Le Tour du Mont Blanc

“It was a journey of paradoxes, long lean corridors of forest enclosed by canopies of dense green that let in the splintered light; and wide-open mountain ranges for miles, swathed in swirls of cloud, dipping into valleys that cradled patches of sunlight.”

The Tour du Mont Blanc was a sensory assault, in the best and worst way. At its most awe-inspiring, powdery snow laced the mountains, grass bouncy with rain cushioned our tired feet, lovely Italian ladies gave us sprigs of Edelweiss for good luck, and tiny sweet bunches of blueberries found their way unquestioningly into our mouths (we found out later which ones make you sick; no harm done). It was a journey of paradoxes, long lean corridors of forest enclosed by canopies of dense green that let in the splintered light; and wide-open mountain ranges for miles, swathed in swirls of cloud, dipping into valleys that cradled patches of sunlight. You would start the day in a t-shirt, knee-high in blossoms and nettles, only to end it with two buffs and a snow cap wrapped around your head, your windbreaker flapping around you, and moisture creeping into your socks, making you question the validity of the term ‘waterproof’.

At its worst, the weather decided to flex some muscle, unleashing horizontal rain, painfully precise sleet and 100 km/hour winds that forced us to turn back an hour into our trek one day. But no matter, because the next day everything was fresh and new, and the angry rain had given way to a soft smattering of snow, bright pops of flowers and newly scrubbed leaves coated in frost. We even stumbled onto a lake of trees. The days were moody; you stepped on to the mountain in the morning not knowing what to expect, with nothing more than a backpack of all your belongings (that was starting to leave red welts across your shoulders) and the determination to move your increasingly leaden legs forward against the elements.

Intimacy built quickly in our little group.

“Intimacy built quickly in our little group. Communal showers and dorm style rooms, with snores and giggles wafting through the walls, will do that.”

Communal showers and dorm style rooms, with snores and giggles wafting through the walls, will do that. You end up sharing everything from lactic acid pills and protein bars to shower gel and playlists with people who – a few days ago – were complete strangers but who now know a lot more about your sleeping habits and bowel movements than anyone should. And who you find yourself planning your next crazy adventure with.

Everyone moved at their own pace, the jostlers and hustlers to the top (you know who you are) and the slow and steady in the back, but we pulled together to get over the slippery bits of mud and ice that caused everyone to fall flat on their ass at least once.

There was room to both savor the silence or sing along to whoever had taken charge of the playlist (and speakers) that day. Sometimes breakfast was accompanied by live renditions of Fairuz classics. We would all stretch together in the morning and evening, most notably in a cramped lodge where someone stepped over my downward dog to wash some dishes (more often than not, we forgot).

You learn a lot of thing on a trip like this. Like the importance of layering, and how to let go of half empty bottles of hand cream that are weighing down your backpack. The realization that having no cellphone reception for two days is actually a good thing and that the awesomeness of nature is better appreciated when you don’t stick a screen in front of it. That people you barely know will surprise you with their energy, humor, kindness and slamming dance moves.

There was no summit – strictly speaking – on this trip; we came full circle. But I would count the experience as a personal high. We all arrived back in Chamonix a little worse for wear, but ultimately the better for it.