The breakfast buffet at our hotel was one of the best we have had the entire trip. We overate, Pam stuffed her pockets, and we walked out like chipmunks with food in our mouths and cheeks bulging. We got our money’s worth and we didn’t have to steel silver or china to do it (it’s always scares me when Pam starts eyeing the expresso machines in a restaurant).
This was the start of another beautiful day of walking. We were climbing, but it wasn’t terrible despite all the grumbling I heard behind me on the trail. The fall colors were in all their glory and the French hikers were all tucked away in their cities waiting for the next holiday season–we had the trail to ourselves with the exception of an occasional goat or Japanese couple.
Even though it looked like the weather was going to hold most of the day, there was some clouds coming in, so we chose to stay to the main route and not take the higher alternative. We still had 2500′ of climbing to do, but we laughed at the feeble climbing after the GR10 (“ha ha you feeble climb”) which is not a particularly smart thing to do in a country that doesn’t want you there and is filled to the brim with the Alps. The 2500′ climb refused to end.
The trail followed the contour of the mountain and would throw in some really steep scree covered sections to get revenge for Pam’s laughing–I always respect the mountain, especially since I was carrying an extra 5 pounds of butter, jam, and fruit someone forced on me from breakfast.
By the time we made it almost to our high point of the day at hotel Bovine, the cloud cover was complete and the temperature was dropping. We had made the right decision to skip the high route today. On warmer and more crowded days, hotel Bovine serves refreshments to hikers. Once the French stop for the season, Hotel Bovine (which is a working dairy farm) closes shop for the winter. We still sat at their picnic tables and ate our lunch while we admired the view of the Swiss valley below us. At this point, the Swiss haven’t figured out a way to block the view unless you pay them, but I’m sure they have a plan in the works.
I’ll bet we didn’t see 10 people all day hiking. We did see a gaggle of women heading in the opposite direction that SOUNDED like a couple hundred people coming at us, but it was only 4 of them. I’m sure it was equal in magnitude to a typical Wednesday bridge game.
On the way down into Col de la Forclaz, we spotted some red on the trail. It looked like a runner came down hard on a stick and poked a hole through their shoe and foot. Every so often, there would be a big puddle of blood on the trail. A lone runner was ahead of us for a while and he kept stopping but would take off when he saw us. I’m not certain if he was the source of the blood or not. I know I don’t want that much blood near me if I’m camping in wolf, bear, or shark country (not that I’m worried about any of the aforementioned wildlife in Switzerland).
With some of the larger puddles we came upon, we were expecting to see him passed out on the trail. Just another example of our speed on the trail, an injured runner bleeding to death and having temporary blackouts from blood loss is still faster than we are on the trail. I was relieved to see the blood trail turn off the main path heading toward the closest parking area, even though Pam can handle blood, I get a little queasy just thinking about it. I remember when Suzanne cut her leg doing box jumps at cross fit. I went to get her a glass of water and almost passed out myself when I saw her leg. Everyone let her bleed and tended to me when they saw how white I turned.
We got into Col de la Forclaz fairly early. We were considering pushing on in the hopes of getting back into more reasonably priced France (there’s a phrase I thought I’d never utter–“reasonably priced France”), but the clouds had turned to mist which decided to just all out pour on us. It could have been worse–snow is always a possibility this time of year. We broke down and got a room in the Hotel de la Forclaz for a mere 90 Euros since they wouldn’t let us stay in the dorm.
Later, at dinner, we saw a couple of Brits chaperoning a group of 7-10 year old rich kids staying in the dorm area and were quite glad we didn’t stay with them. Kids of this age can be a problem on their own, but when they are used to servants, they just aren’t my chosen crowd. During dinner, they played a game of making three statements, 2 true and 1 false and then everyone has to ask questions to decide on the false statement. The first brat made these three statement: 1) I’ve been to Brazil, 2) I’ve been to Russia, and 3) I’ve been to South Africa. I don’t care which one was false. This spoiled brat was complaining about how much travel he had to do and he wasn’t even 10.
We had a choice at dinner of taking the set menu for the bargain price of only 45 Euros each, or just ordering a la carte. We chose to just order a hamburger and beer each to save money. I will remember Switzerland to my dying day–I paid 82 Euros for a hamburger and beer which, in US rates is $100. A hundred bucks for a f’ng hamburger and beer. Fortunately, I had my lighter and wallet at hand.