Sabbatical - 8/16 - Cheese, then Into Italy
The morning after the longest, wettest, coldest day of the Tour looked pretty much as cold and wet as it had been the day before. We had breakfast and took a van up to the start of the trail. First though, we had to visit a cheese creamery. Well, ok then, twist my arm!
The cheese in question is Beaufort, which is a cow's milk cheese vaguely like gruyère and is often used for fondue in its native Savoie. By law, true Beaufort can only be made in a very specific geographic region. It has a lovely pungent odor and probably cannot be found in the United States because it is not pasteurized and therefore runs afoul of our ridiculous import laws (thank you so much Wisconsin).
The creamery itself was scrupulously clean and very small. It would have fit in my living room. After some minimal processing the milk is poured into wooden frames. Once it hardens it is moved to an aging room for several months. The aging room appeared to be a dank cellar that smelled of cheese for all the right reasons. In it there were wheels of cheese stacked up on narrow shelves. Each wheel was either 60 pounds or 60 kilos; my notes alas do not clarify the situation. Either way, they were quite substantial.
Every step of the operation has to fall within certain parameters or the cheese cannot be labeled as Beaufort. This includes where the cows graze; too low or too much fodder from outside the area and the terroir is assumed to have changed enough to alter the cheese beyond specifications.
After this slightly stinky but entertaining start too our day, we began hiking. As with the day before, there was plenty of mule shit, as well as extensive sheep shit, especially as we passed another, much larger flock. We also saw some marmots from a distance; no word on whether their shit was on the trail as well. When you threw in the mud from the trail and the light misting rain, it wasn't the most stable of footing as we headed up toward the pass.
Eventually we made it to the pass, which marked the border between France and Italy. We stopped for lunch at La Casermetta refuge just over the border. Thankfully, as ate on the porch, the weather started to improve and off in the distance we could see some blue sky. The rain even stopped misting altogether. We headed downhill into Italy.
As you'll no doubt recall, Italy and France were on opposite sides of WWII. On this side of the mountain we passed a number of French fortifications that had been built to guard the pass before France surrendered in 1940. 75 years later, they were mostly bare piles of rock. Going up the mountain without cover to assault them would have been unpleasant, which may be why relatively little combat happened on this border. Or it might be that the people in these areas have gone back and forth through the mountains without regard to national boundaries for years; our destination that night in Italy, Courmayeur actually teaches Italian as a second language in elementary school as most people speak French at home.
Our guides took us off trail for a while to wander up to visit some cows. Most of the people in my group were clearly not from rural areas, as they were all very, very excited about seeing the cows. The only real difference between them and American cows that I noticed was the gigantic bells they wore, which were apparently useful in finding the cows when they were in the fog of the high mountains (and could certainly be heard from very far away), but everyone else spent a lot of time getting pictures and even petting them. This was fine by me. I was moving pretty slowly and had actually started taking Aleve in small doses that day to make sure my knee wouldn't rebel, so their cow-based delays let me keep up, and equally important let me spend plenty of time watching where I put my feet!
Our next destination was the Rifugio Elisabetta. My foot started to seriously hurt not 5 minutes from Elisabetta, and sure enough when I got there I had a brand new blister on my left foot between my big and second toes. While everyone else enjoyed hot chocolate or espresso I taped up my foot. There was still more than enough time to check out the gorgeous view of the glacier and waterfall that were visible from the porch of the Elisabetta. Even better, around this time the sun came out!
On a side note, I did not encounter anybody in Europe who thought global warming was a fake. Our two guides had been in the business for 30+ years apiece, and could vividly remember when there was no waterfall because the glacier descended all the way down the mountain to the river. They had a number of other examples, and told us that they fully expected to live long enough to see some of the glaciers disappear altogether.
In any event, with my blister treated and the group fortified with hot caffeine and sunlight, we headed down the mountain. From here the path and the view got steadily better. As the trail wound around the river and the small lakes at the bottom of the valley it went from being a muddy trail to a gravel trail to a gravel road to a paved road. At the end we actually ran into a parking lot. This being a Sunday, we saw a great many people doing day hikes from Italy up to Elisabetta and back. Ultimately, we met our van and took it into Courmayeur, except for a few people who didn't want to wait for the van to make a second trip and who took the bus instead.
One hot shower later, I was eating gelato in Italy. Courmayeur, like Chamonix, is a tourist town based around hiking and skiing, so there were plenty of shops selling overpriced trinkets to check out. This being Italy, there were also a number of shops selling very expensive clothing, and not hiking gear either by high fashion. After a brief jaunt through town I and my fellow hiker David J got dinner at Le Terrazza, where we enjoyed venison, polenta and lemoncello shots. Then I passed out, although I admit that was tempted by bar that advertised that "it was the lowest rated bar in Italy according to Trip Advisor!"
