To Staffal, Italy

An easy day after enjoying the delights of a leisurely breakfast. A wander into town to supplement my equipment for the next few days, and to indulge in another gelato. There were more paraponters in the blue sky than birds.

Then back to my temporary home to pack and to wait for Christian, who was to be my guide and probable mentor for the next few days. He seems a cheeky bloke who had a varied life in the past before morphing into a professional mountaineering and ski guide.

We stored my bags in the camper bubble installed on the tray of his aging Hilux, and set off to pick up another participant Stephanie from a train station in Italy, then onto Staffal on the edge of the European alps in Italy.

The roads were what you expect in mountainous regions, twisty, turny, with sensational and varied views. A passengers delight. And I assume many drivers white knuckle these roads whilst breaking into a cold sweat.

On the way we drive over the St. Bernhard Pass, but unfortunately were not met by a big fluffy, brown and white dog carrying a revitalising beverage in a small wooden barrel under its neck.

Staffal is a mini version of Chamonix. Probably all mountain resorts are similar. Now to repack, again, in order to trim down what I was to carry up the mountain tomorrow.

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