E2 European Long Distance Path: Comments

After 205 days and 4507 kilometres (2817 miles) over 6 trips, I completed the E2 European Long Distance Path, including an unofficial section from Galway to Stranraer. An average of 21.5 kilometres a day visiting seven countries (Ireland, Great Britain, Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg, France and Switzerland). I spent 102 nights in hotels, guesthouses and Bed & Breakfast establishments, 15 nights inside hostels and refuges, 49 nights in official campsites and 36 nights wild camping. My 6 trips ranged in length from two weeks to two months long.

What did it offer? A huge variety.

In terms of landscapes it ranged from the flat fields of the Fens and Flanders, to the mountains of the Alps; the trees of the Jura to the rounded hills of the Yorkshire Wolds. There were beaches and cliffs in Northern Ireland, a hugely dammed delta in the Netherlands and river valleys in Luxembourg. History added another dimension: from the remnants of two World Wars at the border of France with Germany, to the "Troubles" in Northern Ireland. Then there was the food: vol au vents in Flanders, tartiflette in the French Alps, pub food in North East England beneath blackened beams. Accommodation varied from wild camping on the Southern Uplands of Scotland to pretty Bed & Breakfasts in England and hostels in Luxembourg. You need to walk it to experience a little of Europe's diverse offerings.

More information on the E2 can be found at the European Ramblers Association website, the organisation which coordinates the E-paths.

Links to posts at the start of my walk through each country:

Western Ireland;

Northern Ireland;

Scotland;

England;

Netherlands;

Belgium;

Luxembourg;

France - Alsace Lorraine;

France - Jura mountains (Franche-Comté);

France - Alps.

Link to start of each trip:

Trip 1 Western and Northern Ireland;

Trip 2 Northern Ireland, Scotland and north of England;

Trip 3 England, Netherlands and Flanders;

Trip 4 Ardennes, Luxembourg, Lorraine and the Vosges;

Trip 5 Jura mountains;

Trip 6 GR5 over French Alps.

Alps GR5 / E2: Some Comments

The GR5 across the French Alps is very much an "up and down" route, rather than a ridge route. Every day seems to have an unrelenting climb up to a high mountain pass or "Col", followed by an unremitting descent, hard on the knees. The advantage of all this climbing are the views of snow streaked Alps seen, at least in July, from flower filled Alpine meadows. This is not a wilderness area. Valleys are full of towns and villages, many of which are visited such as Briançon (with its historic fortifications), Les Houches and Modane. Facilities for skiers and mountain bikers mark the landscape in a number of the areas visited.

On each day, as you walk up from a valley bottom, first there may be mixed woodland, but most of the climbing will be through conifer forest. The trees then become patchy before you enter extensive upland pasture with cows and sheep guarded by fierce, white sheepdogs. Above perhaps lakes and marshy meadows rise towering cliffs and rocky peaks. Finally you are climbing over rock and scree to reach the top of the pass, then you begin the long trek down the other side. There are flowers of many different types, some familiar, others unknown. A display of yellows and purples, tall spikes and tiny florets. Most abundant in July and on the northern part of the route, less so in August and the drier, southern section where lavender and grasshoppers mark a more Mediterranean climate.

One of the features of the Alpine part of the GR5 is the number of hikers following it (and trails which intersect it such as the Tour de Mont Blanc). You frequently meet the same people on the trail, at one of the many mountain refuges or in valley bottom campsites. A more social trail than most of the others I have walked where I am often a solitary backpacker among dog walkers, joggers or no-one at all. Most people walking the GR5 seem to divert onto the GR55 for the section before Modane and follow the GR52 from St Dalmas to end at Menton, rather than Nice. Often they will be walking the trail a section at a time, say from Lake Geneva to Chamonix, to fit in with work commitments. Those hiking the trail are far from uniform. You can spot people planning to camp by their large rucksacks, some neatly packed, others with bottles, sleeping mats, flip flops, and drying washing hanging off the sides in a disorderly jumble. Those who have booked places in refuges have smaller packs, confident they have somewhere to sleep each night, with breakfast, dinner and the possibility of a packed lunch. They may well have booked their accommodation months in advance as I found places were often full. Having a tent gives some flexibility. Wild camping is generally not allowed, however bivouacing is. A bivouac is camping between 7 pm and 9 am. Unlike on some of my trips there are people on the trail of a wide range of ages, including family groups and single women. Hikers are not the only tribe enjoying the Alps in summer, there are mountain bikers, trail runners, rock climbers and holiday makers travelling by car enjoying the scenery, short walks and the food.

