"But aren't you afraid?" I turn and smile, condescendingly. I look at my interlocutor, he is a man in his 60s, wooden stick and old leather boots, in his eyes that spark of love that has those who are walking for the millionth time on the path in the mountains back home. But like him, many others have asked me the same question. Young or old, men or women, mountaineers or citizens. When I tell them about the journey I am making, alone on foot in the Alps, they all ask me the same question. And I give everyone the same vague answer: "And of what?"
He stares at me surprised, not what he expected. His lips pulled tight, his gaze shifting to the mountains, indicating that he is looking for an answer. I return to look at the mountains too. The sky is blue, it is very hot. We are at the top of a long grassy ridge, a pile of boulders indicating the highest point. At my feet are wooded hills, which slowly slope down to the plain, where the forest gives way to vineyards and towns. At the bottom the sea shimmers. The sea, my destination. After long months of walking, I have almost reached my destination. I am very tired, looking forward to sinking my weary feet into the fresh sand. But I am also very happy, satisfied and proud of my achievement.
I left on 23 May. Although it is not fair to say that my journey began on that day. Because I had been dreaming about it for years and preparing for it for months. I have always loved making long journeys on foot, travelling slow distances that take me from one mountain to another with only the strength of my legs, and the uncertain shelter of my tent. I find it a unique and wonderful way to get to know and discover new places. And I wanted to get to know and discover all the Alps. Hence the dream of crossing them all on foot, in one go, all in one go. I had been cradling this fantasy for many years, and finally the opportunity presented itself. Or rather, I created it for myself. Yes, because I simply decided that the time was right to realise this dream. That I could not work for a few months, and leave. I made this decision in February, and since then I have worked hard to prepare myself, both physically and mentally. In addition to long training walks with a 15 kg bag of pellets in my rucksack, I carefully studied the route and all the possible variants, weighing every possible option. I weighed everything I would take with me, limiting every superfluous gram. I downloaded useful apps on my phone and even made stickers to 'leave a mark' of my passage. When the big day finally arrived, I almost felt like I had already gone halfway!
I was brought to Finale Ligure by my partner, who has always supported and encouraged me in this adventure. I would have loved to start the trip with a nice swim in the sea, but it was so cold that I was content to wet my feet. A photo on the seawall, one last kiss, and then off we went! When I started to put one foot in front of the other, behind me the sea and in front of me the Alps, it didn't seem real. On my shoulders weighed, more than the rucksack, fears and expectations. The enthusiasm was great, but so was the fear of not making it.
After only a few days of walking I encountered the first major difficulty of the journey, which would accompany me for over a month: snow. And it was a tough encounter, on a dreadful day, where I sank, slipped, fell and got wet, and often passed points made dangerous by ice. I decided that day that I would never be in that situation again. I didn't have the necessary equipment to deal with snow and ice, and I didn't want to take any more risks. So every day I made a hundred phone calls to find out the state of the trails, and I often had to change my route to stay at lower altitudes. Sometimes I was sorry, especially having to skip Argentera and go around Monviso.... But I was glad that I no longer found myself in unpleasant situations.
It was good to see the slow advance of spring. The woods filled with noise, the meadows covered with a thousand different kinds of flowers. Every week I could push myself to higher altitudes, following the retreat of the snow. At the same time, my body also grew stronger. My feet no longer blistered, my legs did not tire, my shoulders bore weight better, I slept better at night. My stride was more secure, and I also felt calmer and more determined. I found my balance between walking and resting, between nights in the tent and those cuddled between the sheets, between quick meals and a few luxurious dinners in restaurants. Yes, because I like adventure, but I also like comfort! And during this trip, I enjoyed the little luxuries I occasionally indulged in much more.
