#64. Chamonix: 4-6 July 2026

It would be my fourth return to Chamonix, France, to hike with Julie Hernandez. And what a weekend I chose. The 250th birthday of the United States, Taylor Swift’s wedding, and the World Cup were all in full force. But our focus was elsewhere.

All excursions seem to require some prelude of ill health, drama, or logistical setback. As I checked my bus ticket from Geneva to Chamonix while waiting in the Geneva airport, I noticed that the fine print said “Genève-Centre” rather than Geneva airport. I Whatsapp'd Julie to ask whether this was a problem, and she was mortified to realize that she had reserved the wrong itinerary. I was not at all displeased, because it gave me a pass on the next dumb thing I did in return. Within 24 hours, I left a carton of milk on its side in the refrigerator where a quarter of the contents dribbled out. Fortunately, Julie noticed this before leaving on our three day trip and cleaned up the mess. We were even.

A new €20 bus ticket got me into Chamonix on the evening of July 1, in time for us to roll my luggage to the one pub in town that was showing the World Cup: England versus DR Congo. Julie - wearing her DR Congo soccer jersey - stood out in a bar where 99% of the customers were rooting for England. Alas, the DR Congo put on a good show for the first 75 minutes but eventually lost 2–1.

Our base operation was the amazing house that Julie rents each summer for seven weeks at the base of Mont Blanc. After a quick gear check, we headed out on July 2 for the 20-minute walk into downtown Chamonix, before taking a télécabine that mercifully cut off a good three hours of steep uphill climbing. As we descended from the télécabine, I forced Julie to pose for the obligatory photo. If I had learned one thing from my previous visits to Chamonix, it was not to wear a white T-shirt when being photographed in front of Mont Blanc.

Julie had  planned a three-day hike, including two nights in refuges (something between a hut and a lodge) in the Sixt Passy National Nature Reserve . She described it as one of her favorite areas in the region, partly because of the superb landscape, partly because it is off the beaten path. Europe was experiencing one of the worst heat waves in its history, but mercifully the temperature in Chamonix had dropped 10° from the previous week and it was another 10° lower once we hit the higher altitude of the mountains, making for very acceptable hiking weather, with no threat of rain.

The first day would require 10 miles to hike into the Refuge de Moëde Antenne. I held up fairly well over the first 6 miles, which combined some serious uphill and downhill portions interspersed with long easy-going paths through alpine meadows. Initially, we had Mont Blanc to our back, but soon it slipped out of sight and we had the the Aiguilles Rouge and and the Giffre mountains in our sights.

Julie would frequently check in to see how I was doing. By mid-hike, my reply was 80 on a scale of 100. By mile 8, I realized that no amount of PT and JCC fitness training on level ground in New Orleans could truly prepare me for a hike of this length and elevation gain. The electrolyte tablets in my water bottle and the constant snacking along the way kept me moving forward, but by mid afternoon, my legs were turning to rubber and I felt a lightheadedness that was not ideal for keeping one's balance on narrow ledges.

If there was any advantage to the difference in the speed at which we could hike, it was that Julie was able to put in a full day at the office via her iPhone each time she stopped to wait for me to catch up.

As we neared the final third of the hike, Julie explained that there was a deep gorge between us and our destination. We'd need to do a significant downhill stretch to reach the bridge that crossed the river running through the gorge and then a final uphill, which she estimated at 2+ hours. As I had surmised from my various hikes with Charlotte Stetson, I’m actually faster on the uphill than the downhill. By the time we hit the bottom of the gorge, I was barely checking in at 70 of 100. Julie kept exclaiming how impressed she was by my endurance, but I'm pretty sure she meant, "Don't stop now. There are no alternatives." I got a second wind when I saw the Refuge de Moëde Antenne emerge in the distance, and six hours after departing, we reached it.

Julie had procured luxury accommodations for us: a private room (cubbyhole) with its own sink and window off the common dormitory with some 20 beds.  She further enhanced my comfort level by purchasing a €4 shower, which I happily accepted. With no towel at hand, I managed to dry myself off with a bandanna, another first. This was my second experience with a French refuge, and I soon learned the rules: no boots inside, no backpacks inside, and family size style dinner served at 6:30 PM.

Dinner was delicious: vegetable soup, tomme (the local cheese), sausage with tomato sauce, polenta, chocolate mousse, and red wine. Thanks to a gravel service road, the refuge owners could bring supplies in by vehicle, thus greatly improving the selection of food and drinks. We lucked out in sitting beside a couple from Quebec City and their two 18-year-old sons. One had experienced every hiker‘s nightmare: losing his luggage with all his hiking clothes and equipment, which totally changed their planned program. The boys bombarded Julie with questions about hiking in and around Chamonix, including Mont Blanc, and hung on her every response. They were astounded by her deep knowledge of the region (originating from her childhood family trips and teenage jobs in Chamonix). Afterwards, the parents pulled her aside to thank her for insisting multiple times, “Don’t try that one without a guide.“

I had managed to break a plastic clasp on my headlamp, which was supposed to be my navigational tool to reach the bathroom through the communal dormitory room. Fortunately, I brought my Kindle along, and that proved to be an even better device for making this trip without disrupting the 20 sleepers.

