4 years ago - now

Four lessons from the mountains

Feb 2nd, 2022

Here I am, 6 months (and a day) exactly after I took off my hiking boots. Today I discovered they were rotting from the humidity in my caravan.

I'm at a very low point at the moment, and scared of falling even lower, in some crevasse I can't see, but that I anticipate with each bump on the way. I long for that easy life, that very light mental load : follow the path, and just put one foot in front of the other. You'll eat what you have and bathe when you can. I remember the challenges too, and going over that tricky pass (I think it was pic Carlit) where these lessons from the mountain came to mind :

#1 : the climb up looks terribly difficult, and dangerous. Standing at the bottom of it, it feels downright impossible to cross the pass. But, looking just a few meters ahead, it seems manageable to walk that short distance. When zigzagging upwards, don't look at the next turn. You are here, trying to cover those few meters ahead of you. With this point of view, after many, many sharp turns, you'll be up there. It's long, sometimes scary, physically demanding, but in the end it works. Don't borrow trouble, even one that's just right around the corner.

#2 : There's no perfect path. The road isn't clear when going through a boulder field or a scree. There are cairns here and there but nowhere near enough to be sure to know which rock you should next step on. And that next rock might look different to different people, more or less accessible, more or less dangerous. But as long as you are getting closer to the next cairn, you're on the right path. Going through a scree with a steep climb, deciding precisely on your next step, seems like a life and death situation. Choose well but choose fast. Stopping too long means paralysis by analysis. A more unstable move. Be sure-footed, you'll get through it.

#3 : It's always easier than it seems, especially when first faced with the whole ascent, or descent. It sometimes looks like you're going to die, that nothing else seems credible. And you will, but most likely not right now. It will be hard, and it was harder and trickier than I had imagined. But easier, in general, than the guide made it out to be. If you break the route down to smaller legs, each one of them seems pretty manageable. A couple will feel like you're gambling with your life, and that's why they should be crossed, at the right pace, not in a hurry, not like you're stepping on fire. And when there are a couple of those passages, you'll feel exhausted when arriving at the top. You'll need to unwind, to cry maybe. Even if it's windy and cold, you'll need a break up there. Because next up could very well be a steep descent.

#4 : Stop and pause and congratulate yourself for getting all the way there. You did it ! There's quite a view to be enjoyed. There are some muscles to be stroked. Some tensions to let out. Don't look immediately on the other side and the way down. You made it all the way to the top, and that's something to celebrate.

Drugs don't work (the Verve) - but actually they do. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger (Kelly Clarkson) - but it's no reason to try.

June 6th, Aldudes, after a very tricky passage in a forest, I arrive with my legging ripped apart. I realised on the first night that even though I organised well to have 4 parcels delivering the right quantity of meds for each of the 4 stages of the HRP, I didn't take enough meds for the first one. I panicked but calmed down quickly. The only post office I would pass by in the next 10 days would be closed when I reach it. I found that one place where my parents could send me my pills. I don't like taking those drugs, but I need them if I want to keep my wits.

I pick up my meds in a nice bar/restaurant, where I treat myself with some artisanal earrings, and pitch my tent in the village campsite, a quiet place next to a pretty river where I enjoy a very cold bath.

Will my pig-headedness be the end of me ? Maybe. Maybe I was taught a lesson over this hour of fearing for my life each and every step. Turning around isn't failure. Trying to stay on the beaten path is good. Trying to come up with a shortcut in the middle of a fucking steep forest is stupidity. Or madness. But mainly, dumb.

Of course, it would have been a nicer death than suicide or being killed by terrorists, the two most likely cause of death I've encountered so far. Because it would have been dying while doing something I love, being confident, being bold, and without the emotional baggage carried by these two others end-of-life options.

But still. It would have been the end of the game for me, the end of the rollercoaster. And it would hae been devastating for my friends and family. And maybe, in a way, hard to understand and come to terms with. Because they know that I am, generally, a careful person. That I don't take stupid risks. That I am not trying to be Superwoman. I could hear Marie's word of caution, her reaction when I told her I was walking across the Pyrenees. I could hear myself telling Marion that it would be ok to stop the hike, that the only duty I had was self-preservation. I failed this morning, even though it ended well.

