowledge the family had on each of its numerous members.

In very French fashion the next course was a big round of Brie cheese and another of the local firm cheese. I believe the idea is that a bit of cheese at the end helps with the digestion.

Then came the start of the birthday ceremony, with a game where Dany and Michel had to guess what the common denominator was between different people. For example, the lead of the game asked the crowd to look at clue number 5 (all grandparents), and stand up if it applied to you. Dany was really good at figuring things out, which gave the crowd an opportunity to rib Michel for letting Dany do all the work. Other clues included having a beard, or being over 50, or having been in Martinique, or being under 1.70 meters in height.

After much laughter came time for the cake, the blowing of the candles, and the singing of Happy Birthday, followed by photographs on the patio (it was hot!), and back to the inside to partake of cake and enjoy one last toast with champagne to the everlasting happiness of the celebrating couple. During the many hugs and kisses with which the family said goodbye, one of the aunts said to me “Goodbye Horacio. I will see you at the next family reunion.”

Altogether it was a 5-hour celebration, and after dropping Marcel off at his house in Orléans, we still had the drive to Paris, where we arrived around 9 pm, still with the sun shining and the heat shimmering off the streets. But what a good time we had!

France 2026 - Day 1 - From the cool of the Alps to the inferno of Paris

Last night in Champoluc we had a storm and the night was rather cool. I started down the mountain at 5:00 am, with the goal of reaching the Milano Linate airport by 7:30 am, to give me enough time to return the rental car and go through the boarding process. The trip was uneventful but I wasted some time finding the car rental return because of poor signaling. Checking in was a breeze, and I had to cool my heels in the waiting area for a good hour or so before it was time to board.

I landed in Paris CDG a little before noon and promptly found my way to the light rail RER. Géraldine had given me very clear instructions on taking the RER B to Châtelet-Les Halles, and from there transfer to the RER A to Saint-Germain-en-Laye, for a total travel time of about half an hour. In the way I met a nice couple of expats who made sure I made the right transfer, so pretty soon I was waving hello at my dear friend Géraldine. She had brought the car to pick me up, so I had a nice driving tour of Saint-Germain-en-Laye, a city on the western outskirts of Paris (not to be confused with the Saint-Germain-des-Prés quartiers of central Paris). She recently bought a condo here, attracted by the attractive residential areas and the green spaces around the Laye river.

It was hot! Apparently, this is the third hear wave they have had this spring and summer, with temperatures of 38 degrees Celsius (about 100 degrees Farenheit), which doesn't sound as high as what we can get in the Central Valley, but is a killer in a place that isn't really used to air conditioning. The strategy is to keep the house closed with the thermal blinds, to keep the heat out at the expense of living a life of darkness.

This is going to be a busy weekend because tonight Géraldine needs to attend a High School reunion in Orleans (south of Paris), so we will spend the night at her Dad Marcel's house, and tomorrow Sunday there is a birthday party for her great aunt and great uncle, who are in their late 70's. Marcel is a gracious host, but my French is too hesitant for me to hold a good conversation. Fortunately, Lucas, Géraldine's youngest son (20 years old) is with us and he likes practicing his English with me.

Like a good grandfather Marcel loves to have Lucas around, and since he is young he has to do all sorts of high-tech jobs like trying to figure out why the remote control of the TV is not working. Rattle, rattle, rattle. Obviously, something was broken inside, so the diagnose was that it was dead. Then he had to order one online for him, and a small discussion erupted because Lucas had ordered it under his family name, Marchand, but Marcel wanted it delivered it at his home under his family name, Carminatti. It was really funny watching those two interact.

While Géraldine went off to her reunion, Marcel cooked for us guys a delicious spaghetti al ragú in industrial quantities. The old concern that you don't want your guests to go hungry! Afterward we watched the news, which are not very encouraging about the Iran or Ukraine wars, and with those gloomy thoughts I said goodnight and retired for the day.

Italy 2026 - Day 13 - Saved by a rock-fall avalanche

Today is my last full day here in Champoluc and my last chance to walk to Monte Rosa. My plan was to go back to the medieval irrigation canal Ru Cortot, which on Day 8 Agnese, Silvia, Giulia, and myself had followed for about one third of its length all the way to the agritourism farm of La Tchavata, and resume from there the walk upcanal all the way to the source in Monte Rosa. Unfortunately I could not climb the dirt road to La Tchavata, so I had to park in Barmsac and walk again the 4 km I had already walked, and from there walk another 8 km to the spring. That would be a total of 12 km one way, or 24 km round trip. Easy going but still a lot of walking.

As soon as I passed La Tchavata the track along the canal became rougher with exposed tree roots and up and down detours around the difficult parts. At some point there was no longer a flow of water, which a crew took advantage of to do some improvements in the canal and its levee. I was enjoying myself, looking at the great number of small butterflies that were busy feeding on the soil of the track and flew in sudden bursts as soon as I approached them. I had gone another two kilometers when I reached a stretch in which the levee was partly destroyed by erosion (no wonder water was not flowing). The track deviated more and more from the trace of the canal, until at some point canal and levee were completely destroyed by a rock-fall avalanche.

I like avalanche deposits because they provide you with many fresh samples of the rocks above (mica schists in this case), but they make for very tiresome walking because of the unstable angular rocks. By now I was about two thirds along the trace of the canal, and I had not seen a soul in the course of the morning. In a rare moment of lucidity I realized that it would be foolhardy to continue solo, risking a fall or a twisted ankle, so I called my hiking adventure good and turned around. Once I was out of the rock avalanche I sat on a log and enjoyed the spectacular view of the old glacial valleys dotted with hamlets and peacefully grazing cows.

By the time I regained my car I was pretty tired after 15 km there and back, and could not imagine how I would feel if I had gone the full 24 km.

Back at home I had to pack, get ready for a 5 am departure, and try to tidy the place. I am infinitely grateful to Giulia for renting me her mountain apartment, and giving me the chance of saying that I lived in the Alps for a while. If you would like to plan a vacation here, or at the Cinque Terra coast of Liguria, you too can contact Giulia at www.acasadigiulia.me She is a good friend, an artist, and a wonderful cook. You would certainly enjoy meeting her :)

Italy 2026 - Day 12 - The lower Evançon

My plans for one more hike on the high country were thwarted by our shuttle system. The two valley routes run every day, but the connecting upper routes work only on the weekends. I only realized this when the upper bus did not show up at the connecting station, no one but me was waiting for the bus, and locals gave me a strange stare. Studying the posted schedule I discovered the note that stated the dates on which the service runs. I thus started walking down from the high hamlet where I was to make the connection, taking the time to look at the tiny clusters of ancient houses along the way. Antagnod was of particular interest because it has an old church and a well-tended cemetery around it, and also because it seemed to be the point of departure of energetic school groups to Mount Zerbion, which according to a sign would take two and a half hours (a piece of cake to a happy bunch of kids and their fearless teacher).

