GR 56

Sometimes it is a strange feeling when big current events touch one's own little world. When I began to plan the new route, across the Vercor and the Maritime Alps, place names that I have never heard before suddenly became part of my world: Peyrus, Breil sur Roya,  Seyne, Barcelonnette...

And suddenly the whole world knows where Barcelonnette is.

My path through the mountains the GR 56, (Chemin de Grande Randonnée / "Great Hiking Trail") leads along the site of the crash, which is only 3,5 kilometres away.

At this point, the Ravin de l'Elve, there might be one of the most difficult parts of the trail. I seriously hope that a donkey will be able to manage it. And me, too. After all, Gamin has already crossed the Pyrenees, and there are difficult trails. But I ... with only a little hiking in the Vosges hills as my preparation ...

Memories come back. Almost 20 years ago, I drew a comic about a German plane that had crashed in the Alps.

Well, maybe my path will indeed follow the GR 56, but one never knows. I have stopped to set my plans in stone. I have become flexible, and I will follow the wind that fills my sails.

After all, the only important thing is that I will somehow make it to Torrita Tiberina and Maglie.

Where to look among the garbage and the flowers ...

These days, I practice intensely with the GPS. In a few weeks I will hike through totally unknown terrain, and I must be able to handle this machine. Today, I walked ca. 15 kilometres (a day's travel), following a track with the GPS that I had created on the computer before.

It led through the woods, underbrush and thicket, and without the device I certainly would not have known anymore where to find back and front, up and down.

Well, I still didn't know, but all was well as long as the blue arrow on the display followed the pink line.

The tour went through the forests that are so typical for the Vosgues area. Some of the paths looked like this:

A less pleasant discovery was this one:

It really pisses me off. Who dares to dispose of their car parts in the forest? There are professional scrapyards everywhere. It is definitely not more bothersome (much likely, less) to drive a scrap car there, instead of throwing the parts into nature.

But as Leonard Cohen described in his song "Suzanne", one must know where to look among the garbage and the flowers. And at the end of a path, just before a crossroad, my gaze was softly directed:

To the ground, where I found a small deer antler. I was so excited! I have always desired to find one. And in some nights I have dreamt that it has happened.

I picked it up, when I saw one ... no, TWO more!

It was like a fairy tale. An intensive moment of happiness. Quietly and strongly, magic had hit me.

Three antlers - but why three? Oh yes: one for Aldo, one for JFK, and one for myself. We are on the right track, nature talks to us, with us, and through us.

I pocketed the antlers and walked on with ease. I did not get lost even once. Everything is in a state of flow.

Don't harass me!

«If you don't want the bloke to be ablaze, don't light him up.»

This is the advice the author Zmile Brager provides in a special chapter for female riders in his trail riding manual.

Apart from the fact that it feels rather odd to a female reader that a man gives advice about menstrual hygiene - the sentence above is typical for a problem that women experience much more often than men: sexual harassment.

The author continues that women should not wear clothes that are too tight or too sexy, and not smile too often, or better not at all.

High heels and mini skirts are not very practical on a trekking tour, and very likely will only be worn by a minority of trail riders or hikers.
But smiling? Does it really entail "lighting someone up"?

What exactly is "provocative" behaviour and/or clothing?
I am certainly not the only woman who has been harassed although she was wearing loose clothing and an unfriendly expression on her face.

The actual problem is the reversal of the responsibilities. Not the man is required to control his urges and behave in a civilised way, but the woman is responsible for this.


An impossible demand, since the perception of what is "provocative" is subjective.
In some tribal cultures, all woman display their breasts without provoking anybody. In other cultures, women are required to don a sack in order to not become a temptation.

Also, statistics tell a different tale. Not the cheeky wearers of mini skirts are raped most often, but the shy wallflowers.
There is no such thing as an outfit that prevents harassment. The problem is the attitude of the men, who assess every woman's availability, instead of simply perceiving her, and treating her, as a fellow human being.
There is not a lot a woman can do against this, except signalling that she insists on being treated as a human being, no matter what kind of clothes she wears.

I will soon go to the hairdresser to have my hair cut short. It will be more practical on the pilgrimage, because the hair will dry faster after having been washed. I won't necessarily look good with a short cut. A side effect that is quite intentional.

What a pity that a woman has to think that way.

Who Are You?

Now, since the mundane, practical aspects are steadily getting sorted, I feel that the time has come to turn my mind more towards the goal of my pilgrimage: Aldo Moro.

