Pass Road

On April 29th, the wonderful sunshine defied all meteorolgists who had predicted rain and dreary weather.

An easy route via pass roads led us out of Bouvante, to Lente.

At the Col du Chaud Clapier

When you are able to walk without being scared of falling into an abyss after every step, your thoughts are free to roam as well.

Of course I think a lot about Aldo Moro. Most people I meet are astonished that this pilgrimage is dedicated to him. More astonished than about the fact that I walk with a pack donkey, or that the destination is so far away, or that it will take such a long time to get there.

In Léoncel it was especially nice: I had slept behind the village church. In the morning, a church employee turned up. She apologised for not having noticed me the evening before.

The church offers free rooms to pilgrims. But now, at least, I was to come and have breakfast.

I was happy to accept, but I explained to her that I was neither a Catholic nor on an "official" pilgrimage, but that it was for Aldo Moro.

“It doesn't matter,” she said. “Going on a pilgrimage is a very personal thing; each pilgrim has his or her own way. And it will do Aldo good, it will give him joy."

She said this very much as a matter of fact, which moved me a lot.

A living example of openness and interreligious tolerance.

This is certainly also due to the influence of the Vercor, which has many unknown, sleepy places of pilgrimage, far away from the popular Way of St. James. They open their very intimate ways of salvation to quiet pilgrims.

Most people are not spontaneously able to know who Aldo was. I briefly explain it to them, and each time I feel the strength that comes from pulling him out of oblivion.

Yes, it does him good. And me, too. The cold, cynical evil that became manifest in the merciless stubbornness of all protagonists whose actions finally led to Aldo's death, will not have the last word.

Almost fourty years later, the outcry of the heart is still there, still awake, and it will not fall silent.

The night in the tent near Lente was brutally cold: sub-zero temperatures! As you can see, Gamin had a frozen bum in the morning.

Stairway to Hell

So, today was the first really shitty day.

The ascent to the path that was to bring me from Bouvante to Lente and thus in the correct direction, soon led onto a murderous trail. Terribly steep, full of rocks and gravel, and slippery. And with trees laying across the path.

At the beginning it still looked nice.

But soon it was like this. And even worse. (Why do photos never show how steep such a trail really is?)

Of course, Gamin refused to walk on when he saw the tree trunks. I tried to motivate him and finally unloaded the luggage until he jumped or climbed across. When one tree was behind us, lo and behold, there came the next. A torture. Of course I aske myself whether it would be wiser to turn around, but we had already managed a couple of trees and I still hoped that the next one would be the last.

Was this the last one?

No, really ...

Finally, we *almost* reached the top. But then ... the whole hillside was covered in tree trunks and rocks. And on the ground there was a broken wooden signpost, stating: "We are currently renewing the GR; sorry for the troubles"

Yes, thank you very much, arsehole! A GR in such a state simply has to be closed!

Final destination: tree hell

After all, we had to turn back.

The rain got stronger and stronger, transforming the steep slope into a slippery hell. When I had to unload the luggage again, the roll with the sleeping bag and the insulation mattress fell out of my and, on the ground - and rolled into the bottomless abyss of the ravine.

Gone was the wonderful sleeping bag! The rain increased, I was totally drenched, it got windy and even more slippery. 

I can't remember how often I slipped and fell into the dirt. Gamin also fell a couple of times and for a while I thought, ok, this is the end. This will become our grave.

At some stage, Gamin refused to move in front of a tree trunk I would also have refused to tackle, because on the other end there was nothing but a steep, wet, slippery wall of rock. I have no idea how we managed it, but we fought our way back to Bouvante, and now I am back in the hotel.

The owner is willing to drive me to an outdoor shop tomorrow so that I can buy a new sleeping bag and an insulation mattress.

The laptop also got wet, it has a bad stain on the display, but it still works. Everything is wet and covered in scratches.

A day in hell, indeed.

Vertigo

"Do you want to go up there with the donkey?" asked a man who had come running out of his house.
Oh yes! I had just left Peyrus and headed towards the beginning of the GR 95. The path that leads up to the Vercor.

The man explained to me that there is a three metre high rock in the upper third of the climb. He said that it was hard to climb for human beings, because there were only very few notches to tread on. He claimed that a donkey would not be able to manage it.

I thanked him for the warning but walked on. When it came to the worst I thought I could always unload the luggage, carry it up myself and let Gamin find his own way up.