I chose the more sedate walk along the Torrente Evançon, upstream to Champoluc. For most of the walk I followed the partly shaded bank of the river, but at some point a farm blocked my progress and I had to follow a parallel track through the surrounding forest. It was cool and beautiful, but it was a long way down the valley and toward the end felt like I would never get there.

At the end I made it to Champoluc, and while I went to look for a cold beer I felt happy of having done just the right amount of daily exercise.

Italy 2026 - Day 11 - Monte Bianco and Parco Nazionale Gran Paradiso and ...

Today I got up early and drove my powerful Cinquecento for an hour and a half to reach the valley station of the Skyway to Monte Bianco. Monte Bianco and Mont Blanc are the same mountain, which sits at the border of Italy and France and at 4,806 m is the highest point in the Alps. On the Italian side the Skyway to Monte Bianco starts from the town of Courmayeur. I got there bright and earliy, before the regular tourists but at the time when the real alpinists were getting ready to start their mountains day(s). Some had huge backpacks that suggested they were planning to camp on the mountain, but others were loaded with rock-climbing equipment that suggested they were going to do a route for the day. I was in awe looking at these young men and women who were getting ready to trudge through the snow to one of the walls or "teeth" that I could see on the skyline.

The Skyway has two stages. The first one is to The Pavillion (2,173 m), and from there you go to Pointe Helbronner (3,462 m), where the alpinists take off to climb Mont Blanc itself, or so many of the other points around them, such as the Tooth of the Giant, or Mont Maudit. I confess I felt like an amateur with no lofty goal in mind, as I trudged up the metal staircase to the observation deck. The wind was furious there, and without gloves the fingers started hurting in a few minutes.

But the view was glorious. Monte Bianco is a big granite cupola that ballooned and stretched the surrounding gneisses as if they were fingers trying to hold back the rising magma. It very much reminded me of Torres del Payne in southern Chile. This is only the beginning, however, because peak after peak define an arête (a ridge with very sharp slopes) that keeps going for kilometers before joining with others to create the endless sequence of peaks that are so distinctive of the Alps. Toward the French side the glaciers merge to form the Mer de Glaçe that extends all the way to Chamonix. There are some smaller glaciers on the Italian side, but sadly they have been retreating and now look like piles of rubble.

Pointe Helbronner is named after Paul Helbronner, the French surveyor who did a lot of the pioneer work surveying the Alps. But he was not only a great surveyor; he was also a gifted landscape artist who drew fabulous ink landscapes of the alpine landscapes, and using water colors conveyed his own sense of wonder about the mountains he had made his life work. Use Google Images to search for "Paul Helbronner drawings Alps" and you will be able to enjoy this masterpieces yourself.

On the way back to the middle station, The Pavillion, I ventured into the great outdoors to look at the rocks and the collection of alpine plants and flowers they have in an open-air garden. I saw many pieces of granite with large feldspar crystals and pegmatite veins, quartz-feldspathic gneisses, and an odd pile of travertine limestones that they must have transported there to host plants that thrive in alkaline carbonate soils.

On the last half of the decent I saw bedded sandstones and maybe limestones, which appear to be in fault contact with the metamorphic and igneous intrusive rocks. I don't envy the geologists that have to map and make sense of these beautiful mountains.

Still electrified from my peek at the high mountains I took a side road and "visited" the Parco Nazionale Gran Paradiso. Of course my "visit" was just a drive across the middle of this very large national park, but what I saw very much reminded me of driving up to Sonora Pass in the Sierra Nevada. The central axis of the park is a gorgeous valley covered with pine trees, with a skyline of lofty mountains formed mostly by metamorphic rocks (schists and gneisses). It is the perfect place to spend a week camping and fishing on the many creeks and waterfalls.

Before heading back home I went visit the city of Aosta, which Giulia had recommended to me. I arrived there are 2 pm and as soon as I parked the car I was overwhelmed by the oppressive heat. Although Aosta is at the end of the valley that goes all the way up to Monte Rosa, it is actually very low in the valley and almost in the plain of the Po River. For a moment I thought to pass on Aosta, but I was here and might as well soldier through it. I am glad I did because it is a pretty city with a fascinating history.

The place has been occupied since the Neolithic, and has an abundance of relics from its prehistory, Roman times, early Christianism, and Middle Ages. Naturally there is a lot to see and try to soak in (and all under oppressive heat). Right away you come in contact with Roman remains. In fact, the city derives its modern name from its Roman name, Augusta Pretoria. In Roman times it was one of the important nodes of the network that connected the Roman posts across the Alps. So of course Aosta has a couple of monumental gates, a well-preserved Roman Theater, a central ceremonial area that today you can only see below ground level in the excavations made to expose the arcades that limited the central plaza. There was also a Forum, but I didn't see any evidence for it.

The city was occupied during the first centuries of Christianism, when bishops played a very important role in spreading the Good Word, and some of the old, old churches have yielded important artifacts from the early times of the church.

I had been a brave little tourist, trying to see everything, but hot and hungry I was ready to give up. Then again, the Megalithic museum had been recommended to me and I decided to drive there and, if I could find a parking spot, give it a quick look. I did find a spot, and thanks to that I didn't miss the best part of Aosta. Turns out that a church was being built, Saint-Martin-de-Corléans, and the excavations discovered a major Neolithic ceremonial area. Fortunately. money was found to build a museum around the site, which has a large number of megalithic monuments (dolmens and menhirs), neolithic burials and artifacts, and horizons that document the transition to the Roman area. It is a fabulous museum worth facing the heat on Aosta. 

At the Megalithic Museum of Aosta, the lowest stratum, dated at 4,000 BC, is formed by soil that had been plowed in long narrow furrows. It was a job done with a simple plow that does not turn the soil as the Roman carruca plow does. Footprints of small oxen and a man show that bovines had already been domesticated as beasts of work.

The next stratum, also ca. 4,000 BC, shows the planting of poles in distinctive alignments not to delimit spaces, but presumably for ceremonial purposes. The poles are long gone, but the excavations done to plant them on the ground included offerings of grain and meal.

By 2,900 BC the poles seemed arranged in such a way as to define an open sanctuary, and between 2,900 and 2,500 BC megalithic stones with ornamentation (menhirs) were being set across the ceremonial area. Some include anthropomorphic designs depicting clothing and weapons.

Between 2,700 and 1,600 BC the site assumes a funerary function, and dolmens and stele are placed to mark some of the burials (the stele were recycled all the way into Roman times). Lots of skulls have been recovered, some of which show evidence of trepanation and survival of those operated by the healing bone edges.

