The days are whizzing by and these last few have been full of outdoor activities that highlight France’s natural beauty. I think that people often conjure up an image of France that is all baguettes, stinky cheese, Parisian life, the eiffel tower, poodles, and fashion. While these things certainly do exist, there is also a side of France that is less known, a side that’s full of big mountains, days upon days of hiking, intense rock climbing, and a love of nature and mountaineering.
I’ve stumbled on this image before, particularly in Chamonix (a world famous ski and climbing town in the Alps) and was lucky enough to experience this culture again. I have a fascination and an admiration for true mountaineering and get excited whenever I’m around any aspect of it. So after my long day of shoveling, I woke early with sore shoulders, but with big plans to hike the Etang d’Arang, a loop in the Pyrenees that includes a climb to a 2,400 meter col and an overnight stop at a lakeside refuge (mountain hut).
The hike was beautiful and very steep, about six hours up through rugged meadows and then to snow and rock. As it’s early in the hiking season there was one part of the hike were the trail was completely snowed over, which required my hiking group to go off path and do some intense rock scrambling. After already having slid fifteen or so feet on my stomach down a snow bank due to some slippery ice, my confidence towards scrambling over the wet rocks was limited. With a very sheer drop below and ominous storm clouds above, this was not a fun part of the hike. However, after I safely made it off the rocks (and practically kissed the snow covered ground in relief), I quite enjoyed the rest of the hike which was a simple decent to the lake.
(the lake near the refuge)
We were greeted by a very funny scene once we reached the refuge, 35 elderly french fisherman eagerly awaiting the start of the fishing season the following day. The fishermen, clearly nostalgic for their younger glory days of mountaineering, had filled up on whiskey and wine and were chasing each other around the lake, shoving snow down one another’s pants, and singing french camp songs. These companions made for a great story, but a poor nights sleep due to their snoring and singing. Though after the quantity of alcohol they consumed, I was mightily impressed that they were able to pull themselves out of bed at five in the morning the following day to go shiver and fish around the snowy lake.
I’ve stayed in other mountain refuges in the alps and I think the concept is amazing. Basically, they’re little mountain huts, nestled along popular hiking routes that allow backpackers to go on multi-day treks without having to lug around a lot of camping gear or food. The huts provide beds, sometimes showers, and dinner and breakfast. Some of them are really nice with warm showers and private rooms, while others are more rustic and are simply a roof over your head and a giant row of matresses (uni-bed) where hikers can roll out their sleeping bags. However, even in the the simpler refuges, such as this last one I stayed in (no heating and cramped rooms), there was still a full dinner including soup, entrée, cheese plate, and coffee and cake. The French may be more intense mountaineers then we realize, but that doesn’t mean they’re going to make any sacrifices when it comes to mealtime.
(French backpacks even have special baguette holders)
The next morning after a breakfast of bread n’ spread (also typical for refuges), we hiked back down to where we started, which was shorter and easier than the previous days hike, but still steep and with gorgeous views of the mountains. It’s such a great feeling to finish a good hike with sore muscles, some dirt on your face, and a few cuts and bruises to show you really put in the work.
Yesterday (the day after the hike) and today were both very active days as well. Yesterday with a long bike ride and three hours of rock climbing and zip-lining at an outdoor park in the mountains and today with eight hours of shoveling and raking dirt and moving big rocks. At this point I’m very tired, sunburnt, bruised, scraped, and sore, but also reminded of how our bodies are sometimes more capable than we realize. To illustrate this idea, a quote from one of my favorite movies, Into the Wild, is:
“I read somewhere how important it is in life not necessarily to be strong but to feel strong. To measure yourself at least once. To find yourself at least once in the most ancient of human conditions. Facing the blind death stone alone, with nothing to help you but your hands and your own head.”
It’s okay to feel tired and sore, but to keep going anyway, it’s important to push yourself, then push yourself some more and some more, to understand just how far you can really go and how strong you can really be.
Soleil et Café 