The ascent became more and more narrow and steep. Roots and rocks offer some sort of step for human feet, but for the hooves of a donkey they are a torture.

Difficult ascent

 When the path became too steep, Gamin stopped walking. After half an hour I was able to coax him into climbing on. Then he stopped again. And I had to pull and sweet-talk again.

I secretly hoped that we had already left the aforementioned rock behind, because we had already tackled a couple of rocks. No chance! Here it was, the rock wall.

It was immediately clear that no donkey could ever manage it, with our without luggage.
I left the GR and tried to find a way right through the thicket in order to circumvent the obstacle, go up along a different route, and find the GR again later. We were successful after all. The reward was the wonderful plateau of the  Pas du Touet, which we reached soon afterwards.

Then the path was level for a while. Finally, we reached  Léoncel.

On the door of the town hall was a piece of paper with a telephone number to call when in need of a place to camp or a place to stay. We were pointed to a meadow behind the cemetery.

After a very windy night we continued, on a steep path again. After a short while, Gamin stopped walking again. Oh well. Once more a breakneck situation up in the rocks. This time I decided to listen to the donkey and we turned around. We circumvented the place by simply following the Départementale (express road).

After a while we returned to the GR, where the Vercour plateau unfolded in all its glory.

We reached the Col de la Bataille, with its view in all directions, far across the valley and the mountains.

Without doubt it is an impressive sight.
But my knees started to shake and I got dizzy.
Vertigo!
Now it really got me. The Col is 1313 metres high, not very high really, but the pictures show you how it looks. I have always suffered from vertigo, but never before in the mountains.
But here - I could not continue.

I took photos without looking at the landscape. My only desire was to get down again, as quickly as I could, and on the main road, if possible crawling flat on the ground.

Somehow we managed to reach the Gradiol bothy (Gradiol ... sounds like Gradoli), a spartan, unmanned hut without water, telephone connectivity or electricity, but with a wood stove and a wooden bench to sleep on.

I decided to spend the night there. There was wood in the hut, but no paper. A battered guest book laid on the table. The entries soon explained the bad shape of the tome: “Sorry, we had to rip out pages in order to make a fire, it somehow was a matter of life and death" ... and so on ...

I imitated the actions of the people before me and hoped to use as few pages as possible. After ten pages, the stove blazed pleasantly.

Apart from this, the night in the scary building was everything but comfortable. I would have felt better in my tent. In such a bothy, people can come in at any time and lay down beside you. (!)

It is permitted to pitch a tent next to a bothy. But I was far too tired. And this is why I spent the night sleeping on the floor next to the stove. I found the dormitory too spooky.

The GR would now continue across the Plateau d'Ambel, along the ridge of a bottomless, high rock wall, in height up to 2100 metres.
Too high for me.
And the weather: rain, strong gusts of wind.

I had to face some pressing thoughts. This Vercors Grat is only the beginning. In the alps there will be GR paths leading up to 2900 metres high. It will be autumn until I will have managed to get the donkey up there.

The only solution is to change to a more southern route and to make sure not having to cross any mountains higher than 1000 - 1200 metres.

There is no other way. This is why today we followed the boring Départementale again. For 38 kilometres! Gamin was totally shattered when we finally reached the little village of Bouvante. There is a restaurant with a hotel, where I checked in without furthher ado. Gamin came on a meadow with apple trees, and I looked forward to having a shower. Alas, the massive shower head crashed down on my head, but no bliss is ever perfect.

However, I was allowed to use the local WiFi, which is why I can now work out the new route.