The site continued to be used for agriculture into the Bronze age (2,000 to 1,000 BC), and during the Iron age (1,000 BC to 100 AD), as demonstrated by grave goods. It is at this time that the Romans sweep in, starting with residences and workshops, and the development of a Necropolis and the public buildings such as the twin temples and other civil architecture in Augusta Praetoria between 50 and 400 AD.

During the early Medieval period between 400 and 1176 AD the main east-west Roman road was raised and paved, and the Church of Saint Martin was built to hold the tombs of the bishops of the early Christian church.

I should add that on top of its very rich history Aosta has a very charming old town, with Medieval buildings creating an attractive labyrinth of narrow streets and courtyards, where the deep shade is very welcome in the heat of the day.

Italy 2026 - Day 10 - Riding the bus network

I had a very poor night sleep, so I wasn't in the best of forms to attempt any long walks. But I didn't want to waste a day napping, so I decided to take advantage of the local buses to go visit other of the small towns of the Vale of Ayas. I was under the misunderstanding that Ayas was an actual town so I wanted to see it. But I am getting ahead of myself.

My first goal was the small village of Saint-Jaques-des-Allemands at the farthest north end of the Torrente Evançon. The Italian word "torrente" describes to perfection the waterfalls and rapids of the stream as its gradient steepens close to the foothills of Monte Rosa. As the name indicates Saint-Jaques was established by the Germanic inhabitants of the upper valley (l'Oberwallis or Walser) who moved into the region in the XII or XIII century to farm the high meadows. These folks also engaged in the quarrying of soapstone--another name for serpentinite--to carve from it water-tight vases that are now found in medieval archeologic sites all over the alpine region.

The hamlet itself consists of only a few ancient houses, which looked deserted, probably by the migration of young people to the larger cities. Not feeling like climbing I walked happily following the torrent, enjoying the sounds of nature and snapping pictures of torrential rapids.

Eventually I came back to Champoluc, and seeing a bus labeled Ayas I asked for a ticket to Ayas. The driver was confused, because I was in the Valley of Ayas, so I explained that I wanted to go south, to the town of Ayas. Laughing he explained to me that the town to the south was Verrés, and yes, he would be happy to take me there for just 3.30 euros. It took an hour to go down the valley, with a considerable loss in elevation and a noticeable warming up of the ambient air.

Verrés has a medieval castle that they open during Carnival to have a Medieval fair, and an old town where a muralist has made a killing by decorating the walls with scenes of medieval life (the style indicates to me that all the murals were done by the same hand). The paintings are very good and show jousts, dances, feasts, and many more groups of happy people wearing colorful robes (which I very much doubt were so clean and bright in the Middle Ages).

I wondered around looking for a spot where I could park myself for a while, but had little luck. The old library has been closed, and part of it has been leased to a doctor to run his practice. The city park was tiny and surrounded by cyclonic fence, and the newer part of town is not particularly cute. I did find a trattoria where the working people come to have lunch, so I treated myself to a primo de pasta all'Arrabbiatta (pasta in a spicy sauce), un secondo de medaglioni di mailae in salsa al funghi (medallions of pork in a mushroom sauce), a complemento of mashed potatoes, and a cream cake as dolce. Pretty good stuff.

And that is about it for things I have to tell you about what has been a comparatively quite day. Hopefully I will have a good sleep tonight and have more energy for adventuring tomorrow.

Italy 2026 - Day 9 - La Crest to Charchérioz

I wanted to follow the east flank of the valley at a high enough altitude to see what lies behind Monte Rosa, and the most straightforward way seemed to take the funicular from Champoluc up to La Crest, and from there follow a path that apparently went north through a series of ancient hamlets, following the contours.

It has been getting warm around here so it was of course best to start early in the morning, when only a couple more hikers were on the way. I was pleasantly surprised that the funicular was only 11 euros for both going up to La Crest and for going down at the other end of the walk at Charchérioz. Prices seem to be twice as much in the Dolomites, which also receive a lot of Japanese and German tourism. In contrast here most of the tourism seems to be Italians escaping the heat.

I do not have a hammer with me so I have not been looking at the rocks in detail, but I am surrounded by metamorphic rocks that include lots of mica schists, the odd amphibolite and gneiss, the even scarcer blue schist, and one block of serpentinite I saw at a parking lot. The mica schists are widely used for roof construction. They cut them in diamond-shaped slabs, maybe 50 cm on edge and about 2 or 3 cm thick, which makes them tremendously heavy and requires hefty timber to form the roof support (to which you have to add the weight of the snow during winter). Apparently this type of construction is favored because gusty winds would tear flimsier tiles (and probably also for esthetic reasons because they give towns and hamlets a charming aspect).

Once at La Crest I found that the path was well marked by the Italian Alpine Club as Trail 1, but it did not follow the contour lines. There were the standard number of ups and downs so I alternated between huffing and puffing on the upslope, to groan and moan on the downslope. A couple of old timers put me to shame as they happily went up and down close to me, dismissing the upslopes as "just a little climb and that is all".

One of the prettiest hamlets, Sousson, had the feeling of being abandoned, but may have just been closed as the inhabitants took a vacation. A sign at the crossroads explained that this was part of the open-air museum of the zone, and encouraged the passerby to explore the houses and barns, without forgetting the 15th century grain mill. This small mill took advantage of the flow of a creek that passed under the mill, which rotated the axis using a series of "wooden scoops" arranged on a horizontal plane. Not unlike the Pelton wheel of a hydroelectric plant but with a vertical rotation axis. The modern Pelton wheel was invented in the 1800's, and this insignificant mill was already using something similar in 1673!

I was huffing up a particularly vexatious slope when, through an opening in the trees, I saw the unique slender horn of Monte Cervino. Wow! It felt like I could almost touch it. Monte Cervino straddles the political border of Italy and Switzerland. The Swiss call it Matterhorn. This was the mountain of my dreams when I was young, and I devoured the books of Gaston Rebuffat about epic expeditions to its crest, glacier trekking, rock climbing impossible chimneys and aiguilles, and facing gusty winds and lightening storms in the high country. It was a glorious memory.

The way back was a piece of cake, because rather than trying another brutal descent I calmly walked into the cog-wheel train that uses a rack rail and pinions to control the descent of a rail car on very steep slopes. To optimize the use of energy, one car ascends as its counterpart descends, and they cross at a double track midway.

From there on a little devil whispered on my ear that I should go back to Villy, the forest of the wood sculptures, to take a few photographs. My recollection was that the Villy forest was on the west side of the Torrent Evançon, so I crossed on the first opportunity and walked and walked until I found myself in the middle of Champoluc! What kind of deviltry had hidden the forest from view? Magic is still very much in the mind of the locals here, and maybe clueless foreigners were particularly susceptible to its effects. Nothing of the sort: The Villy forest is on the east bank of the Evançon, so I had to trudge up valley again to take my photographs.

