sono io

When glaciers crack it sounds like thunder bursting and then rolling across the sky. This sound is even more dramatic if you've paused for a lunch break of cheese (Toma) and salame (Ungherese) and suddenly wonder just how far you are from that glacier. On Saturday we quickly concluded we were at a safe distance but weren't quite so sure about the guy laying shirtless along the edge of the glacial lake.

We had hiked to a mountain ridge over which you could see glaciers hugging the rocky peaks. The route there was overrun with mountain flowers clustered in vibrant swaths. We crossed more than one creek running with the melted water of glaciers we would soon see. And there were cavorting topless children of both genders. Thankfully, as I've mentioned in previous posts, Italians seem a tough group to burn.



At our glacial vista we got to talking with some of the other lingering hikers and met a group of Sicilian trekking club members who were traveling through as part of a longer trip. While surprised by the briefness of our weekend visit they began to understand our time restriction when we explained that, unlike our Italian brethren, Americans aren't off for the entire month of August... Should we find some vacation time to swing through Sicily, though, we've been invited to hike Etna. These are the same guys who, later over dinner at our shared hotel, would inform us that their hike across the actual glacier resulted in the un-icing of a pick ax from the 1940's. Serious hikers, yes.



Neither Stefano nor I had never been this close to a glacier before and we were in awe of the blue ice imperceptibly dragging its way down the mountainside. And each time it cracked, our interest only heightened. However, the aforementioned topless children, by now covered with fleece and wool, would hardly cast a glance. Apparently, 7 year olds who spend their weekends in the Alps are a little less in awe of all the fuss than the city folks. (They even bring Nintendo Gameboys to fill in when nature can't quite pull its entertainment weight.)

On the way back down we took a small detour to rest our feet in one of the cold creeks snaking its way down from the glacier. The water was cold and clear and a small party of butterflies took up shop on our scattered shoes and socks. It's become our usual refrain, but I have to say again - it's hard to believe these places are so relatively close to Milan. We were in Val Gressoney - one of the mountain valleys in Aosta - and in sum total it took us about four hours to get there (two trains and a bus) from Milan's Central Station.



The towns in this valley could well pass for Swiss hamlets. There are the telltale chalets, and the bell towers rising in front of snowy peaks. But there's also a non-stop wave of Italians with babies and dogs. And if they don't have one, they have two of the other. We felt a little deficient in both categories and so rebuffed our outsider status by indulging in gelato. And then, not one half hour later, we dug into pastries and espresso while, I kid you not, we were surrounded by babies and dogs. Thank goodness for the man eating an entire fondue pot of melted chocolate by himself.



The following day, before beginning our trek home, we took a series of cable cars up and over mountains to what looked like a martian landscape. Reddish and rocky, it was cold and the air was thin. The cable car operator told us it was a uniquely clear day out and that we could see Switzerland from our vantage point. We're a little less well-versed in mountain geography but the clarity of our view ended only behind several gigantic and distant mountain ranges in all directions.

On our way back down to a refugio lunch of savory crepes and cold Cokes, we shared a cable car with two ladies. It was cold up there and so I sniffled. And then - ok - maybe I sniffled again. At this point one of the ladies turned to her friend and, in Italian, told her to take a Kleenex. The woman, quietly, told her friend that it wasn't her who was doing the sniffling. Non sono io, she said. It was a great moment to know Italian. Sono io, I said. "It's me."



There was laughter and a Kleenex was foisted upon me. Then attentions turned to the roving fleet of cows whose bells were sighing on the grassy meadows below our cable car. The same lady who provided the Kleenex told her friend that she could never stand to be around those bells all day. That it would drive her crazy. Just as I was thinking about how much I loved the music of those bells.

Again, I guess it's all about perspective. And our perspective is one that we like to keep changing. Climbing up to the glaciers. Putting our feet in the creeks. Waiting for the butterflies to take off, rather than shooing them away.