Encounters

Since yesterday, the landscape is getting flatter and flatter . But this does not mean that the going gets easier, quite the contrary. There are endless, straight tarmac roads, and it feels as if we don't move forward at all. And there is an increasing number of obstacles, for example motorways, expressways and rivers.
A wide ford across the river Bouvier was too much for Gamin. With bare feet I stood in the middle of the ice-cold river and pulled the lead - without success. Suddenly, Gamin turned around and tried to pull me into the water. Perhaps he wanted to let me have this particular experience, also because it would have been material for a funny drawing later on. But I did not do him the favour. I was able to stay on my feet.
Before freezing to death I gave up my plan. We retreated and looked for a bridge. Three more kilometres. Just great!
After all we managed to go through Clérieux, where I hoped to find a store in order to replenish my depleted stock of provisions. Alas, the only store in the village was close.
We walked on, crossing the Isere on a spooky bridge that had already appeared in the nightmares of my childhood. Gamin didn't like it either, but I was really afraid.
Finally I was allowed to pitch the tent behind the house of an old couple who were farmers.
This morning I decided to definitely look for a place to go shopping. In the distance I saw a big building with a large car park full of cars, just like I knew it from French supermarkets. So that is where we went. I left the GPS track and we walked across the fields. After three quarters of an hour there came the disappointment: it was not a supermarket, but some sort of nondescript company. This is how travellers must feel when they cross a desert and fall for a fata morgana.
A little further on I saw a large petrol station. Well, they must have sandwiches at last, and maybe even gas cartridges. Mine are running dangerously low.
The access to this petrol station was somehow very difficult. When I saw the reason, it was already too late: we had ended up on a motorway service station.
Totally lost, with a donkey, in the middle of lorries, cars and staring people - there is nothing better. But that's the kind of effort I take for the politician of my heart.
They had sandwiches, but no gas, and, luckily, they gave us instructions how to get off the motorway again.
After a while we reached another little parking place. A car pulled in, and I immediately knew: this meeting is meant to happen.
The driver talked to me, and fifteen minutes later it was clear that we could stay in her place for the night, she gave me the address and told me to go ther. She would join me in the evening, after work.
It was a large and beautiful estate, with walls and a CCTV camera. This is why I was insecure at first about how the other inhabitants, who knew noting about our agreement, might welcome me. An unnecessary worry. I was kindly received, and soon I sat under a large sycamore tree and drew pictures, freshly showered and with a pot of tea and some chocolate before me.
Lovely conversations with the friendly and interesting inhabitants made this day perfect.

The narrow alleyways ... Gamin would have fit through, but not the luggage.

Ford of Glory

The last night was hard. In the full sense of the word, because my insulation mattress was broken. As flat as a flat tyre. "Gomma a terra", as the Italians say.

Thankfully, Gamin's former owners were able to help me out. They came by car and brought me their mattress. How fortunate!

There had been heavy rain at night. I had to pack a soaking wet tent.

Today' stage of the journey was not easy to handle. At first, there came enchanted forest paths between oak trees covered in moss. The air was hot and full of scents. The path led down into a ravine, as deep as the subconciousness of the world.

The "bridge" was nothing but an old tree trunk and a rope as a handrail.

There was no other way. We had to go through the ford. Our first real obstacle.
For a split second I wanted to make a telephone call in order to complain or to call for help ... But it was clear: we were alone in this deep ravine and had to tackle it.
I took a couple of steps into the water. Gamin stood at the river bank and refused to move, as it was expected. I stood in the water, called and pulled on the lead. This went on for a while.
Suddenly I saw him gathering his courage. He jumped once, twice, three galloping steps, and we were on the other side.

I praised him extensively, and we shared an apple. We had made it! There is hardly anything more beautiful than having an animal as an accomplice. Slowly we are becoming a team.

The path went steeply uphill again. We climbed out of the ravine and reached a mountainside with blossoming trees and vast meadows.

Below in the next valley we could see the Rhône, Arras and further behind more mountains, the Vercors in the shadows. Somewhere behind this impressive horizon lies Apulia.

The descent to Arras meant that we had to take dangerously steep paths, often not wider than 20 centimetres. I concentrated on the cactuses and the stones in the sand in order to not look down into the deep abyss.
Gamin managed everything well.
We crossed the Arras dam. One more river was behind us.
We became very tired.

Finally we found a small place at the river bank of the Rhône, which we had been shown by the folks from a motorcycle garage. And this is where the tent is now pitched. We can hear the boats on the river.

This is the real bohemian life, walking between worlds. A great day with wonderful sceneries is coming to an end.

Rain

It is raining. I am sitting in the dry tent, but I feel sorry for Gamin because he stands outside in the drizzle. A telephone conversation with his former owner confirmed that he is indeed used to this and doesn't care. I still feel sorry for him.

On our first day, the weather changed a lot. Sun, rain and clouds. In terms of the distance covered, I have reached my goal, minus 800 metres.

Some of the paths were wonderful. Romantic and mysterious. Then again we had to walk along the Départementale, a road with heavy traffic. I often had to think about Heidi. Under these circumstances she would have transformed into an intercontinental rocket.

Gamin keeps his cool. Most of the time he even ignores barking dogs.
But once there was a German shepherd dog - I could not see it in time because it was behind the corner of a house. It exploded against the fence (which, thankfully, was there) and barked like mad. It gave me such a fright! Gamin immediately trotted towards it, and he looked as if he was saying: "You seem to be too content, arsehole!". I was able to hold him back and told him that the beast is not worth causing trouble (and, ultimately, getting into trouble).