A first, it was exhilarating to cross the first tricky passage, where a mudslide had left only a narrow track across a step slope. I felt so confident for staying on the path regardless. But then it got tricky, it got hard and scarier and scarier. I felt lost, I felt helpless, I also felt stupid, I didn't know how to get out of it. I am proud I took the time though, stopped to breathe deeply, to rest, to rehydrate, to scream. I think I did all the right things to avoid falling. But the lesson is, don't put yourself in that situation, where every step could be your last.

It does feel good to be alive, to find a place like here, Alfaro's in Aldudes, with a nice and pretty young woman cooks local food and makes jewelry. Playing Alicia Keys' rendition of the Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven. Being able to eat a great meal without being worried about cash. And finding a nice and flat place to sleep, it might be a bit windy but no storms in sight, next to a small and quiet stream. Life is eventful. And beautiful. I'm glad I chose it.

The HRP way - Brave (Sara Bareilles)

June 20th, Arremoulit refuge. (Cold night in a beautiful refuge in the middle of nowhere, after a detour to skip Orteig passage, a life line crossing a cliff)

When I meet people and say I'm doing the Haute Route Pyrenees, the first thing they say is that it's impressive and that I'm brave.

But I don't feel that brave. As in, not more than usual. Quite young, I felt that it was part of my personality, probably the only compliment I'd allow myself to receive. I had read somewhere that Leos were brave (and hot tempered) and even though I didn't give much credit to astrology, it felt true. And people also said that because as a kid, I loved to go on adventures, even small ones. Having two older brothers, I just followed them, and that made me stand out from other girls.

And today, having got better at accepting compliments, it's still something I know I am – brave.

But I feel braver for having overcome psychological or emotional hurdles than physical ones. Obviously, the HRP is all of them : tonight, I'm scared of the big day tomorrow, having to go for the first time across snow. There's also no refuge at the end of the day, even though there might be people in a refuge under reconstruction – maybe I am too.

So yes, at times, I am scared.

Scared of “failing” as in, not being able to finish this adventure I've set upon. I know it wouldn't be the end of the world, that I could come back, but it'd be hard.

Scared of hurting myself, badly tripping over a stone, and that would mean the end of the trek and maybe having to wait a long time to be rescued, with the probability of being forced to spend a night out, in an unpredictable weather.

And of course, at times, I'm scared of dying. Of being caught in a storm, even if it's statistically unlikely to be thunderstruck, it remains a powerful fear. Or to have a fatal fall. So far, apart from that crawling in the forest as early as Day 2, where on several occasions, a fall would have been really serious, I haven't been faced often with this possibility. I guess I'm also dong my best not to.

But I think bravery comes in many forms – telling someone you're in love, quitting a toxic job, surviving being committed to a psychiatric institution...all that takes a lot of courage. It's not as impressive to the outside world, and concerning the mental health part, it's really not as easy to talk about it, but it takes a lot of grit to get to the good end of that. I guess it was just another kind of training, that I can put to good use right now, but also in life in general, an adventure is just a condensed bit of life.

The Pyrénées High Route : 2 months, 750kms, a 15 kgs home, 40,000 meters up and I guess just as much down, and the same emotional ascent and descent.

I felt joyful often, shit scared at times, exhilarated when reaching the top of a mountain, peaceful during all that time on my own, proud when I overcame my fears or just another seemingly endless climb or steep way down, pleased to share some good company every now and then, lucky to be able to be here and have so much support.

A year ago I was told I couldn’t go on that kind of journey, that adventure was game over for me. It seems I’m too pig headed to renounce. I waited to be in a good place and just went, telling myself I’d see and that I could always stop.

So, a deeply felt thank you to my family, my closest friends, and to someone in particular, who told me when I set out on this adventure that I’d never walk alone. And it was true, I just had to think of all your kind words when I needed to be cheered up.

It’s been a privilege meeting (very few) other women hiking alone, proving we can go just as high, be just as bold, and that we are actually stronger than men, as besides tricky passes or snowfields, we are overcoming a life long conditioning of not feeling up to the challenge. So, look up, we’re on top.

Holy bloody trinity

« They flank me. Depression on my left, Loneliness on my right. They don’t need to show me their badges. I know these guys very well. »

Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat pray love.

Just like the triptych chocolate, Xanax and cigarettes to keep them at bay, the Holy trinity depression, anxiety and loneliness is part of my landscape.