Food can be heavy on cheese and ham. Every refuge seems to offer a similar daytime menu of omelettes, crêpes and tart au myrtille. Evening meals at refuges usually start with soup and bread, sometimes served with a slice of cheese, then maybe a pasta based main course, and a dessert of fruit pie or faisselle, a cross between soft cheese and yogurt served with a sweet fruit sauce. One can feel short of vegetables and fresh fruit.

The GR5 trail over the Alps is busy in July and August as this is when the high passes are sufficiently free of snow to allow safe passage without crampons and ice axes, although late June or the first half of September may be suitable. July and August also include the French holiday period.

It is a great walk, especially if you like company, but there is a lot of climbing up and down mountains each day. 

Start at Lake Geneva is here.

Nice, end of a journey: E2 Day 205

The final day of my walk down the E2 European Long Distance Path from Galway in Ireland and across France on the GR5.

As my flight home was not until this evening, I had a day in Nice, an opportunity to see the city. My hostel has an international clientele as you might expect, mainly of people younger than me, however the surrounding area was also cosmopolitan. Arabic was spoken as well as French, and ladies in hijabs were frequent, although not as common as younger men and women in more skimpy clothes. First, I visited the Museum of Marc Chagall, the painter. An emigrant from Russia who settled in France, as a Jew he had to flee to the USA during the Second World War. The persecution of Jews and events in the Bible inspired many of his paintings, as did his home town in Russia that he left behind. After visiting a minor basilica I walked down to the Mediterranean Sea, the natural end to my walk from the Atlantic Ocean in Galway, Ireland.

After shopping and eating lunch in the older part of town, I walked along the Promenade des Anglais, in the direction of the airport. I felt I was following in the steps of English visitors in the 19th century, although they were sensible enough to visit in winter when the weather was not so hot. For a few kilometres it follows the pebble beach, on which people were sunbathing and swimming. Many parts of the beach were fenced off as private beaches associated with a hotel or similar. On the other side of the road there were apartment blocks with wrought iron balconies, shutters and an elegance from bygone times. Further from the centre, the apartments opposite the Promenade were just modern buildings such as you could find elsewhere.

The pebbly beach at Nice and the sea, end of my walk down the E2.

An apartment on the Promenade des Anglais, facing the sea.

Two men asked me to take a picture of them with the sea in the background. It transpired that they, like me, had just walked the GR5 from Lake Geneva! One of them recognized the make of my rucksack (an Atom Pack), which suggests a high level of interest in backpacking gear. It was ferociously hot as I walked along, the area was on a heat wave alert, I wondered how anyone could want to sunbath under such conditions. I was only looking for shade (of which the Promenade des Anglais has little) and a cold drink. My route along the seashore was taking me to the airport, the last section around the airport perimeter was especially trying in the heat. Terminal 2 where I was flying from was furthest from Nice. As with most airports it was a little difficult to get inside as a pedestrian, but I did with plenty of time to spare.

While sitting in the terminal building waiting until I could check in, I realised that that despite all the rocks, climbs and walking, my left knee was in unexpectedly good condition. Despite some fluid build-up, difficulty bending fully at times and squirts of pain when my foot hit a rock at an awkward angle, overall it had been able to complete the ups and downs of this mountainous trail. Three rest days and a few shorter days undoubtedly helped, I was definitely lagging other people, but it is not a competition. It left the choice of the next trip wide open....

Levens to Nice: E2 Day 204

Today I reached Nice, tomorrow I will walk down to the Promenade des Anglais, the Mediterranean Sea and the end of my walk down the E2 and GR5.

My trousers and tee shirt were a still damp from when I washed them late last night, but at least they were not sticky with sweat. They did not stay sweat free. First there was a pleasant stretch through an urban landscape.

Recreational area in Levens.

By a recreational area people gathered with their dogs for a chat during the morning dog walk. Then the first climb. Up through stunted trees of oak and pine with limited shade over a hill of dry vegetation. My first milestone was Aspremont, a town where I stopped for an Orangina and chocolate ice cream. Refreshed I began my second big climb of the day. I questioned why those behind the GR5 had decided to send it up all these hills, but realised that the valleys were built up and their roads frequently left no room for pedestrians. The path was exposed and temperatures were in the mid thirties, I had lost the cooler air of the higher Alpine altitudes. Drops of sweat slid down my face. I frequently had to dab my face with my now damp handkerchief to stop the sweat stinging my eyes, rendering me temporarily blind. Rocks and small outcrops made the path slow to navigate without tripping. Years of footfall had polished the surface of the stones. I was now walking among scrub with bushes of broom. A few violet flowers (called cupid's dart) and some blue thistles caught my eye among the dusty vegetation. 