In the afternoon the rain got strong. Gamin became listless and slow, and I had to pull him along.
It was time to find a place to stay, although, according to plan, today's track would have been one or two kilometres longer. I asked at a riding stable on the roadside. At first they said, no, they had no space, and also the horses might become scared of the donkey. I insisted, pointing out that we were totally soaked and only needed ca. 20 square metres of meadow.
Finally we were allowed onto a little area with grass in front of the premises. Thus ended the first stage of the journey.

The final rehearsal

Today was my "dress rehearsal" with Gamin: 18 kilometres in the mountains around Roiffieux.

At first, Gamin was very afraid of my panniers. We had to take time to get him used to them. Then we set out. And he followed me, willingly and with firm steps.

Often there were strong gusts of wind. Especially on the mountain. But what a landscape!

The Vosgean spring is only just beginning, but here in the Ardèche there is a frenzy of blossoms and flowers.

I am getting fed up with the training tours, although today's hike was of course very important. Nevertheless I am really looking forward to tomorrow, when it will begin in earnest!

No song is better suited for this day than this one:



Okay, it is not quite May yet, but everything else fits!

About this journey

A pilgrimage?

Going on a pilgrimage has become fashionable.

The Way of St. James is possibly the most famous pilgrimage route in Europe. Every year, hundreds of thousands of people set out towards Santiago de Compostela - on foot, by coach or car, on horseback or with pack mules.

I have not chosen to walk an "official" and acknowledged pilgrimage route, but nevertheless my project is a true, real pilgrimage.

It follows an unknown, quiet route, and its spiritual significance is perhaps accessible to only a few.

Why Aldo Moro?

The "patron" and the destination of my pilgrimage is not a saint.

Aldo Moro was a politician. A profession that is not usually associated with spirituality. You will find his short biography at Wikipedia. I may also talk here about one or the other political or historical aspect, but in moderation.

Should you still perceive all this as being "too political" or simply "too strange", the best approach might be to see Aldo Moro not as a politican but as a human being. As a friend from another age and time.

Somebody the author feels personally close to.

In 2012, it was indeed proposed to the Vatican that Aldo Moro should be beatified (the preliminary stage to sanctification). I am not a Catholic, and my spiritual perceptions are totally different.

Whatever the Vatican's decision will be, I will respect it. However, it will not alter my own position towards Aldo Moro in any way.

Why on foot with a pack donkey?

Aldo Moro lived in our modern age. He travelled by car and airplane.

But behind this superficial reality, an other, deeper reality lies hidden.

Some of the old films that depict Aldo Moro seem to convey this other reality. When Moro explains his ideas, the interplay with the mysterious, flickering black-and-white film creates something like a dream reflection from a far-away, ancient time.

A world that is located somewhere between the individual frames of the film strip.

My journey is an expedition into this unknown world. I know intuitively that no modern means of transport will grant access to it.

This expedition can only succeed with the muscle power of both human being and animal. Travelling paths that still exist today, hidden away next to the large, crowded and noisy transport routes.

This pilgrimage is an expedition with the methods of the 19th century and the heart of the 1970s - in the reality of 2015.

It leads into the unknown.

Transition

April has begun, the month when my journey will begin. I have planned and prepared myself for more than a year, and now it will be time to go soon.

Mentally, I am ready.

I was afraid that I would be a bundle of nerves right before the beginning. But it hasn't happened. The transition is more gentle than I expected.

Apart from the classical risk factors I often mentioned before, there are only three critical points.

* I will be travelling with an unknown pack animal. Gamin and I must get to know each other on the road. This is going to be interesting! ;-)

* My physical strength. In spite of months of training, I am still as exhausted after 15 kilometres as after the first hike. I am just not able to overcome my (below average) limit. The only solution will be to take it easy. Fortunately I have time. In theory, the journey can be longer than planned.

* My financial resources are almost totally gone. I had to buy Gamin, Heidi needed to see the vet again, Gamin as well (vaccinations), the equipment had to be sent to Roiffieux via mail ... I am really broke. There is no way I can afford to stay in Gîtes overnight, and I will have to ration my food as well.

But I am ready to face all of this. Apulia is beckoning, I hear the drums, I feel Aldo's hand, his eyes are smiling, and JFK is looking forward to a "new threshold".