Speaking of magic, the locals have a legend that very much resembles the story of Asterix Le Gaulois. The valley was occupied by the fierce Salassi, who took advantage of a magic potion that gave indomitable courage and superhuman strength and allowed them to repel the attacks of the Romans and other hostile tribes. They drank this potion as a cure, and to succeed in war, the chase, and in love. The mysterious potion brewed from bitter herbs and saffron is still to be had, but the trick to invoke its magic power is to drink it in three gulps, each time saying aloud and with conviction its name "Ebo Lebo, Ebo Lebo, Ebo Lebo".

Italy 2026 - Day 8 - The medieval canal of Barmsac

We got going early because we wanted to take the shuttle to Barmsac and get one good hike before Giulia et al. had to go back home to Liguria. But before getting started we had to stop at the panificio to buy some rolls, prosciutto, and cheese to have a midday lunch up in the mountains. In this neck of the woods the valley has a north-to-south orientation, with the massif of Monte Rosa to the north. The shuttle was going to bring us high on the west flank of the valley from where we were going to start our hike.

Agnese was excited and had packed her backpack with care, including water, a blanket, and a book. She is a really wonderful girl, full of good spirits. She is thin and similar to Ronnie seems to be always hungry. And she is not only hungry, but every couple of hours she is "dying of hunger" and then becomes very active finding shortcuts to get to the picnic spot.

From the bus stop at Barmsac, where at least 15 hikers disgorged from the shuttle, we climbed for half an hour until we got to the Ru Cortot irrigation canal, which was excavated between 1390 and 1430, to bring water 25 km from a spring in Monte Rosa down to the lands cultivated for the feudal lord down in the valley. It is not a very big canal, maybe a meter wide and half a meter deep, but you have to admire an engineering work that has persisted for 700 years. From a more selfish point of view, it has the charm of being nearly horizontal so walking along its levee makes for very easy hiking.

Walking along it we heard the concert the cows play as they climb the slopes of the valley to find the best grasses, as well as clusters of sheep munching away at the herbs. Giulia found a clump of wild thyme with small blue flowers that smelled heavenly. We walked along the canal for maybe 4 km until we reached a farm that has set out tables and umbrellas for the visitors as an agrotourism business. We had brought our lunch, but you can always buy food and drink at the farm and enjoy a few hours basking under the sun. After having satisfied her ravenous hunger, Agnese took out her little blanket and book and was the image of happiness for an hour or so. We followed her example and took naps on the green grass, but the sun was bright and hot so we quickly gave up.

But everything that goes up has to go down, and we all know I don't do down very well. We followed the dirt road down from the farm, so the surface was reasonable smooth, but we were all hot and tired by the time we reached the paved road. Fortunately, we landed close to one of the stops of the shuttle and were quite happy to wait for only 20 minutes for the next bus.

Once in Champoluc the ladies got busy packing and getting ready to go. It was a bit sad to say goodbye, but there is always the hope that we will meet again soon, maybe in California.

My first task after becoming lord of the manor was to go down to the supermarket to get some essentials, and to plan what to do over the next five days. I know I want to go back to Barmsac and follow the Ru Cortot to its start at Monte Rosa, but tomorrow I think I will take the funicular up the east side of the valley and contour until I get a good view of Monte Cervino (aka Matterhorn by the Swiss). Then I have to take the funicular to the top of Monte Bianco and visit the town of Aosta. I am pretty sure I won't run out of things to do.

Italy 2026 - Day 7 - Bergamo to Valle d'Aosta

After a couple of cups of coffee and a very inspiring conversation I said good-bye to Monica and took to the road. Google Maps told me I would arrive to Champoluc around 1 pm, but I am not a fast driver and I was going around Milan at the time of morning traffic, so I assumed I would get there at 2 pm, which was just about right.

For some strange reason the autostrada, which was running pretty fluid, would form a traffic jam for no good reason whatsoever, and I would crawl for 10 km when, again mysteriously, the traffic would pick up. In that way, in stops and starts, I reached the foothills of the Italian Alps and entered the Valley of Aosta, named from the main town in the province. I left the visit to Aosta for later in the week and turn after turn, I entered the steep mountain road that climbs up the center line of the valley, until I reached the mountain village of Champoluc.

I was very happy to meet there my dear friends Giulia and Silvia, and Silvia's 10-year old daughter Agnese. Silvia is DJ's cousin and I met her when I visited the coast of Liguria one Christmas six or seven years ago. Silvia put me in touch with Giulia, who rented me a bedroom in her house for a stay of a couple of weeks. Since Silvia, Giulia, and Fabiola are of the same generation I regard them all as my nieces, and their kids as my grandnieces and grandnephews.

Giulia is an excellent cook and in no time whatsoever prepared a pasta a la carbonara for our lunch. The real thing, yumm :)

After lunch we went for a walk to help me get my bearings. Not very difficult really because the valley is narrow and surrounded by steep mountains, very much like Yosemite. We were following the river Evançon, which originates in the glaciers of Monte Roso, a stern mountain massif that dominates the north end of the valley. The Evançon river is almost white because it carries so much rock flour ground from the bedrock by the glaciers.

The bottom of the valley is covered by grass and is one of the main recreational attractions of Champoluc. It hosts a Farmer's Market, a driving range, a mini-golf, and a unique collection of wood carvings. Apparently, the bottom of the valley burnt at some time, and many of the trees were reduced to mere stumps. The artists of the city started carving the stumps to represent old men, owls, fantastic animals, kids crawling out of a trash can, and many other fantastic pieces of art. In modern times more carved stumps have been planted to create a fabulous exposition.

Italy 2026 - Day 6 - Visiting with Monica in Bergamo

Fortunately, our schedules matched, so I had the pleasure of visiting my friend Monica in Bergamo, near Milan. I met Monica in Sardinia, maybe 10 years ago, when we were both lodging at the hotel of our common friend Lino, in Orgosolo, a small town in the highlands od Sardinia, with a distinctive artistic tradition (every available wall was decorated by a mural carrying a strong social message). Monica is a photography/visual artist and at the time was collecting the stories of the old nonnas, of who there are many in Orgosolo.

But I should start by relating the three hours drive from the highlands of Cortina d'Ampezzo down to the plain of the river Po. The road was very twisty but afforded me great views of the Dolomite peaks I was leaving behind. Once on the autostrada my main concern was to keep a close look on my speed, because Italians have gone crazy placing speed-control cameras everywhere! From the biggest city to the smallest hamlet Big Brother is always looking, sometimes every 300 m or so. I also took great care of collecting my entry ticket on every stretch of the autostrada, and paying through the nose for some tolls (I believe the highest was close to 30 euros ... ouch!).

