Maritime Alps – Day 1: The Trek Begins
MARITIME ALPS
Day 1: The Trek Begins
August 23, 2024
A quick flight to Turin, followed by a train ride, led us to Savigliano, in the province of Cuneo. There, Gianna, Alessia’s mum, was waiting for us in her Fiat Panda. After a warm reunion between mother and daughter, we were on our way to Alessia’s hometown – Marene.
Marene, a municipality in the Piedmont region of Italy, is a small and idyllic town from which Alessia “escaped” once she was old enough to leave. The way she described it made it seem like a prison. There were no taxis, no clubs, no bars and basically no way for anyone to enjoy themselves unless they could get out. At first, it was long bike rides to Savigliano. Then, once she was old enough to drive, she’d get out of the “damned hellhole” at every possible opportunity, until the time came for her to go to university in Turin. Once she graduated, she moved to the UK, then to Malta, and never really looked back. In fact, the only reason she’d visit Marene was to see her family, and she’d do so almost regretfully.
As we drove past hundreds of fields of maize, I kinda had no idea how she could resent such a place. It did indeed seem like the perfect definition of idyllic, with the peace and quiet of the town filling me with a sense of tranquillity unlike any other. There were cobblestone streets and tiled roads, small parks and old buildings, a nice church and a dilapidated castle. I felt nostalgic despite not having grown up there.
I, for one, could totally imagine myself living there. That said, I say this as a man approaching his thirties and as someone who could do with some peace and quiet. A raging teen who’s just discovering life might have something else to say.
The Tour of a Complicated Childhood
Once we got to her “mum’s place”, as she called it, we settled in, had some snacks her mum had prepared for us and set off to run some last-minute errands before our trek the following day. Before that, Alessia gave me a brief tour of her hometown. While I appreciated the different facets of her childhood that had contributed to who she is today, she seemed completely detached from it all.
It wasn’t exactly a mystery why. Her childhood hadn’t been the easiest. Her father wasn’t the best person in the world and, when he eventually died of cancer, her mother built a new life with her current partner, Federico. At that point, she sold Alessia’s beautiful childhood home and moved into a new place. Given that Alessia had already moved away when this happened, she felt as though there was little room for her in this new family dynamic. In fact, her sister Mattea – who still lives in Marene and visits her mum and Federico daily – has a much better relationship with both.
Sad and tragic though that might be, Alessia doesn’t seem to look back on her past with much anguish. In fact, she’s just glad she managed to escape and make a better life for herself, one that is not limited by the boundaries of such a small town. Perhaps this translates into a bit of a superiority complex, something which became quite evident whenever she met up with old childhood friends who were, according to her, “still stuck”. Time and time again, we’d encounter people she knew back then who’d compliment her on her glow-up and praise her for being so brave, for having made a life for herself outside Marene, and outside Italy for that matter.
Much to my annoyance, she’d also insist that Malta, too, was small and limiting, and that there was no room for growth there. She said it so often and with such apparent spite that I was this close to telling her to “go back to her country” – something some Maltese people are known for saying, though usually in a racist context. I think it irked me because I used to say the exact same thing before my gap year. That’s when I found out that I was the problem, not Malta.
The fact that everything in Marene had stayed the same was somehow comforting to her. Her late grandmother’s house was now owned by her uncle but still looked the same, the park she’d hang out in was largely unchanged, the book exchange box she loved was still there, and the shops were still manned by the same people, or their kids. It all served to reassure her that she had done well in moving away and pursuing new goals.
Alessia's Nonno
One thing’s for sure, though: there was one thing she never wanted to change – her grandfather’s presence. Love him though she might, she did give me a few warnings concerning him before going to his.
Like the fact that he’s always right, even when he’s wrong. Nay, especially when he’s wrong. Or the fact that he can be extremely overbearing and judgemental. The first time he saw her pink hair, he nearly threw a tantrum. She also warned me that he was a bit outdated, both in his beliefs and in his knowledge of current events. Also, he had apparently treated her mother like crap. He didn’t take it particularly well when Gianna started dating again after his son’s passing. Despite him having practically shunned her for years on end, she still brought him food on a daily basis. That’s the kind of saint Gianna is. So yeah, I wasn’t particularly keen on meeting this old man. Alessia, on the other hand, was excited to see him, contrary to what one might expect after that disclaimer.
Grievances aside, we soon found ourselves on his porch, ringing his doorbell. It took a few minutes and, as the door slowly swung open, a rickety old man came out. He was all skin and bones, with thinning white hair, a shuffling gait and that classic toothless old-man voice. He must have been well into his eighties, though I forgot to ask.
There was just something about him, warm yet indifferent, as he greeted the both of us and welcomed us into his house, a typical old person’s home full of old furniture and old memorabilia. Once again, I could feel this strange sense of nostalgia, despite never having visited the place before. Even though I don’t tend to get sentimental when it comes to family, and I barely batted an eye when my grandparents died, I have to admit I felt a twinge of pain and actually missed them at that point.
The Ancient Alpinist
After he told Alessia how much he disapproved of her pink hair and shamed her for living in such a lesser country, he led us to his living room, a treasure trove full of books, photos and all kinds of collectibles, including a few old cameras.
He then invited us to take a seat, at which point he laid a scroll in front of us, unfolding it into a map that he had made just for us. The huge map consisted of many smaller ones that he had collated together. He had meticulously marked the path we’d have to take and labelled everything accordingly, highlighting different sections of the trail in different colours. Hidden inside was also a folded sheet of paper with the reference points and contact numbers we’d need along the trek.
The way his eyes shone when he spoke about those mountains and his experiences climbing over them was awe-inspiring to say the least. The rickety old man who had greeted us was now childlike, full of life, passion and wisdom. And of the latter he had plenty, giving us ample warnings and telling us about things to look out for that I had never quite considered in all my years of trekking. Like carrying a rope with you in case the fog gets so bad that you need to scout the area without getting separated from your buddy. Or how to avoid getting in the way of vipers.
As he went on explaining the route and the logistics, I could hardly keep it together. I was so lucky to have experienced such a precious moment with them. As Alessia and her grandpa sat down and went over the plan, I just sat there looking at both of them, tears welling up in my eyes. The way he went over the plan, how he explained every single detail, how careful he was not to leave anything out. This guy had worked so hard to do all of this for us.
With good reason, too. He wanted us to have the best experience so that he could live vicariously through us. Having grown up in those mountains, he knew them like his own backyard. But, when he grew too old to climb them, he had to set that part of his life aside. Now, with Alessia and me ready to embark on this adventure, he could finally put his knowledge and skills to good use once again.
Before heading out, he made sure we were both fully equipped, giving Alessia an additional set of binoculars, trekking poles and a guidebook on alpinism. We refused the old camera, though, on account of our phones probably having better camera quality, but, according to Alessia, we could never tell him that.
I left his house covered in goosebumps and with a smile stretching from one ear to the other. I always feel so inspired when I meet people like him. What a legendary man he is. And what a friggin’ privilege it was to have come to know him.
Pizza Before the Trail
The rest of our evening was pleasant, to say the least. After making sure we had everything we needed before our big trip, we headed out for dinner.
We’d be going to the city centre of Savigliano with Gianna, Federico and her sister Mattea, together with her husband and son. You’d think I would’ve passed on dinner given all the food we had been served during aperitivo, but you try resisting a pizza when you’re in Italy. Impossible.