Aosta to Valais
Eglantine Crumb’s Field Notes
Waxing Rind Moon, Snow Deepening
Chalet above Martigny, near La Fouly
Canton of Valais, Switzerland
On my last evening with Aritz in Aosta, we had what he called a simple meal, though it felt quite grand to me. We were on the banks of the Dora Baltea, a tributary of the Po River. The cold snowmelt of the river was bracing and wild, so I was glad to have a hot meal. Our first course was fonduta alla valdostana, an Italian fondue made with Fontina and not a drop of wine. Before they make the Fonduta in Aosta, they soak Fontina in milk, sometimes overnight. So melty and creamy! I must write down the recipe before I forget!
On my way out of the Valley of Aosta, I walked under the Arch of Augustus. The words of Stendhal came to mind along the way:
I was so happy in contemplating these beautiful landscapes
and the triumphal arch of Aosta
that I had but one wish to make:
that this life would last forever.
The reality that this journey home might last indefinitely is a little worrying, but I am enjoying the food and adventures so much, a part of me does wish it wouldn’t end.
Mont Blanc, or Monte Bianco depending on who you ask, was in the distance as I headed for the Great St. Bernard Pass. It seems I am walking the Via Francigena, from Puglia back to England. After my adventures through Italy, I do feel more of a cheese crusader than a holy one! The pilgrimage is best done in the summer, and I quickly realized my mistake. I was heading north through the Pennine Alps in the winter! It was a bit cold, of course, but we’re made from tougher stuff in Yorkshire. I knew I could manage. But the snow was another matter. My feet kept sinking in it.
And this is one of my prouder moments, I must say. Outside the Great St. Bernard Hospice at the top of the pass, I found some spruce bark and attached it to my feet with the bit of Fontina I’d tucked in my pocket. If that’s not ingenuity, I don’t know what is. Instant snowshoes!
I trudged along, following hand-painted signs toward Martigny in the Canton of Valais, Switzerland. The moon lit the way, the nights sometimes brighter than the afternoons of long mountain shadows. I sensed someone following me, but it felt like a kind soul, so I trusted my instincts and forged ahead, whistling a tune to keep my spirits up.
Finally, the snow came down so heavily I had to surrender. Just as I was pondering shelter, a guide from the monastery emerged from the woods. The St. Bernard told me he’d followed me as a favor to a friend, and had found me easily because of the smell of Fontina on my feet. I had an idea who this “friend” was, Aritz being entirely capable of communicating over distances thanks to his mycelium network.
The Dog said not to mind the howling wind, that it was simply the Wild Hunt passing through, and he would keep me safe until I found shelter. He was very kind, and said it was his mission in life to help travelers through the treacherous pass. I asked if he had a brandy barrel under his chin, but he was quite serious about his job and pretended not to hear me.
He guided me to a quiet chalet, still aglow from a party earlier in the evening. The Dog said the chalet’s resident Cat was friendly enough, and I was a lot safer with her than I was outside with the Owls! The Cat lived on fondue and raclette, and had no need to hunt. In fact, she was on good terms with the Mice under the floorboards! The Dog pushed the door open for me and followed me in.
Imagine my surprise to find Aritz already there, a glass of Fendant in hand, completely in his cups.
Me: “Aritz Rind! You Basque rascal! How on earth did you get here before me?”
Aritz: “Barbegazi! (hic) I could hear you whistling in the wind. (hic) Have you come to warn us of an avalanche?”
I didn’t know who Barbegazi was, but I did see the icicles hanging from my chin like a beard, and the spruce bark Fontina’d to my feet. I told him it was me, Eglantine Crumb, on my way home to England. He laughed and said I was an Alpine snow goblin! He’d been at the mushrooms again, I was sure.
He wasn’t alone. Three Swiss Mice were making merry with him: Marcel, Gaspard, and Colette. Typical of the Swiss, they immediately commented on the smell from my feet. Marcel said Fontina from Aosta was not as good as Raclette from Valais. Colette said foot glue was the best use for it. Typical European cheese chauvinists! No different than the Italians. They all think their region is the best. And to think we were only 50 kilometres from where Aritz and I had our last Italian meal!
I looked around and saw a few caquelons half filled with unfamiliar sort of fondue. It was almost pink! Fondue valaisanne à la tomate, made with their local Raclette and tomato. They like to pour the fondue instead of dip. There were bits of apple, cornichon, pickled onions, viande séchée du Valais (local air-dried beef,) and pain de seigle (rye bread) They said Fondue was a special occasion food, that they more often ate the Raclette scraped right off the wheel. It was a cheerful sight after the long, hungry trek through the snow! And I had to admit, I was ready for a change from Fontina, lovely though it is. Anything would lose its sparkle after it’s been stuck to your feet for days on end.
I settled in with a cup of black tea and enjoyed a bit of fondue. The Swiss mice approved; they said the tannins in the tea helped break up the richness, and might be easier on my tummy than wine. I didn’t want any wine until I’d spotted the Cat, I needed to keep my wits about me. Still on alert, I warmed my feet by the fire and let the Fontina melt right off.
Aritz eventually recognized me. Took him long enough!
Aritz: “Hannibal Crumb! Come over the Alps with your elephant?”
Gaspard: “No, Monsieur Rind, she came over with the Dog.”
Marcel: “Rind is so small, he thinks the Dog is an elephant.”
Colette: “It does not matter. Hannibal did not come through the Great St. Bernard Pass. He crossed via the Clapier Pass. Polybius wrote it.”
Marcel: “Polybius was a dramatist. Livy said Montgenèvre.”
At that moment, the Cat emerged, huge and very sleepy. She told the Mice to be quiet, and that Aritz had been making a joke. She looked at me and nodded to let me know I was safe. So I was ready for the glass of Fendant, a beloved white wine from Valais. It was crisp, with a bit of fruitiness and minerality that worked so well with the cheese sauce. The Cat who was lapping up a bit of Fendant as well, said it was made from the Chasselas grape, and was possibly named for the grape’s tendency to split, or fendre.
The Cat welcomed me and said Valais was no stranger to travelers, perched as it is on the crossroads of the Alps. She asked about my travels. I told her I’d started far to the south and simply kept heading north. I made it clear I wanted to get home, but I was having such a good time finding new cheeses and recipes, that I didn’t mind a detour here and there.
Aritz went on again about Elephants and how I, being a Mouse, would have frightened them all. He’s a dear friend, but at times far too pleased with himself. I asked the Cat where she thought I should go next, and she suggested a little further west, to check out Gruyère. Aritz promised he’d make sure I met friendly sorts along the way.
My head is sinking into my pillow. I reckon I’ll stay a bit in Valais. The snow has closed the pass, and the Mice want me to try Raclette de Valais scraped from the wheel, and Aritz knows of a local cheesemaker we can investigate together. I’m in for a cozy night now, I’ll report back soon!
Recipes
Eglantine Crumb, is a Yorkshire Cheesemaker who happens to be a Mouse. Not long ago, she found herself trapped in a shipping container was transported far from home. This is one of her journal entries.
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