Europe 2010, Part 4, or My Husband Really is Trying to Kill Me

I woke up with a rash. Not exactly an auspicious way to start our first day of hiking. Unfortunately, this was not a unique experience for me while traveling. Once when I was in Israel I wound up with a head-to-toe itchy, hivey rash from eating one too many eggs over the course of many days, forcing me and my travel companion to spend a good portion of our Sunday morning hunting down a pharmacy in Jerusalem that (1) was open, and (2) had proprietors that could speak English so we could get the proper medicine to treat the rash. Good times!

I was not happy about this new rash for a few reasons. (1) It was red, blotchy, and somewhat itchy; (2) we had a relatively early train to catch if we wanted to be able to complete our first hike of our trip, so there was no time to hunt down pharmacies and/or doctors; and (3) a tube of cortisone hadn't made it into any of the first-aid items we had packed (but we did have a compass!). The good news was that it was only on my left arm, from shoulder to wrist. Since it wasn't too uncomfortable and we were under time constraints (did I mention we had a train to catch?), we decided to ignore it unless it got worse and/or spread.

Having spent a little too much time worrying about my mysterious rash, we left for the train station a bit later than we had planned. Our original thought had been that we would stop at a boulangerie and pick up a pastry for breakfast to eat on the train. Things did not work out this way. We were hoofing it to the train station from our hotel, and I discovered that once David slings 80-plus pounds of luggage onto his shoulders, he goes into "determined march" mode, and will not stop for anything or anybody. I longingly looked at each pastry shop as he determinedly marched past.

We finally got to the train station, set our luggage down, and I told David to go buy the tickets. He protested. "But you're the one that knows French!" I pointed out that that hadn't proved to be particularly useful so far, plus he had deprived me of my breakfast, so he could damn well go buy the tickets himself. Quickly deducing that he would not win this argument, he resignedly stepped into line to buy our tickets. It was good we hadn't stopped, though, as the ticket line was a half-hour long. We just barely got our tickets in time to determinedly march to the train before it left the station.

We cheered up once we got on the train, and I dug a granola bar out of my backpack.

When we arrived at our destination, La Brigue station, David started determinedly marching toward town. I followed.

As we navigated the narrow streets, we were greeted by the sound of cowbells -- or, in this case, goat bells. Around the corner, filling the street, comes this huge herd of goats accompanied by two big, shaggy sheepdogs. As we squeezed against the edge of the road to let them pass (Ha! Even the determined march has to give way to a herd of goats!), we noticed: no humans. We marveled that these two dogs knew what to do with the goats with no human direction. Or we assume they knew what they were doing. They might have been trying to find a pub.

Here's a picture of our bed and breakfast.

Our hosts were Robert and his wife. Robert showed us to our room and gave us the keys to both the room and hotel in case they left for any reason during the day and we needed to get back in. He then heard his wife calling him, so he hurried back downstairs, telling her he was just explaining things to les jeunes. It amused me to be called "the young ones" when he couldn't have been much older than we were.

Here's the view from our room.

Our first hike was a circular "taster" that would take us to the next town of Tende and back again. I looked out our window and jokingly commented that it was a good thing we didn't have to go over those mountains to get to the next town, huh? That statement was greeted with complete silence from David. Uh-oh.

Before we hit the trail, we wandered through the town.

Once we started on the trail, it didn't take too long (about 10 meters or so) for me to figure out this was not exactly what I thought I had signed up for.

Notice my smile has dimmed somewhat from the train. Also take a look at the steep, rocky path. Where were the wide paths with leafy trees shading us? Where were the wineries? We later found out from Robert that this particular area was not good for growing grapes. It was tried once long ago, but the wine produced was terrible, they had a rash of suicides, blamed the wine, and tore all the vines out.

"Only 900 feet of climbing to go!" David exclaimed cheerfully.

The path hugged the side of the mountain with a steep drop-off on one side, and this is when I made the unfortunate discovery that I'm really not fond of heights . . . or hiking. About halfway up, I was thinking, "He really is trying to kill me!" At that precise moment, David turned around, grinning, and said, "So, are you thinking I really am trying to kill you now?" The tone in which I was thinking the words, however, was not remotely similar to the jovial tone in which those words were verbalized, highlighting the gaping chasm between our interpretations of the same words.

We took a wrong turn, and dogs started running towards us, barking furiously. A lady who lived up that path intercepted us and, after David shrugged at her French, told us in clear English to go back and take the other fork. David asked how she knew to give us directions in English, and she told him very kindly only the English make the mistake of taking the wrong fork there.

We backtracked and kept going, finally making it to the top of the mountain.

He's obviously having the time of his life. Me, not so much.

Here's the town we were headed towards. Notice we still have a long ways to climb down.

We finally made it into Tende. I was exhausted and wondering what in the world had I gotten myself into. We sat down at a café to rest. And while I was silently weeping into my ham sandwich, David drank beer and looked at train tables to see if we could take the train back instead of finishing the hike. I was grateful he was willing to consider that option, but humiliated that it even had to be considered. I was also terrified of what was to come. If this is supposed to be a "taster", what the heck was in store for me over the next week?

After the food had time to settle, I felt a lot better. I decided I'd rather hike back over the mountain than take the train, if only to prove to myself that I could do this. We took a few minutes to wander around Tende and take a few pictures.

And then we started to climb back over the mountain.

Look at the relief in that smile. By this point I was convinced I would survive! At least for today!

And so I don't leave you with the mistaken impression that everything was doom and gloom from here on out. I will leave you with a picture from early the next day.

As you can see, I'm back to smiling, and I'm pointing at the path snaking down the side of the mountain that I conquered the day before. A hearty dinner, a satisfying breakfast, and a good night's sleep does wonders for a person. Lesson learned: Don't hike the Alps with only a granola bar in your stomach . . . or don't hike the Alps with a maniac husband . . . or don't hike the Alps at all. Beaches are nice.