Photos twenty-two through end of this set are from the portion of August 16 spent in France, including the cheese making operation.
Photos one through seventeen of this set are from the portion of August 16 spent in Italy.
The cheese in question is Beaufort, which is a cow's milk cheese vaguely like gruyère and is often used for fondue in its native Savoie. By law, true Beaufort can only be made in a very specific geographic region. It has a lovely pungent odor and probably cannot be found in the United States because it is not pasteurized and therefore runs afoul of our ridiculous import laws (thank you so much Wisconsin).
The creamery itself was scrupulously clean and very small. It would have fit in my living room. After some minimal processing the milk is poured into wooden frames. Once it hardens it is moved to an aging room for several months. The aging room appeared to be a dank cellar that smelled of cheese for all the right reasons. In it there were wheels of cheese stacked up on narrow shelves. Each wheel was either 60 pounds or 60 kilos; my notes alas do not clarify the situation. Either way, they were quite substantial.
Every step of the operation has to fall within certain parameters or the cheese cannot be labeled as Beaufort. This includes where the cows graze; too low or too much fodder from outside the area and the terroir is assumed to have changed enough to alter the cheese beyond specifications.
After this slightly stinky but entertaining start too our day, we began hiking. As with the day before, there was plenty of mule shit, as well as extensive sheep shit, especially as we passed another, much larger flock. We also saw some marmots from a distance; no word on whether their shit was on the trail as well. When you threw in the mud from the trail and the light misting rain, it wasn't the most stable of footing as we headed up toward the pass.
Eventually we made it to the pass, which marked the border between France and Italy. We stopped for lunch at La Casermetta refuge just over the border. Thankfully, as ate on the porch, the weather started to improve and off in the distance we could see some blue sky. The rain even stopped misting altogether. We headed downhill into Italy.
As you'll no doubt recall, Italy and France were on opposite sides of WWII. On this side of the mountain we passed a number of French fortifications that had been built to guard the pass before France surrendered in 1940. 75 years later, they were mostly bare piles of rock. Going up the mountain without cover to assault them would have been unpleasant, which may be why relatively little combat happened on this border. Or it might be that the people in these areas have gone back and forth through the mountains without regard to national boundaries for years; our destination that night in Italy, Courmayeur actually teaches Italian as a second language in elementary school as most people speak French at home.
Our guides took us off trail for a while to wander up to visit some cows. Most of the people in my group were clearly not from rural areas, as they were all very, very excited about seeing the cows. The only real difference between them and American cows that I noticed was the gigantic bells they wore, which were apparently useful in finding the cows when they were in the fog of the high mountains (and could certainly be heard from very far away), but everyone else spent a lot of time getting pictures and even petting them. This was fine by me. I was moving pretty slowly and had actually started taking Aleve in small doses that day to make sure my knee wouldn't rebel, so their cow-based delays let me keep up, and equally important let me spend plenty of time watching where I put my feet!
Our next destination was the Rifugio Elisabetta. My foot started to seriously hurt not 5 minutes from Elisabetta, and sure enough when I got there I had a brand new blister on my left foot between my big and second toes. While everyone else enjoyed hot chocolate or espresso I taped up my foot. There was still more than enough time to check out the gorgeous view of the glacier and waterfall that were visible from the porch of the Elisabetta. Even better, around this time the sun came out!
On a side note, I did not encounter anybody in Europe who thought global warming was a fake. Our two guides had been in the business for 30+ years apiece, and could vividly remember when there was no waterfall because the glacier descended all the way down the mountain to the river. They had a number of other examples, and told us that they fully expected to live long enough to see some of the glaciers disappear altogether.
In any event, with my blister treated and the group fortified with hot caffeine and sunlight, we headed down the mountain. From here the path and the view got steadily better. As the trail wound around the river and the small lakes at the bottom of the valley it went from being a muddy trail to a gravel trail to a gravel road to a paved road. At the end we actually ran into a parking lot. This being a Sunday, we saw a great many people doing day hikes from Italy up to Elisabetta and back. Ultimately, we met our van and took it into Courmayeur, except for a few people who didn't want to wait for the van to make a second trip and who took the bus instead.
One hot shower later, I was eating gelato in Italy. Courmayeur, like Chamonix, is a tourist town based around hiking and skiing, so there were plenty of shops selling overpriced trinkets to check out. This being Italy, there were also a number of shops selling very expensive clothing, and not hiking gear either by high fashion. After a brief jaunt through town I and my fellow hiker David J got dinner at Le Terrazza, where we enjoyed venison, polenta and lemoncello shots. Then I passed out, although I admit that was tempted by bar that advertised that "it was the lowest rated bar in Italy according to Trip Advisor!"
Photos twenty-two through end of this set are from the portion of August 16 spent in France, including the cheese making operation.
Photos one through seventeen of this set are from the portion of August 16 spent in Italy.