Cold. It really would
be nice if people heated their houses.
You can freeze your
toes off just standing on the floor. The sun comes out for a moment, then
everything disappears behind clouds again. It's warmer outside than it is
indoors. If you want a proper shower, you should probably take it in a warmer
place. Like home.
In the kitchen, another opportunity presents itself to wrestle with the capsule coffee machine and eat jam-filled biscuits. To stop your feet from freezing, you have to prop them up on another chair.
A Eurasian jay is bathing in a rain barrel by the roadside. He disappears beneath the rim for a moment, then pops back up with a messy haircut. When he hears us laugh, he flies into a tree with an indignant squawk.
In Diano d'Alba we climb up to the viewpoint by the church and admire the panorama to the soundtrack of screaming swifts. A couple of floors below, we find proper coffee. With a biscuit.
The trail leads back into the vineyards, and yesterday's rain has left the dirt tracks damp. Before long, something resembling mud snowshoes has formed around our sneakers. Attempts to scrape the mud off against roadside plants only add a decorative layer of grass stems. The ground is slippery too, especially on the climbs. And there are plenty of climbs today.
The next village is Valle Talloria. The church bell-ringer seems determined either to make up for all yesterday's missed chimes or to get tomorrow's out of the way in advance. We find a bar and order sandwiches and coffee. At last, a proper breakfast. Even hobbits never mentioned a third breakfast.
Then it's back into the mud. We can already see Castiglione Falletto, perched on top of the hill. There are restaurants everywhere, but we carry on to Barolo instead. And of course, in Barolo you have to drink red wine, so that's exactly what we do. Around here you can get a glass of wine on practically every street corner. Finding actual food takes more effort.
Now there's only a short walk left to La Morra. We can already see it high on the opposite side of the valley. A dark blue thundercloud is building above the valley, with distant rumbles rolling out of it. Just as we enter La Morra, a few enormous raindrops fall, as if someone had thrown a handful of water out of a window. We simply slip through the gaps between them.
We meet the owner of our accommodation, who enthusiastically explains everything there is to do in the area. Not that I understand all of it. She checks tomorrow's route and gives it her approval. We absolutely have to stop at the little chapel by the roadside, she insists. Everything in the apartment is handmade, no Ikea furniture that supports the destruction of forests. Later we walk over to her flower shop to pay the tourist tax, which gives her another opportunity to talk at length about ceramics and hiking. She's wonderfully chatty.
We take another stroll around town, spot a pair of Germans having an argument, and meet a cat whose tail curls into a ring like a dog's. We eat some cheese. Yesterday's cheese was better. The thundercloud is still hanging over the town, quietly grumbling to itself. Nobody seems to pay it any attention.
Distance walked: 20 km.
In the kitchen, another opportunity presents itself to wrestle with the capsule coffee machine and eat jam-filled biscuits. To stop your feet from freezing, you have to prop them up on another chair.
A Eurasian jay is bathing in a rain barrel by the roadside. He disappears beneath the rim for a moment, then pops back up with a messy haircut. When he hears us laugh, he flies into a tree with an indignant squawk.
In Diano d'Alba we climb up to the viewpoint by the church and admire the panorama to the soundtrack of screaming swifts. A couple of floors below, we find proper coffee. With a biscuit.
The trail leads back into the vineyards, and yesterday's rain has left the dirt tracks damp. Before long, something resembling mud snowshoes has formed around our sneakers. Attempts to scrape the mud off against roadside plants only add a decorative layer of grass stems. The ground is slippery too, especially on the climbs. And there are plenty of climbs today.
The next village is Valle Talloria. The church bell-ringer seems determined either to make up for all yesterday's missed chimes or to get tomorrow's out of the way in advance. We find a bar and order sandwiches and coffee. At last, a proper breakfast. Even hobbits never mentioned a third breakfast.
Then it's back into the mud. We can already see Castiglione Falletto, perched on top of the hill. There are restaurants everywhere, but we carry on to Barolo instead. And of course, in Barolo you have to drink red wine, so that's exactly what we do. Around here you can get a glass of wine on practically every street corner. Finding actual food takes more effort.
Now there's only a short walk left to La Morra. We can already see it high on the opposite side of the valley. A dark blue thundercloud is building above the valley, with distant rumbles rolling out of it. Just as we enter La Morra, a few enormous raindrops fall, as if someone had thrown a handful of water out of a window. We simply slip through the gaps between them.
We meet the owner of our accommodation, who enthusiastically explains everything there is to do in the area. Not that I understand all of it. She checks tomorrow's route and gives it her approval. We absolutely have to stop at the little chapel by the roadside, she insists. Everything in the apartment is handmade, no Ikea furniture that supports the destruction of forests. Later we walk over to her flower shop to pay the tourist tax, which gives her another opportunity to talk at length about ceramics and hiking. She's wonderfully chatty.
We take another stroll around town, spot a pair of Germans having an argument, and meet a cat whose tail curls into a ring like a dog's. We eat some cheese. Yesterday's cheese was better. The thundercloud is still hanging over the town, quietly grumbling to itself. Nobody seems to pay it any attention.
Distance walked: 20 km.
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