It's been a busy few weeks. There was the Sarzana antique festival, a two-week street fair of antique vendors, artists, and food stalls. Jim participated in the Barga bike ride while I took the dogs for a hike in the Alpi Apuane. We attended a medieval festival in the nearby medieval village of Filleto with some of Jim's co-workers. Our friends Keith and Shay visited us from Seattle. And last weekend, Jim took a day off work, and we spent a long weekend in the Alps.
Since this was Jim's first day off since starting work in May, I left it up to him to decide where we would go. He decided that we should climb Gran Paradiso, the only 4,000-meter peak that is entirely within Italy. Ugh...I knew this was going to hurt. And more than that, I wasn't sure that this was a good idea since we hadn't climbed anything in over 5 years. I put up a weak fight and then relented when Jim said "let's just go up there and give it a try." Well, why not?
"Up there" is the
Val d'Aosta, a place Jim and I had visited twice before. I'd forgotten how beautiful this area is and how rich in history. The Romans were in Aosta because it was the jumping off point to get over the Alps, but before the Romans there was a Celtic-Ligurian people who populated the area. I have no idea how the Celts from the north and the Ligurians, which is the region we live in, got together, but they must have been a hardy breed because the Romans had difficulty subduing them. Even today, the people of the valley are very independent and have an autonomous government. The official languages of Val d'Aosta are Italian and French, and in addition to climbing, skiing, and other outdoor activities, the area is known for its small-scale high-quality wineries, excellent dairy products, and wood- and metal-working.
The last time Jim and I were in Aosta was 1997, when we made an unplanned visit after completing the WNW face of Dent d'Herens. This was a climb we had unsuccessfully attempted in 1993, the summer we lived in Zermatt, Switzerland. Dent d'Herens straddles the Swiss-Italy border next to the Matterhorn, but unlike the Matterhorn, it's rarely climbed. The WNW face is a steep, narrow glacier, and once we reached the summit, we felt that we needed more gear and two ropes to safely descend. Jim asked me "did you bring any money?" I told him that I had brought my credit card ("don't leave home without it"), and we decided to climb down the Italian side of the mountain (an easier route) and make our way back to Zermatt using public transportation. We hiked all night into Italy through a raging thunderstorm. We stopped once to sleep, huddling together on the narrow porch of a small church until we were too cold to sleep. When we finally reached the trailhead, we started hitchhiking.
The first car that passed (a tiny Fiat) picked us and our gear up. The woman was an architect who worked in Aosta, and she drove us to the train station, where we found an ATM. I remember plodding around Aosta in my plastic climbing boots and smelly, heavy climbing clothes, surrounded by lightly dressed, well groomed locals. We felt alien. Two bus rides later, we were in Breuill Cervinia, the Italian village at the base of the Matterhorn. A series of cable car rides brought us back to Zermatt, 24 non-stop hours after leaving the summit.
Our climb of Gran Paradiso last weekend was simpler. After spending the morning in Aosta, we drove to the village of Pont (6,843 feet). From here, it's a 2 to 3 hour hike to Victor Emmanuale II Rifugio, where we ate dinner and spent the night. We woke at 4 am, ate breakfast, and started the climb. Although the standard route was out of shape, and we were forced to take a less direct, rockier route, the conditions couldn't have been better. The full moon illuminated our route until the sun rose, the temperatures had dropped so the glacier was firm, and the skies were completely clear. We had strong winds on the approach but they abated throughout the day. Even the crowds weren't too bad on this popular climb.
We were slow on the ascent, but we weren't the last to reach the summit (13,323 feet) and enjoy the views of the Alps: the Matterhorn, Monte Rosa, Monte Blanc, Grande Jorasse. It was so clear it felt like you could see the entire chain from the Mediterranean to the Adriatic. We left the summit around noon and got back to our car about 8 pm. It was a long day, and 3 days after the climb, our legs are still tender and we are walking like mummies with a stair phobia.
To see a mix of pics from the last few weeks, you can visit my
Facebook album.
Armed with our GPS, a set of coordinates, 10 euros, and a couple of spoons, we headed to Florence over the weekend. The treasure hunt was sponsored by our friends Perri and Jim, who gave us a card with the coordinates, money, and spoons as a departure gift when we left Seattle. I had deduced that we were on a mission sacred to Italians and many who visit Italy: the perfect gelati. 
Simply put, gelato is Italian ice cream, but technically it's not ice cream, at least not by U.S. government standards, which require a 10% minimum of milk fat to carry the name. With roughly 7% milk fat and no eggs, gelato is the lighter cousin of American ice cream, which I think makes sense, because Italians do not seem to like overly sweet desserts. However, the reduced fat in gelato doesn't mean it's not creamy. The best gelato are like silk on your tongue, often punctuated with little bursts of fruit, chocolate, or nut flavor. The purist might chose the smooth fior di latte (flower of milk), but the more adventurous might try the chunky stracciatella (fior di latte with chocolate bits) or bacio (a hazelnut chocolate combination and also the Italian word for "kiss"). But you never see Italians eating only one flavor. And when we've ordered one flavor, the clerk is always surprised, probably because there are such great flavors to marry: pineapple and coconut, coffee and mango, or cherry with chocolate chunks and almond.
Florence is considered to be the birthplace of gelato (17 C.), and according to some, the best gelato in Italy can be found here. Perri and Jim obviously had a gelateria in Florence that they wanted us to try. So at the end of a day of sightseeing, we marched into town with GPS, euros, and spoons in hand. It was exciting to walk the maze of streets and watch the arrow (us) get closer to the destination (gelato!). We turned the corner, and on the edge of a miniscule piazza was a gelateria with a line of patrons. Bingo! The rest was simple. We had been told to order "riso, if available" which we did, and we sat down in front of the nearby church and licked, slurped, and sucked the pure white concoction, enjoying the little chunks of rice in the mix.