I hear his calling. Stronger and stronger. And I feel the deep desire to fully open myself towards it.
I strive to let go of the everyday concerns and worries that still occupy me.
My gaze wants to turn to the inside, towards Aldo.

During this pilgrimage, my relationship with him is multi-faceted.

Sometimes I feel as if I am in the fairy tale of the Sleeping Beauty - with reversed gender roles.

Like a princess who looks for an enchanted prince, somewhere far away. For a hundred years he has been sleeping in a hidden burial chamber at the end of the world, guarded by roses and cicadas.

His immensely tragical fate has been softened by a good fairy godmother. A drop of blood and a tear fell on a rose and made it grow. Unnoticed, this rose grew on his grave and developed into a mighty thicket of thorns and blossoms, invisibly circling the whole world.

Only a few hear the calling that comes from this secret place. And only a few of those who set out to follow it will reach their destination, because the rose forest is thick and the thorns have no mercy.

Will I get through?

Will there be the redemptive kiss, the awakening from the pain?

Then again I experience Aldo as an adventurous and very lively young man. As a philosopher, politician and teacher. He wants to show me his home and tests my Italian vocabulary. He encourages me to learn more and to check out new frontiers.

Aldo Moro has his principles and his dignity. Sometimes he shakes his head and is stubborn.

Aldo Moro also is a grandfather. The old man with the gentle eyes, with whom you just want to sit under a shady pergola. Whose breath you love to hear when you are close to him, and whose sighs inspire kindness and attention.

And Aldo is the little boy who invites the little girl within me to play with him, who laughs and is naughty. A boy with whom I can dream all stars.

Total Reboot

For many months I have been training with Heidi.
We have learned and achieved a lot together. Then her problems began. First gently, then they became increasingly noticable: The unexplainable weight loss, the increasing nervousness.

Almost two months before the planned start of the journey, it was time to take stock and to ask myself: can I take the responsibility for going on the pilgrimage with Heidi?
I did many calculations, weighing the food rations we need and the possible maximum weight. I checked the route again and again, assessing whether a main road might be circumvented or a railway crossing avoided. I imagined us walking through the cities of Biel and Locarno, and through the endless industrial areas of Milan.
And finally through the semi-desert of Basilicates, where there will be only heat, sand and rock, but hardly any food.
It can not be justified.
And that means: either the project is dead now, or I need another pack animal.

It all happened incredibly fast. I found an advertisement  «trained trekking donkey, has already been on the Way of St. James and other long-term trails». 

His name is «Gamin» and he lives in Roiffieux, Département Ardèche, in the region Rhône Alpes.    

TGV, the railway company, brought me there quickly, and yesterday I already was on a long tour with Gamin and his owners, through the Mediterranean pine forests in the rocky hills west of the village.

I continuously compared him with Heidi  - «Heidi would react like this, would do that». Meanwhile, a well-behaved Gamin trotted behind me most of the time.

The contact with the couple who owned Gamin - both of them experienced trekkers with pack animals - was incredibly important for me. Their kindheartedness and their many valuable tips motivated me and gave me new courage. They were enthusiastic about my project.

In the evening, the sales contract was signed. Gamin is mine now.

But it doesn't make sense to pay for an expensive transport in order to bring Gamin to me in the Vosges region. I will therefore alter the route and set out from Roiffieux.

The whole Swiss part of the route will be omitted. Instead we will cross the Vercors mountains, the Maritime Alps, and enter Italy from the west. The Milan Agglomeration will also be dropped. Behind Genova I will meet my old, original route again.

This is not easy for me. I have been looking forward very much to the Swiss legs of the journey: the Gotthard pass, the Entlebuch, the Maggia valley ...

But these places are not "the" pilgrimage. The pilgrimage is Aldo Moro, Torrita Tiberina, Maglie ... and this route will remain.

I will miss the specialness of departing from my own door in order to walk to the door of the house where Aldo was born in Maglie.

On April 15th, I will take the train to Roiffieux, where I will make the last preparations with Gamin's owners, including a test tour with the full luggage on the 16th.

And on April 17th, I will definitely set out.

The route via the south of France is much shorter, but there are more mountains. Nevertheless, it might happen that I arrive a whole month early ... perhaps really in September instead of October. Then I'd be in Maglie for Aldo's birthday.

During my absence, Heidi will graze on the pastures of Maupotel. I will bring her there soon. A temporary farewell, which is also difficult for me.

I am still struggling to come to terms with these great changes. Although I know that they were the right thing to do.