It's like a little mouse who shows up and gets easily scared as soon as she sees me. At first, I'm surprised she's here, and then, I remember...There are mice in this house. There have always been there. Even before I moved in.

The insulation is faulty, so you're not really sheltered from the outside. The mouse, caught red-handed, disappears by an invisible breach. I am relieved, so grateful she left that quickly. But, once I'm all tucked up in bed, and have forgotten about the encounter, I hear her wandering through the woodwork. Fast footsteps, it seems like she's fleeing, but the next minute, she's running in the opposite direction. I don't know where she comes from, nor where she goes. All I know is that she's keeping me from sleeping.

I'm gonna take her out. I'm hunting her down during days. But she's more unpredictable than I am. She appears where I don't expect, she leaves for the most absurd reasons. But the bitch always comes back.

And deep down, I know it's pointless to give her the axe. Just like when the anti-mafia squad kills the godfather, after months, years of tracking him, the next day, the underboss takes charge.

So, I'm surrendering. I'm calling it quits.The mouse is taunting me. She comes and makes sure that I'm not leaving my bed. She puts me under house arrest in my 180 x 140 bed. She won. So, she loses interest. Veni, vidi, vici and now what ? So, as suddenly as she came, one cloudy morning, she's gone.

I'm crying over the end of this toxic relationship. The relief. The tiredness. At  peace, at last – but knowing she's never far.

December 16th, 2019 In various locations

A boat, sailing through the waters - stop A capital life, sent off with a bang - stop A mother, shredding me apart - stop A journey, dreamt about for years, checking all the boxes : adventures, self sufficiency, impromptus - stop Nature’s powers to confront - stop

Being worn out, but irradiating with the desire of the big departure - stop An acute sea sickness, and, from the very start, being the fragile one - stop A predator whose instinct arouses - stop Random taunts, becoming humiliations, at first subtle and concealed, but soon enough public and flaunted  - stop A choice, hard but obvious, to protect myself - stop Upon disembarking : threats and a police intervention - stop A pride to stand up for myself, to defend my integrity - stop A precarious balance between the cocoon of fancy hotel rooms and the laughter, the wanders and the sensuality of high end dining - stop The usual setbacks facing a solo and seemingly defenceless tourist - stop Fierce come backs, like in a movie - stop

A new project - being reunited with my family for the festive season, after a stop in a new capital city, center of the universe for a couple of days - stop A new heartbreak, the contact with the person I love the most brutally cut short by her parents - stop A bad news about my health, broken in a high speed train - stop A breach of medical confidentiality, validated by my parents. Their hold upon me strengthening - stop The moral support of a stranger, reminding me of my great traveling days - stop Other predators, feeling my growing distress - stop A taxi ride across town, lasting a couple of hours, in search for cash - stop A caring gynaecologist, a blurry diagnosis seeming so clear-cutting to me - stop Enters P, a sweet music to my ears coming right from across the globe, a seduction dance starting, a sudden bond - stop A glass smashed on the wall of a shared flat, screams, wild dancing, alone in the middle of the living room - stop A chase after a former lover, a foreign number impossible to dial, a plea for his support, a brutal and coward rejection - stop An invasive family, whose panic turns into aggressivity - stop Drawing my boundaries, charcoal around my body to ensure its survival - stop A need to rest, to collapse, to regroup in a familiar place - stop A hot night via long-distance messaging - stop In the wee hours of the morning, at the station, a stolen bag, a new slap in the face - stop

An issue with my ticket, a bus driver kicking me out in the middle of the road - stop My dad advising me to go to the hospital to get medical transportation to have a minor surgery planned shortly before - stop A sweet woman giving me a ride to get there - stop Arriving at the emergency room. A doctor breaking the news : your parents want to lock you up - stop A violent argument with my father - stop P, my shiny and new boyfriend, telling me to stay at the hospital overnight - a Xanax and you’re on the road again - stop An ambulance ride through the illuminated streets - stop An arrival, in another hospital. Other emergencies - stop A ceaseless conversation with P, supporting me from so far away - stop

Finally, a confrontation - stop - an abrupt psychiatrist, the axe falls - stop - give me back your phone - stop - no time to let anyone know - stop - you’re interned in a psychiatric ward - stop - without your consent

Stop.