Nice was visible ahead of me and beyond a hazy grey sea with slashes of white from the wake of fast boats. 

As I had been warned, the walk through Nice and its northern suburbs was not attractive, busy roads rather than urban parks. I stopped at a restaurant for lunch, enjoying the shade of their awning, then began the final hour of walking. The red and white GR waymarks seem to end at the Place du Général de Gaulle. I walked onto my Hostel for the night, ridiculously expensive as is all accommodation in Nice it seems. A young man sharing my room seemed surprised that such an old man as myself had walked from Lake Geneva. I told him it was down to motivation.

End of GR5.

St Dalmas to Levens: E2 Day 203

Today, changing scenery, a ridge walk and a mistake on dates leads to a late arrival at a hotel.

At the village boulangerie after coffee and pain au raisin, I waved a final goodbye to the Swiss couple I had been trailing for the last few days (unlike me they would now be heading for Menton rather than Nice). Then I began the steep climb out of the village. Running through a forest of pine, spruce and larch I gained 450 metres in the first hour and many more in the second. The path crested at a saddle in the mountains, but instead of heading down, continued on up towards higher grassy peaks. Unfortunately the path soon had a "Path Closed" sign, apparently landslides a few years ago after heavy rain had taken the trail away. Myself and a lady with a dog were debating what to do next, when a fit trail runner came up and said there was a marked deviation. He said to follow him, and although he was only walking, the steep uphill slope meant I was at my limits to keep up. Fortunately his companion was also struggling, stopping frequently, which covered up my lagging behind. The lady with the dog was soon far behind us. Fortunately the redirected path was marked out with posts, easy to spot once you had turned left and walked a few paces from the point where the closure notice stood.

Following a trail runner up a GR5 diversion (note post with waymark on right).

Once we reached a summit, we stopped and admired the view back to St Dalmas and the bare topped mountains to the north. I also noticed a solar farm and realised I had not seen such things or wind turbines on my walk from Lake Geneva, maybe due to all the National Parks I had walked through. I left the helpful (if fast) trail runner and began a long walk beside a ridge. This was different than previous days when the route led up to a high pass then went down the other side. Instead the path followed a long ridge, either on one side or the other. Initially running on a grass slope, the path entered an area where rock covered much of the ground, in the remainder lavender bushes bloomed, bee heaven. Inevitably the trail then lost height rapidly, the earth and gravel of the path slippery beneath my feet. It repeatedly crossed a vehicle track that took a zigzag route down through woodland to arrive at Grange de Brasque. This seemed to be a collection of old farm buildings, a derelict church and some holiday cabins. No cafes.

Then a lengthy stretch through forest, starting on a minor road and then on a rough but clear track. Surrounding hills were now clothed in trees, very different from the snow streaked, mountains of rock typical of the Alps. The path continued for some time and I kept passing then re-passing a couple. Whenever one of us stopped, the other would overtake a few minutes later. The man spoke English.

Suddenly the nature of the trail changed. Faced with a mountain of rock, the path took a tortuous route up through the outcrops. I wondered where it was taking us, especially as rockfalls had compromised parts of the trail. After winding around, up and down, the path settled into a route beside cliffs, generally at the same height. An old path, it was cut into the rock and had been built up in places with stone blocks. Where these had fallen down, a modern steel bridge had been installed over the void. A sign warned of rock falls.

Eventually the hilltop village of Utelle came into view, where I had booked accommodation. Red roofed, it looked very Provençal. As I struggled down the last, long descent, my legs aching, I was looking forward to a shower, a cold beer and washing my clothes, which were stiff and sticky with sweat, as well as being dirty. So I was desolate when I discovered, whether because I was befuddled by an unusual online booking system or due to my increasing senility, that I had booked a room for October, two months time! Needless to say they had no rooms available.

First sighting of Utelle.

While thinking what to do next I refilled my water bottle at a tap in the village square and headed off down the next section of path. I had two alternatives: wild camp or walk to a hotel for which booking.com advertised vacancies, 3 1/2 hours away in Levens. That was 3 1/2 hours if you had not already been walking for 9 hours. Debating what to do as I walked along I realised that I was getting through my water fast in the dry, late afternoon heat. I would need more if I was to camp out. The path was beautiful in the low evening sun, much of it built into the side of a cliff, high up the steep, wooded valley side. A limestone cliff, which might explain why all the streams were dry, rain water sinking through the porous strata. Cicadas were making a din, creating a noisy Mediterranean ambiance. I passed the couple I had seen earlier. They were in an area where the ground had once been terraced for farming. Finding a convenient flat spot they decided to pitch their tent and camp. Its only downside was that one of the local, large white sheepdogs was sitting looking at them. The dog followed me for a few steps which pleased the couple, but unfortunately for them, decided I was not going to be as much fun and returned to his post. At least, as I said to them, he seemed friendly as he was not biting them.