Monica lives on the outskirts of Bergamo, within the industrial complex of the factory of mannequins that his father and uncle founded long ago. I had a tour of the factory five years ago and still remember it as one of the strangest products but for which there is a steady demand.

When I got to her house she had lunch ready with salad and a tasty steamed fish (with lots of bones). While we ate we caught up with what we were up to, and she told me her plans to retire from teaching in a couple of years or so, sell her house, and move to a smaller apartment somewhere in Tuscany to be close to her niece. Her plan is to devote more time to her artistic production, although I think that working with her middle school students has led her to some very creative projects. Two she shared with me is an animation of a world map showing countries at peace, and then successive shots showing with red florets the start and growth of war at different places. The other is a very simple piece of paper, folded into 8 sections, where students place photographs they have taken to create a storybook. I am going to steal her idea to use in my introductory geology classes to have students show what they learnt on a fieldtrip.

For the afternoon we went for a lovely walk around one of the alpine lakes on the mountains north of Bergamo. The lake is variously known as Lago di Endine or Spinone al Lago, and it is particularly pleasant because the crazy touristic development I saw in Lake Garda has not reach this much smaller lake and you can still take your time walking along the shore (7 hours of fast walking if you want to go all around it). We saw many people picnicking on the surrounding meadows, fishing, or just enjoying a lovely afternoon. We ourselves enjoyed a cool drink at the bar we had parked by.

For supper Monica took me to her local pizzeria, where you can buy pizza by the meter, in 20 cm intervals. We bought a 40 cm long pizza, with 20 cm vegetarian and 20 cm prosciutto and mushrooms. The pizza comes in one long strip, and once Monica bought a whole meter to entertain a group of friends. It was a very long pizza box!

Monica has a boyfriend, soon to be a fiancée, who lives in France, so every free time she has spends in France with her Albert. She is one of the most amazing polyglots I know, effortlessly shifting from Italian to French to English to Spanish (in fact, it was the fact that she spoke Spanish fluently who brought us and Lino together in Orgosolo all those many years ago). I thoroughly enjoyed my visit with her and look forward to the next one a few years from now, maybe in Tuscany.

Italy 2026 - Day 5 - Hiking around Cortina d'Ampezzo

Last afternoon I arrived to my overheated room at the Piccolo Pocal Hotel, high on the flanks of the valley of Cortina d'Ampezzo, and after chatting with the gentleman in charge chose an easy walk through the bottom of the valley along the Fanes river. My informant told me that if I was going that way I should push all the way to the waterfall and I foolishly fell for his description of a beautiful cascade of water tumbling down the Fanes gorge. I was also considering doing a high elevation circuit, but he checked on the internet and the funicular or funivia that I would need to use to get up high was closed until July 11. Lástima.

I parked at the south end of the town, thinking that walking through the town early in the morning would give me a good feel of the vibe of this city, famous for being the host of the last Winter Olympics, in February 2026. The truth was less exciting than I had imagined, because the walk through soon sent me to busy streets that had no particular esthetic value. Once I got out of the town the landscape became amazing. The valley where Cortina is located is something between Yosemite and the Jasper Valley in the Canadian Rockies. Everywhere you turn your eyes to there is a fabulous glaciated peak formed by white dolostone, which would be the dream of any rock climber in the world.

The walk along the riverside was relaxing and beautiful. I met many couples and families who were taking advantage of a perfect sunny day. There were also many bicyclists, but most of them were cheating by riding e-bikes. I was feeling very good by the time I finished the stretch of the river I had chosen to begin with, but then got goaded by the suggestion form my buddy at the hotel and continued going up looking for "la cascata". The slope was gentle but long, and I kept thinking that I would have to go downhill on the way back. Maybe I will walk to the next bend in the road ... OK, I will go to the next bend ... I am almost there and cannot give up down ... oh, there is a sign showing "Via ferrata a la cascata del Fanes". I wonder what a via ferrata is?

Oh mio dio! A via ferrata is a very narrow ledge that drops a hundred meters to the bottom of the gorge, where the visitor is helped by a steel cable bolted unto the road. Knowledgeable visitors have a climbing harness and two lengths of cable attached by two carabineers that they hook one at a time to the different sections of the steel cable. I was not prepared and had to balance on the narrow path holding by a sweaty hand to the steel cable. It was only s stretch of 30 m, and the final view of the waterfall was definitely worth it (but I thought going behind the waterfall was tempting my good luck and bypassed the chance of looking at the backside of water).

By the time I got down I was getting pretty tired, but I had noticed that the urban bus could carry me back for the last half of the way. So I went into the local bar, bought myself a beer, and waited for 45 minutes for the next bus. There were three of us when the bus came in, and much to my dismay I learnt that you could not buy a ticket at the bus but had to order it online. All three of us reached for our cell phones, but we were out of range of a cell tower. Finally, the driver was kind and waved us in, but I reflected that this was the most stupid thing I have seen. I could see putting a credit card reader, but having to reach a website, register as a user, and then buy the ticket online sounds really stupid to me. Welcome to the world of AI.

Italy 2026 - Day 4 - Wandering between Ortisei and Cortina d'Ampezzo

Today I am moving from Ortisei to the heart of the Parco Naturale Delle Dolomiti d'Ampezzo, so I had to gather all my stuff. I had drying clothes all over the place, maps and books, a small kettle I bought to be able to have coffee early in the morning, and all my travel documents ... but where is my passport? Last time I saw it was three days ago because Italians are obsessed with "il Documento", which you have to show when you register at a hotel. I must have put it in my pocket, but I don't remember seeing it in the last three days. Diomio! What if it dropped off my pocket in that hike from hell?

Trying not to panic I went over all the pockets of my backpack. Niente di niente. What do you do to get a replacement passport? Might there be a US consulate in Milan? I went to the car and looked through it very carefully with no good results. Panic was rising. I went through my hotel room all over and then, for lack of something better to do I started going through my backpack again. And there it was, in the pocket I normally keep it, but not with my other travel documents. Allora, tutto é a posto :)

Before leaving Ortisei, let me tell you that Ortisei claims to be the wooden-toy capital of the world, with at least 200 families dedicated to manufacturing those wooden toys we associate with old Europe. The most famous citizen of the town is thus Geppetto, the father of the famous Pinocchio. The different toy manufacturers have formed a cooperative to promote the sale of the toys, and by now they have fallen back into a high level of specialization.

I am still very sore, but I didn't want to waste the day, so I drove to the Parco Naturale Puez Odle, to look for an easy hike. The thing is, I couldn't find a place to park, so I had to limit myself to looking with awe at the high peaks all around me. Parking in the narrow mountain roads is very difficult because there is no shoulder, and wherever there is a tiny spot there is a sign that says the space is reserved for this or that. I miss driving through Mexico or the US, where there is always a chance to stop and stretch your legs.

