Castel de Vergio - Refuge de Manganu

Sometimes you just need to do that Sunday morning justice. When my alarm rang at 06, I thought to hell with it. I was snug as a bug in my mummy bag. Didn’t I deserve to sleep in just a little? Disregard the fact that I hardly knew if it was Sunday or not, when you’re on the trail those things don’t matter. It’s just day 6, or 21, or 54.

It took a long time to muster the will to get up and stroll over to the abundant camp facilities. 2x salted macademia toffee coffees accompanied the sunrise. I knew today’s 17 km would be breezy, and after yesterday’s show there was nothing to prove to anyone. A sat down at my table and stole an Italian cheek-kiss before I could gather my wits. We were clearly upping the stakes.

The trail treated me to a pleasant woodland stroll. I left the track to pee (diuretic drinks + Mediterranean summer…) and turns out the trail suddenly swept off upwards – right to where I was. Ops! Lucky strike. Many hikers missed that turnoff.

The sandy white track undulated through boccas, over ridges where windswept trees slashed their roots through the trail. I half-heartedly plugged in music, but turned it off again. Yesterday had been the high-flying day. Today wasn’t for ultragear, but I was happy to stroll freely along and let my mind wander. To guys I’d been with, in their varying degrees of memorableness. There was one I always regretted not punching in the face. Others that I thought of with nothing but warmth. To London life and my upcoming MA, so close in time – but impossibly far away from this wild world.

I could feel myself sinking into rhythm of trail life without any fear of what I was missing. True, it hadn’t yet been a week, but these days had been hard enough. There was nothing about civilisation that I longed for. This trail was so demanding of all strength, grit and focus, but I was mastering it. I was so happy to be here alone, feeling centred in myself and confident that I have “so much to enjoy and to be and to do”. All winter and spring I chased validation, throwing myself at every embrace because I didn’t want to face the everyday alone. It was only this summer that I finally faced up to loneliness and was able to see the freedom in it – not just the emptiness. Here on the trail, nothing more than the immediate matters. I need a mint choc ice cream much more than I need a guy. And I thought back to what I realised on the TA: it is amongst other people that loneliness feels like a prison. Out here it is equal parts liberation.

I rounded a grassy mountain while chewing on some vanilla energy balls. Most vanilla-flavoured foods disappoint me because there is never enough vanilla in there. But my goodness, these ones were the bomb. I felt like I’d swallowed a scented candle. Coming over the mountain top, I stopped, stunned. To a backdrop of distant peaks, whitish-blue in the heat haze, lay a vast grassy plateau where herds of horses grazed next to a glittering blue lake. “Holy damn” I exclaimed. Such an ethereally perfect place, no one could have imagined it any better. Switzerland outside of Switzerland. I walked over to the horses and petted a scraggly old gelding before picking out a lunch spot. The small store at Castel de Vergio sold fresh bread, and I was only too greatful to be done with wraps. However, the peach jam I carried was such a pathetic lump of preservatives and gelatine that I had to laugh watching it quiver precariously on my piece of bread. Small pleasures.

Beyond the grasslands, the trail winded along like a pale grey snake. Groves of strangely lush trees popped up regularly, but it was unbelievably hot. The usual breeze was gone, and there was no water. Heat rose from the ground, and the sun burned relentlessly from a cloudless sky. My lips cracked, and I was positively wheezing by the time I reached Bergeries de Vaccaghja and the freshwater spring there.

A trio of horses grazed eagerly on the lush slopes, and I stuck out my hand to the handsome chestnut eyeing me curiously. Across a rock-strewn field lay my destination. I couldn’t believe how short today was! It wasn’t yet 13.00, all I had to do was amble over.

Refuge de Manganu was gorgeous, nestled against a mountainside next to a glass-clear river with pools to swim in. I walked the whole perimeter before deciding on a sheltered camp spot in a bushy grove. Today felt like such a holiday. I set up camp, did my laundry in the river, paid for a hot shower to wash my hair free of sunscreen and dried sweat, and splurged on an omelette and iced tea. The heat was still sweltering, so I retreated to a cool spot on a boulder in the river with my book.

Lizzie, Michael, and A arrived later in the afternoon to share my enthusiasm for the pools. Lizzie lent me some moisturiser, and I floated on a cloud of honeydew for the rest of the evening. For dinner I cooked up a final, shockingly large portion of lentils/quinoa/fajita spice – don’t ever want to taste either of those things again.

At dusk, I ran into A while I was coming out of the toilet to empty my menstrual cup. Both the cup and my hand where covered in blood, and I hastily hid them both behind my back as he began his usual chatter. “Blablabla, …do you want biscuits?”. Bugger. My clean hand held my toothbrush & toilet paper. I couldn’t exactly reach out my hideous bloody hand to take the biscuits. Sigh. Nothing is sadder than missed calories in this primal trail life.