Path cut into the cliff.

Beauty of the evening light, Levens in far distance.

A kilometre on there was a chapel dedicated to St Antoine, its door unlocked. The couple had been told it might make a good refuge for the night, but I was still without adequate water. I knew the path would cross a river soon, and as it lost height I thought there would be water at the "spring line", where the water table in the porous rock hits the valley side. This might have occurred by some houses, but an array of plastic pipes suggested all the spring water had been captured for their use. I would have asked someone, but no-one was around except for several furry cats glaring at me, and a barking dog. Reaching the bridge over the milky white river, I estimated I could make the hotel at Levens at just after 9 pm if I hurried, which gave a suitable safety margin with the reception closing at 10 pm. So I booked the room online on my phone, making sure I had the right month. I then faced a long, steep climb as Levens is spread along a shoulder of land high above the valley base. In theory, I was tired given the hours I had been walking. However, as I had been told by someone who covered large distances in "Challenge Events", it is all psychological. Faced with the thought of a cold beer and a shower, I raced up the hill at a steady plod. I took a short cut to the road into the village to save time. As so often with short cuts there was a problem. High fences and closed gates prevented me joining the road. Doubtless I was not the first faced with this obstacle as I found a hole in the bottom of the fence just big enough for me to squeeze through after pushing my rucksack through first.

My first beer, drunk before I had even seen my room, was heaven. I ordered my second while still on the phone to my wife. I felt I could unreservedly recommend the hotel before I had even been inside!

Refuge de Longon to St Dalmas: E2 Day 202

A day dropping down to lower, and warmer altitudes. 

Morning sky looking like rain.

Looking out of the refuge this morning it looked like rain, indeed rain was probably falling nearby judging by the clouds, but fortunately it missed me this morning. The Refuge de Longon lies in a broad area of pasture between mountains, there was a steep and rocky path up to it yesterday and today there was a steep and rocky path down out of it. As well as serving those walking the GR5, the refuge was an Alpinage, with cows and cheese production. I wondered how they managed to get food in and their produce out.

After a rapidly loosing a few hundred metres the path levelled out into a walk along a forest track through larch trees. Unlike in higher altitudes, where the valleys have smooth curves carved by ice, I now entered a region of steep sided valleys with sharp angles, the streams and rivers having cut deeply into the land. The weakness of the red shale I was passing may have aided the effects of erosion by falling water. In the haze more distant slopes were bleached by the brilliant sun.

Steep sided, forested valleys.

On a shoulder of land there were the remains of old buildings, a few were still intact, one with a barbecue outside suggesting they were now used as places to visit on weekends and holidays. Roure was an impressive village, its stone houses stacked on the steep mountainside. Water gushed through channels between houses. The GR5, on a metalled path, ran through and around the buildings as it rapidly lost height. A collection of metal cogs within a framework of metal marked the remains of a cable system which once pulled loads up from the valley below. Electric lines hung in a lazy curve across the valley to my right, hung off pylons high in the mountains. I continued this rapid loss of elevation as the path swept one way and another down the steep valley side. Fortunately the gradient of the path was not too great thanks to its multiple changes of direction, and my knees were not put under too much stress. Below I could see St Sauveur sur Tinée, beside the river at the valley base, its cluster of red roofed buildings ever so slowly becoming larger as I descended towards it.

Village of Roure.

At St Sauveur I indulged in a Coke, banana and slice of pizza from the Proxi mini-market, then began the long climb out of the deeply cut valley. In doing so I passed a chapel, sadly locked like so many, preventing prayers by the faithful, and although there were windows, it was too dark to see much inside. I gained height up to reach the village of Rimplas, where I topped up my water bottle at the lavoir, below an "Eau Portable" sign. In the heat I had been drinking heavily. To my horror the path then went downhill, worrying as I could see the next village ahead on higher ground. I knew there would be another uphill section coming up. I distracted myself by looking at the vegetation. There were low trees of oak, sweet chestnut, birch, field maple, juniper and locust tree (which I had last seen in Hungary). Beneath the trees there were brambles, the berries still small and green, and sloe. Vegetation more typical of drier lower altitudes than the conifer forests I had been walking through. After dropping to a stone bridge the path climbed up to settlements around La Bolline. It rained, thunder growled overhead, and I sweated in my anorak. By the time I reached my destination of St Dalmas, the rain had stopped.