I was more successful in il Monte Pana (pana is the italian word for the cream you put in your coffee, so it would be Cream Mountain). Clearly this is a ski area that makes an extra euro providing for family recreation activities, such as having the cows out where you can walk among them, offering pony rides, operating a mini-golf, and having a playground. I must have been very dull because all I had seen were older people hiking, but this is clearly part of the holiday season and the Dolomites are a big family recreation destination. The cows were super chill and, with the back drop of the tall rock peaks and the mantle of green meadows they constituted the perfect Tyrolean scene. The modern Sud Tyrol is what administratively is known as the Alto Adige province, and it used to be part of the Austro-Hungarian empire. When the axis powers lost World War 1, Woodrow Wilson readjusted the boundaries of Italy, which in 1920 formally annexed the south part of Tyrol. This is why all old inscriptions are in German, and many folks here still use German as the business language.

My last stop of the day was at the other end of the Parco Naturale Puez Odle, in the area of Vallunga, which was my dream walk. The valley here has been carved by glaciers that have excavated a lovely U-shaped valley not unlike that of Yosemite Valley. The towering sides of the valley are coarsely crystalline dolostones that have lost all their primary textures. My kingdom for my geologist hammer! Anyway, going up the gentle slope of the floor of the valley was probably the best I could have done to try to stretch my badly cramped legs. I was reaching the point of return, half the time that I had paid for parking, when it started to rain. Not heavy enough for being of concern, but it reminded me that here in Europe it is fairly common to have summer rains.

I started on my way to Cortina d'Ampezzo, 50 km away, when it started to rain in earnest. I was happy inside my comfortable egg of a car, but I saw many cyclists caught under the torrential rain, which brought back vivid memories of the recent motorcycle trip in Thailand. Rain is the one thing that can easily ruin a bike ride!

My room in Cortina is right under the eves, so I can hear the rain coming down. I hope it lets out overnight, because I am not ready to deal with rain while hiking.

Italy 2026 - Day 3 - I should have stayed in bed ... but I didn't

Ay, ay, ay ... my legs still hurt a lot. I spent a fitful night and reason told me I needed much longer to heal, but I am here only for today, before I move forward, and I couldn't waste a perfectly good day to play the Tyrolese tourist. I figured I could grab my powerful Cinquecento and wander aimlessly through the valley towns, but at breakfast the napkin had a printed message on it: "What are you doing today?" followed by "You should visit Seceda and enjoy its flower-covered meadows". I took it to be a message from up on high, so I asked at the front desk how to get there. "Just take the bus two stops to Ortisei, go up the escalator, through the tunnel, and you will be in the funicular to Seceda (pronounced se-CHÉH-dah)."

So there I go, and learnt that Seceda is at the head of a valley 1,250 m above Ortisei (that would make it something like 2,516 in elevation). It was a very long ride in a two-stage funicular, and I made sure before going that there would be a path that contoured the valley, to keep elevation changes to a minimum. The ride up gave me a close-up view of a huge cliff formed by Permian sandstones and limestones that gave way to section of laminated Triassic dolostones. Finally!

Up at the top there was a total zoo of tourists, crawling like ants all over the place. I joined the ant trail to reach a nearby promontory where I could get a good view of the valley below, and pretty soon learnt that although I can go uphill with a certain ease, any gentle downhill slope forced me to walk like a tottering old man (I got a few compliments for going out walking "in your condition" ... grrr!).

There are a few cabins scattered through the grass slopes of the high valley, all covered with mountain flowers, but the show stopper were the craggy peaks of SAS Rigais (3,025 m) and La Gran Furchéta (2,924 m). I chose a path that looked flat enough and would bring me to the base of the dolomite peaks, but nothing is really flat in this high country and every uphill was a reminder of the sage dictum that "anything that goes up must come down", and every downhill was pure agony, particularly when cheerful Japanese tourist were running up and down the gentle inclines.

Finally, I made it to the start of the rocks, and touched ceremonially a lumpy outcrop of dolostone that remained mute about its origin. Later, at the local museum, I learnt that a basement of schists was covered by Permian lavas and pyroclastic flows erupted as Pangea was coming together, and that during the late Permian and most of the Triassic the dolostones were deposited in an arm of the Tethys ocean. Sea level fluctuated during the Triassic, with the region of Sud Tyrol representing a subtidal and shallow shelf environment, where numerous organisms died to leave their skeletons behind. The most famous of these fossils is a Triassic ichthyosaurus, but the invertebrate fossils are legion.

I tried to breathe as much of the ambiance of the high mountains as possible, and had I not been afraid of not being able to get up I would have gladly laid down among the flowers and consider myself the luckiest man on Earth. But I was afraid I couldn't get up, so instead I spent my time trying not to be trampled by tourists.

Eventually I got down, by mid-afternoon, and got a little walk through the town of Ortisei, which in addition to a museum has all the quaint shops that are to be expected in a major tourist destination. I am very glad that the hotel gave me the bus pass, because trying to park the car in the narrow streets of the town would have been both difficult and very expensive.

Italy 2026 - Day 2 - Exhausted playing mountaineer

 Bright and early I took the bus to the town of Siusi Allo Sciliar, which sits at the base of the mighty Cattinaccio D'Antermoia, a craggy rock complex that rises to an elevation of 3,001 m above sea level. My plan was to take the cable car from Siusi (1,000 m) to Compatsch (1,850 m), and from there to the platform of Bulaccia (2,174). Once I had my eyes full of mountain my plan was to walk down to Castelrotto (1,060 m). The face of Bulaccia is very steep, but there is a marked trail and I thought going downhill would be a piece of cake. Oh, boy, was I wrong.

 

The cable car ride was pretty fun, and once again I marveled at the incredible engineering involved on laying down a cable over two or three kilometers of mountainous terrain, and the machinery needed to pull it in a closed path over such long distance. At the top there were the usual amenities like restaurants and sky shops, and it took me some time to find the right track. It was hot, and as I trundled up the slope I kept wondering if the liter and a half of water I was carrying would be enough for the day. Bu noon I reached the high point, at Arnika Cabin, and from there peeked down with some anguish at the steep drop off to the valley below. Not quite a cliff, but a 60 or 70 degrees slope falling down 1,000 m into the valley.

 

A reassuring sign told me that it was 2 hours to Castelrotto, and with that I started on my way down. I noticed, with some disappointment, that the whole plateau is formed by a porphyritic pyroxene andesite and not by dolostone. Having come all this way to be in the Dolomites, I thought I would have encountered lots and lots of the eponymous rock.