Day 2 was far easier going. We only needed to transfer from the Refuge de Moëde Antenne to Refuge Albert Willis, a 3.2 mile hike that we were able to accomplish by 11 AM. After a good night's sleep and a couple of hearty meals, I was in far better shape. But I totally agreed with Julie when she suggested that I take the afternoon off rather than doing any optional hiking. I in turn encouraged her to take off on an afternoon hike on her own, so she could enjoy going at her own speed (which is 2-3 times faster than me, if not more). She readily agreed and set off "to get a Coke at another refuge," which probably added 10 miles to the distance she hiked for the day. She arrived back well before dinner, mildly complaining of a sore knee, but the mental benefits of hiking on her own in this area she loved far outweighed the physical problems.

Rarely can I remember a lazier afternoon than the one I spent sitting in a lawn chair for four hours, protected by the parasol overhead, gazing at the mountain ranges surrounding the meadow, using my Kindle to actually read, and dozing off between chapters. The afternoon in that chair did wonders for giving my legs a rest, which I felt I'd need in anticipation of the next day.

Julia had described the second refuge as somewhat more primitive than the first. We had our own cubbyhole for two in a communal dormitory, but at least we in the building next to the WC and on the ground floor. The Refuge Albert Willis was more remote and supplies more limited, both for conservation purposes and because everything had to be brought in on foot. The sign beside the dinner table said “a pity we don’t have napkins.” Each person was rationed a single dish or bowl for a given meal (no enjoying your cup of coffee while having your cereal). And the one restroom did not provide toilet paper.  I began rationing the small package of Kleenex in my pocket to a half kleenex per trip. I needn't have worried, since the hiking on the final day left me totally dehydrated, and I arrived home with a near-full packet of Kleenex.

The family style dinner that night was very adequate (though as promised, not up to the standards of the first night.) Thanks to the assigned seating, we were placed next to a guy who it turned out was studying public health in England and whose mother was from the DR Congo. He and Julie reanalyzed the World Cup match from the previous evening, for which he had truly divided loyalties: having grown up in England with a Congolese mother. The after-dinner entertainment consisted of a large herd of goats (180, a fellow hiker informed us) that were being herded through our yard toward their resting place for the night higher on the hillside. Julie admonished me, “Jane, under no circumstances do you look at or talk to those big white dogs. They are trained to be fierce and aggressive toward anyone or anything that could bring harm to the herd.”

The WC at the second refuge was outside the building, which I again reached with the light of my Kindle under my jacket. At 3 AM, I was already worrying if I'd be up to the task of hiking out of there on what even Julie had described as a “very long way down.“

Fortunately, everything looked brighter in the morning, and after we had our one-bowl breakfast, we headed out. If there were two things in our favor, they were starting in the cool of the early morning and doing the steepest ascent on fresh legs. I was very pleased with myself when we made it to the Col d'Anterne in two hours, the very amount of time specified on the signs. (Usually, we were discouragingly slower than the times given on the signage.) From there, the remainder of the day would be downhill. Yet my worries were far from over, given that Julie repeatedly mentioned the "long way to go," and downhill was not my forte.

Yet my 3 AM worries were unfounded. Julie made some strategic decisions regarding the route home, opting for several miles on the gravel road, far easier on my knee than the gnarly rocky descent over a trail. Mid-morning, we found ourselves surrounded by a different herd of sheep, each marked with a large green spot on their backs for ready identification.

By now, both our phones were on low battery, but Julie seized the remaining one minute on mine to confirm that buses did pass through town of Plaine Joux, which would cut out several hours of additional hiking. Her timing proved impeccable, since we arrived there exactly 10 minutes before the bus departed (the next one scheduled to pass three hours later).

The bus left us at the train station for a final 20-minute ride home. If I had largely escaped the “sweltering summer in Europe,“ these 20 minutes on the train gave me a good dose of it: no AC, sun beating down through the window, no windows open. Yet again, Julie's planning was brilliant, and this train stopped at the small train station only five minutes from her house. She conceded afterwards that she’d never managed to return from that area with such perfectly coordinated travel logistics.

We had covered 10 miles on Day 3, but it proved far less arduous than Day 1. The blister tape that I routinely carry in my backpack gave total relief from an incipient blister, and my knee was none the worse for wear.

When we arrived back into the cool of Julie’s house, it was hard to know which had greatest priority: ice cold water, a shower, or the bed inviting me for a nap. I managed all three before we sat down to another magnificent dinner of nicoise salad, local French bread, cheese, and Sauvignon Blanc, as we gazed at the mountains towering above us and solved the problems of the world. Julie was already planning for our 2027 Chamonix experience, ensuring that we go someplace she hadn’t taken me before. I begged her to figure in one additional year of physical decline as she mapped out where to take me next. No one knows my hiking abilities (limitations) better than Julie, and her general strategy seems to be, "Let’s plan for the max of what Jane might be able to handle and see what happens.” I had begun to question this strategy at the bottom of the gorge on Day 1. But after we'd successfully completed another spectacular excursion and were sipping Sauvignon Blanc, I was fully in for 2027.

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