At St Dalmas I had a dilemma, there were two campsites, I wasted energy visiting both, eventually returning to the first one, Camping de la Ferme, on account of its toilets. After pitching, showering, phoning home and booking future accommodation, I walked through the old part of St Dalmas, navigating narrow streets lined with stone houses, under arches and through tunnels. Then I ate a pizza finishing with a "génépi", a local digestif that I wanted to try before my trip ended. Although said to be an acquired taste, I liked it straight away. The tip I left had something to do with an English speaking couple at the restaurant who were unable to pay their bill. Like so many places on this trip the establishment did not take cards. The couple promised to pay next morning.

Roya to Refuge de Longon: E2 Day 201

A day high in the mountains.

Leaving the blue shuttered Gîte de Roya behind, somewhat regretfully, the path slipped by the church, dropping down to cross a stream on a wooden bridge, and began a climb up through the forest. Following a stream, it gained height and entered a narrow valley bounded by low cliffs. The path was rocky but my knee did not complain. In time, trees were replaced by grass as the ground levelled out. I entered a green valley. Marmots whistled around me. Ahead, high above me, was a semi circle, a cove of limestone cliffs. Although tempting to think them the main pass, I knew it was too soon.

My route swung to the left of the cliffs as it clawed itself above them. Beyond was another green valley, and beyond that grey mountain slopes rose to the sky. In the bottom of the broad valley, tiny against the vast scale of the landscape, was an old fashioned bell tent. Nearby, in a temporary field created by electric fencing, was a donkey, presumably the one who brought the tent up. It looked up at me as if to say "What now"?

Tent in a grassy basin below the Col de Crousette.

Inevitably more climbing was needed to reach a pass, the Col de Crousette. Rather than the usual steep descent beyond this pass, the trail turned left, a thin thread heading upward over stony slopes. Its target was a "stèle", a stump of a column, a memorial to some long forgotten soldier, the black letters falling out. The surrounding stones harbored little grass and no flowers. Even as I dropped down to greener levels, the flowers that brought me so much joy earlier in my trip had now gone to seed. In this dry land, only an occasional thistle was in flower, and patches of lavender by sheltered paths, which provided bees with nectar. Curious towers of, according to my guidebook, dolomitic limestone, sprouted from stony scree.

A memorial to a soldier.

Having been loosing height for some kilometres there was an inevitable struggle uphill through loose rock and cliffs forming the "Portes de Longon". Only(!) 200 metres a passing hiker told me. Wooden sleepers created steps to assist hikers like me, behind which loose limestone scree had collected. At the top a green valley opened out, and a more gentle path led me over cow pasture to the Refuge de Longon. There I was greeted by the Swiss people I met the previous night at the Gîte de Roya. I ordered an Orangina and Tarte Tatin to refresh myself. Despite it being a small refuge the sanitary arrangements were excellent with a number of clean, modern WCs and showers.

I was fortunate I arrived when I did, as my arrival was followed by a hailstorm accompanied by thunder. The hailstones were large. Three of the white sheepdogs attached to the refuge sheltered under a picnic table. Although the storm had cooled the air, once the precipitation had stopped, we were able to gather outside for a welcome drink. An alcoholic concoction that I did not establish the constituents of. At dinner I sat with my Swiss companions of the previous night, although now the preliminaries were out of the way (i.e. were you walking the GR5, where are you headed tonight etc.) it was difficult to maintain a conversation. I find it difficult anyway, and my lack of French and their difficulties with English did not help. I worried that one of them was excessively thin, and being a vegetarian did not help as dinner was chicken on the bone with rice.

St Étienne de Tinée to Roya: E2 Day 200

A short day with two mountain passes and a visit to the tourist town of Auron.

My walk began with a pleasant saunter through St Étienne's back streets then down the valley on the old road to Nice. A sign beside the road, indicating that cars should give cyclists plenty of room, stated "La Metropole Nice, Côte d'Azur, Aime les Cyclistes". Such references to Nice, my final destination, made me realise my trip was nearing an end. But first there was a steep climb through larch forest, leaving the fields of the valley behind. Eventually I reached a pass, the Col d'Anelle, after which there was the inevitable descent to the town of Auron. 