 

With that kind of slope the trail was necessarily like a lumpy stair with unequal step sizes, so the hiker has to "drop" from one rock to the next, relying on good equilibrium to make the step. You do this a hundred times and your muscles start getting tired and become sluggish in the immediate response that is required from them. So you start stumbling, which is a very bad idea on that kind of slope. Immediately I had flashbacks of going down a Tepuy in Venezuela, a steep volcano in Japan, or the Pyrenees in Spain. I remember telling myself in those occasions that I was getting too old for this kind of shenanigans, swearing I would never again attempt such a foolhardy enterprise. Well, this time I paid in spades for not having learnt from my former mistakes, as I tottered down like an old man, thinking twice before taking the next step.

The human body is an astounding machine, and bipedalism has to be one of the key evolutionary moments of humankind. The incredible play between the muscles of the thigh, the keen, and the calf is such that when one muscle over extends, the remaining muscles and tendons exert just the right amount of pull to compensate. The first signal that the system is not working right is that your knees give up under you and make you stumble. I had collected two stout sticks to help me balance, and thus walking as a quadruped managed most of the tricky steps. I had to be very careful at not falling forward, for I would have tumbled tens of meters, so I overbalanced backward and on a half dozen occasions fell sitting down. No big deal, right? Well, it was a big deal, because to get up from the floor your thighs have to apply a significant amount of force and I had none left. So I had to take off my backpack to reduce the weight to be lifted, and by pulling myself up on my walking sticks managed to get vertical again and restart the ordeal.

The trail was pretty lonely, but three or four times I was overtaken by couples, some young and some old, who obviously realized my plight and were very sympathetic. On one occasion, a msn came back from a rest stop to offer to carry my backpack down to the sitting area. I didn't want to acknowledge I could use the help, but he insisted saying he had come back specifically to help me and I had to give in. This cabin, which was half way down, was supposed to be reached in one hour, and it had taken me two hours to do it. Since that was half way, it meant it would take me another two hours or more to reach Castelrotto!

Fortunately, another alternative came to mind. Looking at the map I realized that I could contour the slope to reach the funicular at Marinzen (1,486 m), and from there let technology take me down. So I did that. Contouring was a lot easier that going straight down, and under a light drizzle I was delighted to see the station of the funicular just a few hundred meters ahead.

Down in the town I still walked like I was wearing polio braces, but managed to reach the bus stop just in time to take the bus back to my town, Ortisei, where I could indulge in a heavy dose of Iboprufen and some much needed rest.

Italy 2026 - Day 1 - The Dolomites

Today is really the second day, but I am going to assume that the long and tedious travel took place on Day 0. The only thing worth mentioning is that my flight got delayed by a good two hours in London Heathrow, so I arrived at 9 pm in Milan Linate and from there had to drive two and a half hours to the place I was staying for the night. In the meantime I had to learn how to handle the payment of tolls in the autostrada, and with a grateful heart sank in my pillow for some well-deserved sleep.

Today in the morning I woke up early, with the idea of doing some sightseeing around Lago del Garda, one of the most famous Italian alpine lakes. Unfortunately, for me, the shores of the lake are heavily developed with campgrounds, holiday apartments, and family attractions, so it is really hard to get down to the shore or attempt a shore walk. There were millions of tourists, traffic was heavy, and finding a parking spot was almost impossible. After a couple of hours I gave up and started on my way up the mountains, following the Adige River.

For the first 50 kilometers the road meanders slowly toward Trento climbing the very wide canyon of the Adige. The walls are formed by enormous limestone cliffs in which I thought I can see the outline of an enormous fossil reef. After Trento the canyon narrowed considerably and the road became more twisty. At noon I reached Bolzano, which appeared to be an industrial city devoid of people (today is Sunday). All restaurants were closed until the evening, but like in many other occasions a kebab shop came to my rescue.

By 3 pm I reached Ortisel, nestled between some tall mountains, which will be my center of operations for the next two days. I am now in the region of Sud Tirol, and my very expensive hotel is a very typical chalet. Like all the architecture here it has a strong Swiss influence (in fact, here everything is signaled in Italian and German, and I see many German tourists around me (also lots of Japanese tourists). On the way here I crossed some lovely vineyards, some of which hung like climbing ivy to the flanks of the steep sides of the valley.

It took me all of 5 minutes to get settled and right away I went out looking for an easy hike to warm up and start getting used to the high elevation. Nothing jumped to mind in the immediate neighborhood, but, taking advantage of a complimentary ticket for all buses, I rode the bus to Castelrotto, where they have a funicular. I didn't have time to do a trek using the funicular, but I used the afternoon following one of the labeled paths to get my legs moving and my breathing acclimated. The landscape is spectacular, with vast meadows rising all the way to the bottom of the distant cliffs (during the winter they are the snow slopes that have made the region world-famous). The Spitzbühl (1,935 m) rises its stupendous outline over the meadows, as if defying the tourist to try to climb it. I took the last bus back at 7 pm, but tomorrow I will start at 8:30 am to attempt the climb of the Bullaccia (2,174 m) (but I intend to cheat by taking a funicular almost all the way to the top, and then walking down).

A presto!

Guatemala 2026. Day 7 - Hiking around Antigua

Today is my last full day here in Antigua, and we decided to spend it by going for a hike in the Finca El Pilar, a nature preserve in the outskirts of Antigua where people like to go swimming at one of the three swimming pools or hiking in the beautiful Los Colibrís canyon. We did see a couple of the hummingbirds who give the canyon its name, but the main attraction was the luxuriant vegetation that reminded us that we were in the subtropic highlands. Fortunately for us, the deep canyon is shady so we walked in a comfortable temperature throughout.

The hiking party consisted of Jolene, Margarita, Tom, myself, and the dog Xina. Xina is a bit smaller than Cooper, blond in color, and friendly with most people (but not me, for she has tried to nip me on a couple of occasions); she most definitely has selected Tom as his person, so throughout the walk was torn between being in front of the pack, or backtracking to be close to her adored Tom.

The way up is through short segments of trail connected by an interminable series of stair steps that gave us the cardio workout of the week. My doctor would have been very satisfied, as I huffed and puffed up the stairs; I am definitely out of shape. Fortunately, there were stations where you could sit looking down at the beautiful canyon, while dreaming of getting to the top and starting the downhill leg of the walk. The one good thing of going up is that the sole of my right foot was not hurting, because most of the weight was carried by the ball of the foot.

Eventually all that goes up must come down and we gratefully reached a dirt road that descends from the mountain down to the Finca (we could have kept going up to the top of the hill, but mercifully nobody thought that was necessary). Little did I know that this is where the pain was going to start, because when going down the weight is on the heel of the foot and the continuous pounding flared the fasciaitis that has been torturing my right foot for the last couple of months. The road was clearly built for vehicular traffic, but in the last major earthquake several of the slopes failed, covering the road with debris and fallen trees, which the fearless explorers had to circumvent by climbing around them. Other portions of the road had ominous cracks that showed they were ready to fail at the least provocation.

