Tour du Mont Blanc 5

View from Col des Fours

On our third day of walking, we were the first at the breakfast table in Refuge Nant Borrant after a terrible night’s sleep in an extremely hot and stuffy dorm. We had already packed to leave right after breakfast, making use of the bathroom at 6 AM, before everyone started to queue. We couldn’t get away quickly enough.

While in hindsight this was probably one of the most charming refuges, and it had really good food and welcoming staff, it was also the most uncomfortable night of the whole holiday, including the night in Refugio Elisabetta, where I was too cold to sleep.

We walked up to Col du Bonhomme to pink skies and in the still cool air, passing another refuge at the cusp of getting up, and for the first time of the whole walk, I was finally properly enjoying myself and the walk. We arrived at the col at 10 AM, not being the first people here, but it wasn’t overcrowded either. A couple of large white collarless dogs said hello to everyone, scouting for food. They looked worryingly wild but it soon became clear they were sheep dogs.

We met a young Dutch woman who was walking the tour by herself, camping, and doing half days only. Her original plan, walking the West Highland Way in Scotland, had been scuppered by travel restrictions.

From Col du Bonhomme, we took the variant via Col du Croix de Bonhomme and Col des Fours at 2,665 m. There, we had a lovely lunch break on yellow rocks with great views all around, and a large group that had stayed in the same refuge as us caught up with us. One of the men had stood out to us because he would stash any remaining cheese in his tupperware container for an ad-hoc cheese course whenever it was needed.

The descent from the col was steep and knee-shattering, but also offered lovely views, of which I enjoyed many whenever I stopped to give my knee a rest. We walked alongside a stream which turned into cascading waterfalls in places, a water slide on smooth slabs in others, and little pools where we could cool our feet. We encountered a navigational challenge, where we saw several groups walking ahead of us contouring a hillside, whereas Mr W. was certain we had to follow a stream downhill into the valley. The maps we had were inconclusive, and my knee was by now too sore for me to care as long as we got down eventually.

I think, in the end, it didn’t really matter, we all made it to Ville des Glaciers somehow, where buses and taxis transported those people away who hadn’t booked themselves into Refuge des Mottets, a few kilometres further on, where we were to stay the night.

This place ended up being my favourite refuge. A former dairy farm, it had recently been renovated and offered small and large dorms, a beer garden, and a view of a glacier. We were lucky and were given a modern 4-bed dorm just for us, with plenty of bathrooms just next door. Everything was clean and quiet and plentiful, and I couldn’t have appreciated it more after the previous night.

Since we had arrived fairly early in the afternoon at around 4 pm, after doing our refuge chores (showers and laundry), we had plenty of time to sit in the beer garden in the sun and watch other walkers arrive, secretly full of Schadenfreude for them still having their refuge chores ahead of them.

A couple of walkers from Catalonia sitting near us had ordered some cheese and bread, and of course Mr W. couldn’t just sit there and watch them eat, so he ordered cheese as well. I told him that we would get served that same bread and cheese at dinner, but a hungry Mr W. is not to be stopped.

Dinner was soup, then delicious Boeuf Bourgignon with rice and marrows, then a coleslaw salad course at which a couple of Parisian ladies at our table turned their noses before educating us about drinking wine in refuges. Apparently, people don’t drink wine in refuges anymore. Well, we remedied that right away and ordered a quarter of red at very reasonable cost. Then there was a cheese course, with exactly the same cheese and stale bread that Mr W. had been served in the afternoon, and finally creme caramel for pudding. There was a musical interlude where the hostess played some French classics on her music box, with the French guests singing along, cheered on by the guide of the large group of the cheese-box man, and the foreign guests admiring the authentic Frenchness of it all.

We turned in early, because the following day was going to be the longest of the whole walk, with 9 hours and 45 minutes of walking to do. We would skip breakfast and leave even earlier than today.