Joanne's long walks: Road to Home 2023 Day 61: Gran San Bernardo Pass

For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in...

Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.

- The Gospel according to St. Matthew, 25: 35-40 (from the reading during mass at Gran San Bernardo)

From Gran Saint Bernardo Pass to Aosta on the Via Francigena is 29 kilometres, with a 2347 metre total drop in elevation. In order to break up the descent and save their toenails for future use, many pilgrims cover this stage in two days rather than one. This is what we decided to do, with an overnight stop at the pilgrim hostel in Échevennoz, approximately halfway.

This meant we didn't have to be in a hurry to start out first thing in the morning. Audrey and Jannis preferred to get going right after breakfast anyway, but I decided to stay up at Saint Bernard's Pass for the duration of the morning in order to participate in some of the celebrations marking the feast of Saint Bernard of Menthon, on the anniversary of his canonisation in 1681.

There is some disagreement as to when Saint Bernard actually lived: the Catholic Encyclopedia, normally a reliable source of information on the saints' biographies, has him down as born in 923, and died in 1008, which would have made it pretty hard for him to have founded the Hospice in 1050, the date mentioned on the Hospice's website.

Be that as it may, this Saint Bernard (not to be confused with Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, whom I discussed in another post) left the balmy Mediterranean shores of Menthon to minister to the people of the Alps, who were a rather rustic and barbaric lot at that time - whether it was the tenth or the eleventh century doesn't make much difference. Bernard preached the gospel to the people of the Aosta valley, and established a monastery and hospice at the highest point of the pass between the Aosta valley and the Swiss canton of Valais to serve and protect travellers crossing the Alps on their way to and from Rome. He also founded another hospice at the crossing known as Little Saint Bernard's Pass, establishing a tradition of hospitality that has continued uninterrupted to this day.

The refectory, then and now

Seeing as fate had brought me to Saint Bernard's Pass on the eve of the saint's feast day, I felt compelled to stay for the special service in the chapel celebrating this key figure in the age-old tradition of hospitality toward pilgrims: a tradition of which I have been a beneficiary throughout my two-month walk across France and Switzerland.

The little church was packed with people, including the community of volunteers who staff the hospice, people from the villages in the valleys on either side of the pass, and all of the canons from the cathedral at Martigny, who had come up to the pass en masse for the event. Ceremonial regalia was taken out of the display cases in the museum of the treasure of the church especially for the occasion. The organ began to play and a procession of canons in long white gowns entered the chapel.

The service was a long one, primarily in French but punctuated with songs in Latin and an occasional reading in Italian. It began with the aspersion of the congregation with holy water from a spring that had been blessed by Saint Bernard himself, and ended with an invitation to an aperitif followed by lunch in a big tent that had been set up next to the hospice - for it was only five degrees above zero when we first got up in the morning, at this altitude, and a cold wind was blowing.

I joined the throng of people in the tent for a glass of wine, hoping there might be snacks served with the wine that would provide sufficient fuel for the day's walk. But no food appeared to be forthcoming for the time being, and standing in a tent full of strangers conversing in a language I only partially understood, I felt a sudden hankering to move on down the road into Italy.

I shouldered my pack and walked... 300 metres, to the first café over the Italian border! There I asked what might be available in the way of a snack before starting my walk, and was served a "pizzetta" which turned out to be a full-sized pizza - much more than I needed! I ate half, packed the other half away in the plastic box I always carry on walking trips for such occasions, and set off on my way down the steep slope of the mountain.

The first half of the day's walk, as far as Saint Rhemy, was truly spectacular on this sunny day. Streams of spring meltwater ran beside, across and along the path, which was steep and uneven in places, requiring constant attention. I nonetheless stopped frequently to admire and photograph the landscape and the numerous Alpine wildflowers.

Between the two villages that make up Saint Rhemy, I stopped to take off my boots and rest on a bench. A beekeeper came along and kitted up ready to go harvest honey from her bees. Indeed the Alpine meadows of long grass and flowers looked like ideal honeybee habitat. There was one more steep descent after Saint Rhemy, after which the rest of the stage was a gentle downward slope on grassy paths and small roads through sleepy Alpine villages.

How can I describe how it felt to walk into my home country, after two whole months in strange and foreign lands? Suddenly everyone speaks a language I can understand without effort. I can go into a café and have a pretty good idea what will be on the menu without even asking. I instinctively know how to work the kitchen appliances, and I even know what to put in which recycling bin. There is a bidet (French in name only: never saw a single one in over a thousand kilometres of France) in the bathroom. And, best of all, I don't care whether the wifi works because I have unlimited data, with no roaming charges! 😄

I spent the rest of the afternoon in a state of bliss, enjoying the feeling of being back in a familiar land as much as I enjoyed the meadows in flower, the bubbling streams and the charming villages. The temperature was ideal for walking. By the time I reached the town of Étroubles and then the hamlet of Échevennoz, my destination for the day, I had lost more than 1200 metres in altitude, so the cold wind was gone and the temperature was mild, but still cool and fresh. I joined my companions, who had arrived an hour or two earlier and, due to a mix-up in communication with the lady in charge of the local trattoria, who is in charge of three separate accommodations - a pilgrim hostel, a hotel and a holiday rental apartment - had settled into the apartment next door to the restaurant, instead of the pilgrim dormitory! When I arrived, the misunderstanding was cleared up, everyone seemed to be happy with the new arrangement, and we were charged the dormitory rate even though we had the apartment! After a quick shower we went over to the trattoria next door for a good meal of simple home cooking - vegetable soup, followed by stew for the meat eaters and cheese for me, with potatoes, salad and chard. At last, some leafy green vegetables! Can't remember the last time I saw those!!

There was more French than Italian spoken in the restaurant, as well as a local dialect that sounds like a combination of the two. So I'm not really quite home, yet!