Back at the car Xina immediately plopped down and we fell with a sigh of relief on our seats. It had been a great way to spend the first half of the day but we were all a bit tired.

As a special treat to their visitor, Jolene and Tom set a delicious lunch with fresh made tortillas (we had just fetched them from the small vegetable market around the corner, where 5 quetzales will buy you a muñeca or about a dozen of the small tortillas that are favored here), refried beans, guacamole, pico de gallo and, as a very special treat, chicharrones de puerco! Jolene and Tom try to keep a mostly vegetarian diet, but chicharrones are a Guatemalan delicacy for which they were happy to make an exception.

In the afternoon I sat with Thomas in front of his computer, to indulge in a session of his favorite entertainment: la lucha libre (wrestling). Thomas has been an aficionado since he was a kid, and is now a veritable encyclopedia of this strange combination of sport and entertainment. It is not that the matches are rigged, but the opponents know they have to put a good show, so they help each other look at its best by giving the opportunity for theatrical throws or locks. Thomas explained that they know the moves of their opponents, and that the moves have been carefully vetted not to cause any major injury, while at the same time being loud and dramatic as one of the combatants is lifted high in the air and slammed on the floor.

There is also the fact that in almost every match there is a good guy and a bad guy, where the latter plays dirty tricks like leveraging his lock on the opponent by hooking a leg on the ropes, or by biting. The idea is to fire passion among the spectators, and they do that very well. We saw a match between this enormous Polynesian (the bad guy), passing as a sumo wrestler, who after trying to sit on his opponent to pin him down, allowed his manager to step on the rink and through salt on the face of the good guy, who blinded fell down and lost. But, as the bad guy was celebrating its win, Hulk Hogan jumped unto the rink and faced the smug giant. The manager tried the same salt trick on Hulk Hogan, but he ducked just in time for the salt to end on the face of the bad guy, who then went down with a resounding crash. It turns out that this video was from a match in which Thomas and Tom were at the stadium, so they have the scene of wild cheers around them burnt in their memories.

And women are also part of the sport. We saw a couple of matches in Japan, where tiny slender women dressed in Pokemon-like outfits went at each other with the same set of dirty tricks we saw on the men. The referees didn't seem to have much to say, for at one point there were four bad girls ganging upon the one good girl, who took quite a beating.

I was happy to have spent the time with Thomas (Tom'a son), who is a real aficionado that has many online friends in the online world who share his hobby. Next April he is going for 5 days to Las Vegas, to immerse himself in the ambiance of Wrestlemania 2026. I may need to follow up on some of the matches, just so we can talk about them online.

To say goodbye, Margarita cooked a big pot of a delicious white beans and vegetables soup, that we happily ate as we made plans for a future visit to the Motagua Valley and the Rio de las Pasiones, in northern Guatemala, so we can explore some out of the way Mayan ruins. Maybe in a year or two?

Tomorrow I will head to the airport at 9 am, with plenty of time to board my 1 pm flight to Houston and from there to Sacramento. Hopefully immigration control in Houston will not be time consuming or difficult. Since travel is not that interesting (or at least I hope it will go without a hitch), I think I will close this episode. Hasta la vista!

Finis

Guatemala 2026. Day 6 - From Atitlán to Antigua via San Bernabé

The morning was glorious and we very much enjoyed sipping our morning coffee on the roof of our friendly hosts. When we came down the stairs, around 7:30 am, Martin was busy starting a new batch of beer, slowly pouring the cracked malt in a vat that must hold 50 liters of hot water. As he poured he stirred the mix with a big wooden pallet, looking for all purposes like a witch stirring a cauldron. Tom speculates that in the Middle Ages beer making was done by the women, using big cauldrons, and that the sign that a new batch of beer was ready to drink was a broom at the door of the house. Since men were eager to take over the production of beer they accused these female beer-makers of being witches, burnt them at the stake, and took over their beer-making assets. Sounds like another Tom story, but you never know.

Speaking of beer, I forgot to mention that yesterday the conversation expanded over the all-important issue of hops. Guatemala is not a place where hops grow, even though it has cool spots in the highlands. I believe the key is the seasonal difference of light hours that is so pronounced at high latitudes. Brewers here thus depend on imported hops, which is a cloak and dagger smuggling business if you want to impart peculiar flavors to your beers. The conversation dwelled extensively on the relative merits of hops coming from the Yakima Valley in Washington, the Willamette Valley in Oregon, or the Central Valley in California.

After saying goodbye to our gracious host we backtracked the road from Santiago to San Lucas (incidentally, I am told that there are twelve towns along the shore of the lake, each one named after one of the apostles), once again playing the topes and baches game, and amazed at the number of tuc-tucs and Qutes on the road. Tom then suggested sponsoring a race of tuc-tuc vs Qute, in a course that would extend along the string of towns and weave through their narrow alleys; as an added piece of fun the spectators could run in front of the rapidly moving vehicles, just as happen with the running bulls in Pamplona. It would be a spectacle to behold.

Just before reaching Antigua we made a stop in San Bernabé, in the outskirts of Chimaltenango, to say hello to one of Tom's old friends, Vince. Like many of the expats that came to Guatemala, Vince had the interest of doing something good for the people of his adoptive country, so he got busy fund-raising, and after helping the local elementary school decided to establish a middle and high school, the Colegio San Bernabé, to give the kids in the town and surrounding regions the opportunity to continue their education and prepare for the university. The colegio has been very successful under his direction, both in top preparation of the students in STEM (they consistently win top places in Science Olympiad competitions) and in a physical plant that is second to none, with state-of-the-art classrooms, manicured grounds, a cafeteria, a dorm for students who come from remote areas, a sports field, a laps swimming pool, and a comfortable Principal's House that will eventually pass to his successor. Part of the success of the school is the effort that Vince has put in recruiting good teachers, some of which are former students who have come back to teach after completing their university or postgraduate degrees.

Guatemala has benefited from the impetus of like-minded expats, many of whom work with the Rotary Club. For example, Jolene and Tom belong to the Antigua Rotary Club, which keeps close links with the Rotary Clubs in the US. The local clubs work hard at identifying worthwhile projects, and submit proposals to have them funded by the wealthier clubs in the US. Recent projects have included bringing tap water to isolated communities, introducing a more efficient type of woodstove to cut on smoke inside the house, rural schools, and medical clinics where missions of surgeons come to help with persistent problems such as cleft palate in babies (probably caused by nutrition deficiencies among pregnant women). I believe that getting involved so deeply with their communities has created a particularly strong friendship bond in the expat community.