Walks full of wonder
Ancient trails in the Italian Alps are a real breath of fresh air . . .
AS WE take our final steps up the zigzag track to Chiosso pass, Chersogno mountain emerges from the mist like a colossal grey fist. We pause to catch our breath, gazing at the boulder- strewn slopes, golden fields and tiny, thatched shepherds’ huts.
Here in the Maira Valley, life looks much as local farmers would have seen it centuries ago. This spot in the Alps, bordering France on the farthest fringe of northwest Italy’s Piedmont region, has been by-passed by tourism.
Despite the dizzying mountain terrain, there is no skiing industry here. Nor any big hotels to spoil our view.
Villages lie abandoned. However, a circuit of ancient trails — known as the Percorsi Occitani — has been newly linked and waymarked in an effort to encourage niche tourism. My wife Hennie and I are here for a week’s self-guided hiking.
We arrive at the Landra family’s rustic Agriturismo Al Chersogno, the first of our trio of small hotels discovered by UK travel company Inntravel. Maps and walking notes provide daily options that range from short and sweet to vigorous.
And on the days when we change lodgings, our bags are transferred by road, so we set off with only picnics in our day packs, unburdened on hikes such as our first day’s climb over the Chiosso pass.
We hoof our way along a cattledroving route that spirals to alpine pastures, then up through grey-blue scree.
On one day’s hike along the French border, we find concrete bunkers and gun batteries left over from the war. Conflict has frequently come between people of the Occitan culture that spans both France and Italy. On another foray, we arrive at Elva, where a tiny museum remembers the 19th- century entrepreneurs — hair collectors. During the winter, farmers would sell women’s tresses to the wig-makers of Paris and London.
The scenic drama ratchets up around Chiappera, where the Rocca Provenzale slices the sky.
The old village school has been converted to an inn, La Scuola, from where our day’s loop round the mountain crosses meadows beneath walls of rock and the Stroppia waterfall.
Semi-wild horses roam and buzzards wheel overhead while whistling marmots wait for scraps of our sandwiches.
Our last nights are at Locanda Lou Pitavin, an old farmhouse in the hamlet of Finello that stands among oaks and chestnut trees in a shady dell. Our walks from here are through woods bisected by streams.
Footpaths cross old wooden bridges and climb to tumbledown villages such as Tolosano, where we marvel at exquisite frescos of biblical scenes and local folklore, painted on the exteriors of houses.
‘Our guests should not expect luxury,’ smiles one of our hosts.
Well, luxury is a question of perspective, we decide. Our week in this remote and rugged fold of the Alps offers the sort of luxury no five- star resort can match. MARTIN SYMINGTON