Auron consisted of modern buildings and owes its existence to skiing. A series of posters displayed near the centre, showed photos of skiers dating back to the 1930’s. Being August there was no snow, instead the ski lift was taking mountain bikes and their owners to the top of the mountain so they could race down. With helmets and dressed in clothes armoured with rubber pads at key points to provide protection, the cyclists were prepared should they come off their bikes at high speed on the steep track down through the forest. Auron had a selection of cafes, shops and restaurants at its heart, which were keeping busy despite it being summer.

Auron with chair lift in foreground.

On the long climb up the forested slope out of Auron, I met many people coming down, possibly also having taken advantage of the chair lift. Beyond the high point of the Col du Blainon I saw no-one as I walked across grass covered slopes high above a deep valley. Pools of lavender proliferated and the grass was turning yellow in the August heat. Once the area would have been populated with farmers. Stones were in piles having been cleared from fields, and the slopes terraced to create workable land, but now the farm buildings were either in ruins, the wood of their roofs collapsing inward, or they were shut up but apparently unused. Above the tumbledown walls of a chapel, only a few skeletal rafters of the roof remained, but the small tower still had a bell.

Old terraced farmland on next shoulder of land, the grass yellowing in the August heat.

The path then dropped down into the valley where the little hamlet of Roya stands beneath cliffs. I was early. The gîte would not open for two hours. After trying the church and finding it locked I sat down beside where boules is played, wrote up my blog and read my kindle. On getting into the gîte I was directed into a dormitory where I found a woman in her underwear. I thought I had better check to ensure I had the correct room. I had, the dormitories are of course mixed. I felt like a prudish Englishman faced with a more natural continental approach. At dinner I discovered the lady and her partner were from Switzerland, as was another lady at my table. We were all walking the GR5.

Bousieyas to St Étiene-de-Tinée: E2 Day 199

A couple of mountain passes, a dog encounter, lavender and a village festival.

View back to Bousieyas.

After a breakfast of bread, jam, coffee, orange juice and cold crêpes, I left the convivial refuge saying my "au revoirs" to those with whom I had sat with at dinner and the hospitable lady in charge. Although there was the inevitable climb, the track was good and as Bousieyas was quite high at 1883 metres, reaching the first pass (Col de la Colombière) at 2237 metres was not too difficult. The main obstacle was a pack of three, white sheep dogs. I guess they were defending sheep somewhere nearby in the forest. At first they did not look too threatening, despite the spikes on the collar of the dog I took to be the leader of the pack. I continued along the track slowly, avoiding eye contact, but the dog of the spiked collar came for a closer look. The signs say to stand still, so I did. He then nipped my thigh through my trousers. Unnecessary I thought and moved slowly forward, with the aim of leaving their territory. I did not fancy my chances in an argument between myself and three big dogs. A hundred metres or so further on a couple of walkers were coming down the trail. He sniffed them but that was all. The distraction stopped him following me and after a little while I pulled down my trousers to confirm he had not drawn blood. Why had he nipped me and not the other couple? Maybe because I was wearing trousers and they were in shorts? Did he wonder what trousers tasted like? What if all the signs telling you what to do if you met a sheepdog were there because many people were being injured? As wolves have recolonised the French Alps it is perhaps inevitable that fierce dogs are used to defend the free roaming herds of sheep, although I would prefer that the sheep and their dogs were kept behind the temporary electric fences they often stretch out over the mountainside.

Mountainside path.

My first wild lavender.

After the pass it was generally downhill on a gravelly track to St Dalmas le Selvage. On this southerly slope the grass grew long and beside the path wild lavender was growing. A sign I was approaching the Mediterranean (and the end of my walk). In St Dalmas le Selvage itself I stopped for a Coke and brownie with ice cream at a restaurant among the old buildings. Shortly after three of the hikers I had been passing on the trail for the last three days sat on a table near me. My French was insufficient to converse with them and they had no English, however we waved. After St Dalmas it was another uphill pull to the Col d'Anelle. After this pass the path contoured for a while before a steep descent into St Etienne de Tinée.

Splitting two long days in my guidebook into three, I have pitched my tent at St Étienne's campsite. It overlooks a pool where families were enjoying a sunny Sunday to sunbath and splash about in the water. Nearby was a short walk beside the river to where a stream was depositing calcareous tufa on pendulous lobes hanging down from above, over a river below. I strolled into the town's centre through narrow streets lined with tall, old houses with shuttered windows, very French. I liked its slightly shabby elegance, passing people sitting on their doorsteps, having a quiet smoke. Not a tourist town, although one that welcomed visitors. In the central square there was a small band playing in a marquee. I bought a beer from a temporary stall. The barman told me it was an festival held by the town every year, a festival for St Étienne de Tinée. I listened to the singer as I drank, and then the accordion player played "Roll out the Barrel". From the notices on the church it seems I missed the "Procession of the Penitents" earlier in the day, and that I would miss the raffle for a sheep next Sunday.

