My Tour de Mont Blanc: Trekking Towards Joy

A thru-hike has never been on my bucket list, so I was surprised to hear myself committing to a 170 km hike around the Mont Blanc massive. I’ve done some day hikes before, but I was new to backpacking. This time, the goal was to complete the trek in 7 days, which is much shorter than average hikers do. That’s why I expected it to be hard, but it turned out to be much more than that — the letters “TMB’’ will always be burned in my memory together with echoes of cowbells, flashes of knee pain, the scent of pine trees, and the never-ending view of the trail path ahead.

One summer day during the covid pandemic, I got in a car with my boyfriend, my brother, and three huge backpacks. Our destination: Les Houches, a small french village next to Chamonix. After 5 hours of driving, we reached the Rocky Pop hotel — a retro haven paying homage to the 80s mountaineering era. At breakfast, the air in the hotel canteen buzzed with the energy of eager hikers sipping their coffees in full gear, ready to conquer the mountains. We were ready to head out too — to start our first day of TMB.

Day 1

We parked our car near the starting point and cheerfully set off for the mild ascent through the sunny French countryside. People were coming out of their chalets along the trail, setting up grills for the lunch barbecue and sunbathing in their gardens. I wished I could join them in this leisure rather than carrying my heavy backpack uphill in long sleeves to avoid sunburn. Sick of the heat. At the same time, I knew, that every leisure for the rest of my life would feel better once I had completed this trek. 7 days to go. After hours of walking, we stopped for lunch in a place where paper TMB maps were used as tablemats and everyone was wearing TMB headbands. Here I was, a part of the herd that somehow made it their sacred duty to trek 170 km in a loop through the Alps.

With all the sounds of the evening in nature getting louder, I entered a camping site for the first time in my life. Behind its fences, there was a whole different world — people sitting in the foldable chairs rubbing their swollen feet, some pitching their tents, some queuing in front of pizza stall, some running in their towels from the shower corner. It took me a long time to fall asleep in this newfound microcosm. Crickets chirping. Muffled sounds of the last hikers arriving.

Day 2

What I remember best from the first morning is the smell of the tent. Condensed water rolling down. I felt cold and tired but then I spotted a coffee stall in the camp, that felt like discovering a golden treasure. We packed the tent and set on a steep climb through a variety of landscapes, jumping over the mountain brooks and snow patches. Thin air. Sunbeams. I put my bare feet in the snow as I ate my last energy bar, knowing we needed to speed up since the hut where we would have lunch was still way too far. When we finally reached the hut, we ordered big bowls of soups and pasta that we could not finish. What followed was a long and painful descent towards Chapieux's camping site. I was tired, had knee pain, and swollen collarbones from the backpack, and by the time we were close to the campsite, I was at the lowest point of the whole trek, throwing the poles away in the fury. Swallowing my tears. Why am I here?

Sun was still up when we pitched our tent by the side of a calm brook. I collapsed on the grass and looked around the camping site set in the spacious valley. Cows grazing on the hills. People bathing in the brook. I was supposed to be enjoying these moments, but instead, I felt miserable. I hobbled myself to the small inn nearby to get my dinner and then went straight to sleep.

Day 3

Italy. Deer polenta. Going up again, going down again. Pain in my knees, pain everywhere. Heat. Finally, shower.

Day 4

I woke up in Courmayeur after a long sleep in a hotel bed. Pure bliss. This was the day when we would hike 36 km with two huge ascents over 2000 meters. When we reached the refugee Bonati, it was 3 pm, and most hikers were finished for the day. They called us crazy for wanting to cover double the standard TMB daily distance. Scared, but determined to do the double section anyway, we continued the steep climb toward the Swiss border with no end in view. Complete silence. Right foot, left pole. Left foot, right pole.

Finally, after standing on the top of Grand Col Feret in the evening sun, we took a second breath and happily hurried down the dusty trail towards La Fouly. From this point onwards I did not mind the pain anymore, it was simply part of the deal. Dusk falling. Distant howling. Lights of the villages.

We arrived in the dormitory at La Fouly after 10 pm, so glad to find out we were alone in an enormous room with a dozen beds with colorful sheets that felt like an old kindergarten sleeping room. I had dry bread for dinner but went to sleep with a good feeling that the hardest part of the trek was over. 3 days left.

Day 5

After late breakfast, we headed uphill to the overcrowded forest paths with a destination of Champex Lac. Insects buzzing. Hikers talking. We felt dirty and vagrant sitting in a nicely kept city center restaurant. Later in the day, on the way to Trient, we stopped in a small family-owned hut in the middle of nowhere. While we feasted on their homemade cakes and cheese platter, the family played cards on the table next to us. I was observing them, wondering if life here was blissfully serene or rather bluntly boring. The scent of a meadow. Silence.

It was supposed to rain at night, so we booked the dormitory last minute and arrived there at dinner time. After days of quiet walking, it felt overwhelming to be seated in a tightly packed dining room. People chatting. Cutlery clinking. I preferred the silence of the mountains.

Day 6

The sixth day was short and pleasant. We finished our section at the Auberge Boerne by early afternoon, ready to enjoy our last night at the campsite. After days of rushing and covering double sections, it felt unusual to just sit and relax with my feet in a cold stream. We talked to other TMB hikers over the common dinner in the hut, listening to their stories, realizing how lucky we were on the trek — unlike others, we had sunny weather 6 days in a row, no injury, and no unexpected disaster. As I was falling asleep I felt sad knowing it was our last night. I will miss this.

Day 7

The dawn of the last day broke. After early breakfast in the hut, we set for our longest and the most technical day. On the ascent to Col de Brevent, we climbed through rocks and ladders, then walked through mist, rain, and snow. Wind swooshing. In this section, we finally spotted some mountain goats jumping effortlessly on the rocks, escaping our cameras. The last descent towards Chamonix was brutal and never-ending. With my knees already shattered and my whole body aching, I could not think of anything else than the hotel bed. We finished the TMB at 8 pm in the quiet streets of Les Houches. Church bell ringing. I could barely walk when passing through the finishing arc, and I felt numb to feel any joy that I had been picturing myself to feel for the last 7 days.

We quickly checked in the hotel and drove to Chamonix for dinner. The city was buzzing with the sporty vibe that felt so uplifting. I thought about how I would miss this vibe, but then I realized that after completing TMB, I was myself adding to that vibe — I was carrying the essence of it in my aching legs. Real joy. I did it.

I depleted all my physical energy on the trail but felt blessed that I was able to do it. I promised myself that I would keep trekking until old age, like all those grey-haired people we met on the trail, their faces calm and smiling. They are the real trailblazers, secretly chasing the joy in the alpine land where you can hear the steps of hikers through ringing cowbells, where all you can see is the blue sky and snowy mountain peaks, where you feel free and glad to be alive.