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.

Loaded up!

The new pack saddle keeps its promises. Closing the straps is a little exhausting (Western system) and requires a lot of strength - which I don't have :-/ .
But the whole thing is solid. Even loading up the heavy bags (first one, then the other side) does not destabilise the construction.

I therefore dedicated the past couple of days to the reorganisation of the panniers. Filling them again, weighing them, distributing things differently. Even if both bags had the same weight, their volume was often very different. Which meant that they had to be repacked. Now we have ca. 16,8 kilograms per bag, and almost everything has been packed. Still missing are the hoof shoes and the first aid sets. And a bag for the upper middle, which will contain the feed.

The feed is one of my greatest worries. Heidi can graze on the way, but she is not supposed to eat too much of the young grass, because it might give her laminitis. But the stressful journey means that she will need a lot of food. At the beginning, I can carry concentrated feed. On the road, I must try to find some, maybe ask farmers ...

However, we are approaching the finishing straight of the preparations. Everything - or almost everything - has been bought. Now we must train with the full weight. Exactly one year ago I began the training, still in sport shoes and without a pack animal. So many things have changed since then! What a difference!

And slowly I need to say farewell to my settled life. To my home, my place of retreat, which means so much to me. But that's what I wanted.

The very same things that frighten me - the large distance, the incredibly long period of time - are the things that fascinate me, that are the salt in the soup of this adventure.

Will I really make it to Maglie? Will I really stand in front of Aldo Moro's statue in the Via Lama? I don't know? The future ist in total darkness. I will perceive the pilgrimage as successful if I at least make it to Torrita Tiberina, to Aldo's grave.
But Maglie, Apulia ... it would be beautiful.

A wonderful surprise

Yesterday we drove to Basle where I stayed overnight. Since we have Heidi, I don't like doing this any more. The neighbour feeds her hay accross the fence, but I never feel very comfortable with it.

This is why I returned today as early as possible. Heidi was well fed, but very thirsty. The neighbour admitted that he had not thought about water. She slurped down three buckets of water, and all was well again.

As it was to be expected, the house was freezing cold. When the heating is off for only one day, it becomes dramatically cool. I found a surprise in the mail. A parcel from KARAN! I opened it and found two gifts, one for me and one for Heidi! And a really kind postcard. What a surprise!

I opened Heidi's package and discovered this:

The "ultimate hoof pick". Okay, THIS means that we'll be able to manage even the hardest clump of ice and the nastiest piece of gravel! A really professional tool! A flop such as this one will therefore be a thing of the past.

.

In addition to the mega hoof pick, the parcel contained a hoof brush. I must admit I've never had one before. I cleaned the hooves with a kitchen brush. This, too, is history now!

And now came my present. It contained an emergency foot warmer and a totally brilliant solar lantern that can be folded; it's feather-light, but bright! I have never seen such a thing before. The items will hardly add any weight, but it is so good to carry them.

Truly beautiful gifts, and a great surprise! I don't know what to say! Thank you, dear Karan!

Karan sings with the band Singvøgel.

Product Test: Hoof Pick

Every owner of an equid has at least one: a hoof pick. It is used to clean soil, stones and dirt out of the animal's hooves before and after riding.

Trail riders and those who hike with pack animals must do this even more often on the road. Especially on rocky trails, all kinds of foreign objects can become wedged into the hooves, and this can be unpleasant and even dangerous for the animal. A hoof pick must be carried on the journey, same as a curry comb and a brush.

During our training hike yesterday, melting snow, gravel and slush soon agglutinated into large pieces of ice under Heidi's hooves. They were so big that the horse ended up balancing on something like four balls of ice and the hooves did not even touch the ground any more.
I stopped and began to remove the ice with my hoof pick. Easier said than done! Everything was as hard as concrete! Heidi waited patiently while I scratched, knocked, picked and levered.

It was simply impossible. I used the water bottle like a hammer and was able to remove the coarsest bits of ice. Then I continued with the hoof pick.
Finally I managed to get the hooves clean.

But the hoof pick has had it. The tip was totally bent!

The thing might be okay for a pony farm where little girls pick the turf from the riding ring out of the hooves of their Shetland ponies. It was not made for tough women and tough use on the trail.

It is good that I discovered this now. And not on the road.
Grade: unsatisfactory!