St Étienne de Tinée.

Larche to Bousieyas: E2 Day 198

A sunny August day in the Alps, with one more pass than I expected.

Although the days are warm to hot, mornings and evenings can be cool, so wrapped in my jacket I bought a coffee at the campsite bar to go with the croissants that I had pre-ordered. First in the queue at 7 am, the campsite soon came to life. Sanitary facilities are how you judge campsites, this one had plenty of clean, modern, free showers but very few, older WCs. I was forced to sit on a low one, intended for children, with "smilies" on the walls around me, and I had to provide my own toilet paper.

My day's adventure started with an easy walk along the valley, mainly on a minor road among trees but with an excursion on a path along a grass slope. The road ended at a car park, and from there a stream of Saturday walkers set off up the adjacent valley. Initially the path was good, a child pointed out the marmots living in the grass covering the valley floor. At first the path was only gently rising, but then it started climbing more aggressively and after a bit of effort I reached the first lake, Lac du Lauzanier. Many of the day walkers dropped out here, the grass areas surrounding it would be great for a picnic, with views of high mountains all around.

Good path from a car park.

Lac du Lauzanier, a destination for day trippers.

The flowers that were so attractive in July have now died back, although there are still enough to gladden the heart of a "randonneur". The yellow flowers of Ladies Bedstraw, were doing well in places. A rougher path among rocks and more climbing led to a higher cluster of lakes. Ahead of, and well above me, was the main pass of the day, "Pas de la Cavale". After much more climbing the route traversed a wide arc of scree to reach the pass, but the descent was more severe. Later when I looked back towards the pass I found it hard to see the route I had taken. The steeply dropping path was at first through rocks, that from a distance looked like a cliff face. Below this outcrop there was more scree to negotiate. With my trekking poles I stabbed the sliding gravel and rubble ahead of me to gain some purchase. My left knee gave the odd squeal of pain when my foot slid into an awkward position on the rough rocks.

Steep route down from the Pas de la Cavale.

The path eased off in an area of wide, grass lined pits. A sign explained they had been formed when the gypsum in the strata had dissolved in the rain. I had thought the path would now descent into Bousieyas, but I had somehow missed that there was another pass. What seemed like a long climb to my tired legs took me to the Col des Fourches. Concrete bunkers greeted me, their gun ports facing me, as I crested the pass. Beyond I walked into the remains of an old army camp, built in the 1890's, the buildings largely intact but the roofs missing. The road beside it twisted and turned as it ran up the mountainside. Noisy motorcycles raced up and down, a couple with cameras on their helmets to record their experience of acing up and down mountain roads. Cars and campervans proceeded at a more sedate pace, especially at the tight turns. Bicycles went uphill slowly and downhill as fast as the cars in front of them allowed.

Having walked down into the valley, crossing the winding road many times, I have reached the Gîte communal de Bousieyas. Sleeping arrangements are on platforms, in three layers. I picked one at the end on the second storey so I will only have someone on one side. The guardian tells me it will be almost out full. I am hoping I do not have to visit the toilet tonight.

Maljasset to Larche: E2 Day 197

A long day crossing two Cols and passing military fortifications from 1940.

Thankfully my tent was not disturbed while I went for dinner last night. I was seated with a French group of five (a little chalkboard on each table tells you where to sit at these refuges). After exchanging where we were going with one who spoke English, he asked which was the best part of the GR5 that I had walked to date. I replied it was all beautiful, although everyday was similar. You climb up through forest to Alpine meadows and a pass, then you descend the other side. That was not the answer he was looking for, although his partner seemed to agree with me. After breakfast and the use of the refuge's clean, modern toilets, my walk began with a pleasant trip down the valley, sometimes on the road, often beside the river which raced down the mountain. I happened across two chapels on my route in settlements of old buildings, one dedicated to Our Lady of the Snows, and the other to St Antonine.

Morning view.

The GR5 left the valley on a road which crossed a very deep gorge. A stone, arched bridge crossed the small gap between two rock faces, above the river a long way below. There was then a short tunnel. After that the GR5 left the road for a steep climb through woodland to the village of Fouillouse. Here there was a grocers which served me a Coke and ice cream, very welcome in the heat. I also bought two apples to make a little progress towards my five a day.