As the season progressed, the number of people on the trails also increased. I met many great people along the way. A German who was on the same tour as me and with whom I walked a few days. A 70-year-old man who set off on a 60-day walk with 23 kg on his shoulders! An Austrian couple with whom I spent a pleasant evening in a bivouac. A father and daughter who offered me lunch at the end of the day. A Spanish woman travelling on her bicycle. Not to mention the fantastic mountain hut owners, hoteliers, restaurateurs, camp site owners, who offered me help, advice, smiles and sometimes even grappa and coffee! Truly so many people who left me with warm memories, who made my trip more colourful.
So between international friendships and breathtaking landscapes, my journey through Piedmont continued. I arrived in Susa feeling very strong, how much I had already walked! By now no one was stopping me. The Turin valleys cut my legs off, and the often foggy weather somewhat dampened my enthusiasm. Arriving in Ceresole I was excited about the start of the Valle d'Aosta, but after a round of phone calls I realised it couldn't be done, still too much snow at altitude. So I resigned myself to continuing on to Piedmont and settling for short glacier views of Gran Paradiso first, and then Monte Rosa, as far as Alagna and then up to Devero.
Here I had a setback. I had been walking for two months now. I was very tired, both in body and mind. Every morning setting off was difficult, and during the day I counted the time until I reached my destination. I no longer wanted to sleep in tents, but dreamt of the comfort of shelters. I wasn't even enjoying the walk, I wasn't looking at the mountains or talking to anyone, focused only on getting to the end of the day. One morning I got up, struggled to put my rucksack on my shoulder and set off. But after half an hour of climbing, I collapsed. I couldn't take it any more. So without major regrets I turned on my heel and headed down into the valley. On the train back home I was not too sorry, because I knew it was not a surrender, but just a break.
In fact, I left a few days later. Fresh, rested, and very determined. Somewhat reluctantly, I decided to skip a few stages, because by then it was almost August and the season was tight. The restart was marked by a long week of almost uninterrupted rain. But slowly I went on, more determined than ever. I allowed myself a short diversions to reach the Vioz refuge, at an altitude of 3500 metres, the highest point of the trip, where I spent an evening watching it snow! I cried a little when for the first time I saw the Dolomites, my home mountains, appear on the horizon. The change from before Bolzano to after was traumatic: hundreds of people on the trails, huts crowded to the hilt. More people means more loneliness, in all the Dolomites I didn't make friends with anyone, I didn't chat or drink a coffee in company, I felt invisible in the crowd. Luckily there were a few friends who came to visit me, a short break at home pampered by my mother's cooking, and my partner who took advantage of his holiday to walk with me for a few days.
Finally I tackled Carnia, again a bit of tranquillity, some wild trails, and refuges that are not hotels. And now I have arrived here, at the end of the last long climb of the journey, at my feet the gentle descent to the sea. I am so excited that the destination is so close! In all, I have been on the road for more than three months. During these months I have faced difficult moments, unexpected events and fears. Yet I have managed to overcome them, one by one, relying only on my own strength.
As I think back over everything I have faced, I look at the man in front of me, who asked me if I was not afraid to travel alone. Like him, many others have asked me the same question, and I am a little exasperated. He is still there thinking about how to answer me, a little embarrassed he ventures 'wild animals'. But I know that this is not what he really thinks, it is not the answer he would like to give me. He does not have the courage to admit that the question arose from a deep-rooted conviction that a woman should not travel alone in the mountains. He peers at me, and sees a woman free of prejudice, determined and confident. I smile, a little wry and a little sorry to see him so embarrassed. 'If you were a man you would not have asked me that question. Yet why should a woman be afraid to go into the mountains alone? The mountains have their own risks and dangers, regardless of the gender of the person tackling them. Every woman should feel free to venture out on the trails, even alone. I am a different person today from the one who left Liguria three months ago laden with doubts and fears. And I think that every woman has the right to realise her own path, whether it is walking in the Alps, or studying or working, or a trip abroad or an 8000 metre climb. Everyone is free to seek their own path and realise their own dreams. Don't you agree?"
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