Drawn "Selfies" and Fellow Travellers

As a child, I always documented my holiday adventures in drawings, and since my figures and other "invisible companions" were always with me, the stories also told how they fared. As a matter of fact, I told only their stories. Simply because I never wanted to draw myself.

I still find it difficult today. Not because I have such a complex face, but because it makes me feel funny. But there are many artists who cut a fine figure when they draw themselves, for example Roberta Gregory, but also GEIER, as himself or in his role as DOKTOR WER

These examples encourage me a little. Since I won't have a tangible human companion on the road, someone who makes coffee for me, keeps murderers and bandits away, and, last but not least, takes photos of me, I have no other choice but to document my participation in the pilgrimage with drawings.

But of course John and Aldo will always be there. After all, we will visit Aldo's grave, and John accompanies us.

("What's the matter with you?"
"Close the door! It's freezing!"

Add to pack list: Socks. Hot water bottles.)

Aldo and I are prone to getting frostbite. Training in the cold is hard for us. Well, we'll only depart at the end of April, when it will hopefully be spring ... hopefully. I remember sub-zero temperatures in May! And when I look at my pack list, I always feel the fear of being cold.

Transforming the Shock

The dark days continue to rule the land. Everywhere, the deep trauma, which burdens the whole nation, can be felt.
It lurks like a heavy shadow in every corner, it is chiseled into every face like a grey veil.

I, too, have fallen down and can not get up any more. Every attempt is crushed, it feels as if a slab of concrete lies on me, a volley of bullets hits my heart. It is a mixture of guild "How can I continue when this has happened, when THEY can not continue any more?" and an all-encompassing feeling of futility.

Italy and Aldo Moro seem to be as far away as never before.
For the first time since I decided to make this pilgrimage a year ago, I lack motivation. All the blossoming dreams of majestic mountains, crystal-clear bays, cicadas and stars fade into an unreal, departing hallucination of the past.

Training has become nothing but a duty. After all, the horse needs to be moved.
I set out, but listlessly. I get angry about every mistake the animal makes. Once again Heidi balks, runs away, for no apparent reason. I can hold her back, but I swear at her. I mutter "stupid beast" into the cold air of meaninglessness.

Down in the forest, the path leads along the brook "Ruisseau des Cailloux". I've wanted to walk it for ages. But the melting snow has transformed the brook into a torrential river, which has flooded its surroundings in many places. And a tree lies across the trail. At first sight, it seems impassable.
To quote Theo Kojak: "Delightful!"
I know there will be many of this kind of situations on the road.

And now I am even more fed up with everything.

I turn the horse around. I want to go home, park the horse in the paddock and crash down on the sofa.

Then I realise: if I turn around now, it will be for good. I won't come back tomorrow to see whether the path might be passable then.
And that would be the end of Aldo, the stars and the cicada.



Thus, I climb down the steep, muddy, slippery hillside. Heidi, who has become nervous due to all this to and fro, begins to move as well. Far too fast, I hold her back. She must learn to follow me slowly on such dangerous paths, keeping her distance.
Learn?
This means that I am in the middle of the training again.
We fight our way across the slippery stones at the waterside, circumvent the tree by climbing up again into the forest, and down again.
We master the difficult spot. For a moment, the light falls into the forest and makes the wild water sparkle. It seems to carry a greeting from far-away Apulia.

Theory of Colours

It is clear that I will make drawings during the journey. It was not so clear what kind of colours I would use.

Transporting my little vials with the liquid Ecoline colours is always a risky business. A lot can happen, even between the shelf and the table. Over the years, my carpet has turned into a Dalmatian with colourful spots.

It is therefore out of the question to load the Ecolines onto a horse.
But how can I make beautiful, colourful drawings on the road?

The solution is provided by so-called watercolour pencils. You can use them for normal drawings and colourings. When you brush over the colours with a wet brush afterwards, you can create a watercolour effect.

It is a very exciting idea that I have to carry only a case with pencils, a couple of brushes and a plastic container for the water, and will be able to make detailed drawings wherever I am.

But it means that I have to learn a new technique. In order to be able to master it reasonably well on the journey, I begin to practice now. Everything must be tried out, and there are many experiments: The amount of water, the pressure of the pencil ... I have to get a feel for the expected results when mixing the colours.

This is not easy at all. But slowly the results are getting better. It does not look like a real watercolour painting (at least when I do it). But like something else. My own technique.