Cafe and grocers in Fouillouse.

Beyond the village I continued on the path, always heading upward, leaving the trees behind to reach the first pass or Col. Although there were only a few people on the trail today, we kept passing each other as either I stopped or they stopped for some reason. This was an area of action on 1940, when the French were defending their country from the Italians. I passed a Maginot style bunker bristling with turrets, and before the second pass a more substantial building. The ruin had an eerie, Beau Geste feel. Entering the gates between what may once have been gun ports I had a brief glance around the empty square, lined with largely ruined rooms, then left. As I followed the path up the back wall of the hanging valley, I looked down on the fort from above and saw a man in grey emerge from one of the ruined rooms. 

Baraquements de Viraysse, army barracks built in 1889 and occupied until 1940.

Above the pass, on a mountain top, there were the ruins of another fort, although I was not going to spend the effort to visit it. Near the end of my walk, there were French and EU flags at one of the advanced posts of the French defence from 1940. The descent from the second pass, the Col de Mallemort, required the GR5 to drop some 900 metres in just a few kilometres. To do so the path writhed down the crumbly mountainside in a succession of loops down steep drops. Footing could be difficult on the gravelly surface. Larche was visible for much of the descent, tantalizing close, yet a long way down. On eventually arriving at the village I took a more gentle road down to the campsite. Too late to order an evening meal I settled for a cheese baguette and my second ice cream of the day.

The winding path down from the Col de Mallemort.

Ceillac to Maljasset: E2 Day 196

Steep climbs by two lakes to a high pass followed by steep descents on crumbly ground.

I returned to Ceillac for a coffee and croissant for breakfast from the boulangerie. The two customers and the shop owner all gave me numerous instructions in French on how to work the coffee machine. I enjoyed it outside as house martins flew above me between slightly ramshackle buildings, the wooden ones higher up the village were definitely showing their age. Stall holders were just setting up for market day with fresh fruit and cheeses.

A rare unicorn.

Leaving the campsite, at first I followed a path through woodland beside which there were wooden statues of witches, fairies, mythical animals and pencils. Turning away from the valley I began a steep, sustained climb up into the mountains through conifer forest. Soon drops of sweat were rolling down my face with the effort, even though the sun had yet to reach this part of the valley. My handkerchief was wet as I tried to mop away the sweat before it entered my eyes, stinging them. A stream, splashing over rocks with white foam as it rapidly dropped down the mountain produced a little cooling spray.

Today's morning climb...

...to a high, hanging valley....

...with a lake, Lac Miroir.

In time the path levelled out among meadows and trees and I reached Lac Miroir, where people had stopped to admire the reflections in the water. After more uphill walking, past silent ski lifts I left the trees behind entering a disordered landscape of grass knolls and rocks, below grey scree and high cliffs. Ahead of me was a small chapel dedicated to St Anne. This looked down on Lac Ste Anne. Unlike the previous lake this had a milky blueness, produced by fine rock flour from the eroding cliffs above. After another hill I was able to see Col Girardin, one of the higher points on the GR5 at 2706 metres. To get there, I faced a wall of loose stone and rock. Approaching it I spotted pink saxifrage, tiny patches of flowers typical of these high stony spaces, but as I climbed higher there was just loose stone across which the path moved one way then the other as it crawled to the top. On the way up, one of those who passed me was a Frenchman who commented that we both had the same make of rucksack, an Atom Pack, lightweight equipment made in England’s Lake District. I later noticed we both had the same make and model of trekking poles, lightweight Black Diamond sticks (called bâtons in French).

Final climb to Col Girardin.

I admired the wide panorama at the top of the pass of distant mountains, rocky peaks and blue sky with collecting clouds, before starting the equally steep descent on a path with so many turns it looked like a concertina. This side of the pass favoured flowers of blue, Alpine campanula, which seemed to lack much stem or leaf. The path levelled out in a hanging valley at the end of which I turned off the GR5 onto the path to Maljasset, a collection of ancient houses where I planned to bivouac at the refuge. This involved another steep descent on loose stone. At times it was difficult to determine where the trail was meant to go although waymarks of yellow bars helped a little. At the refuge the guardian said to camp by the river below the church, a few hundred metres away. A little inconvenient as I have booked dinner and breakfast at the refuge. I visited the church, a cool serene, place to sit in on a hot day, with piped music appropriate to the setting. Finding a good spot under trees by the river I pitched my tent, and hoped it would not be disturbed while I went for dinner.