Slow Alps, or my crossing of the Alps

Elisa Cortelazzo
Dec 15, 2025
8 min read

"Aren't you afraid?" I turn and smile, condescendingly. I look at my interlocutor, a man in his sixties, a wooden walking stick and old leather boots, with that spark of love in his eyes typical of someone walking the mountain path near home for the millionth time. But like him, many others have asked me the same question. Young or old, men or women, mountaineers or city dwellers. When I tell them about the journey I'm taking, walking alone through the Alps, everyone asks me the same question. And I give them all the same vague answer: "And of what?"

He stares at me in surprise; it wasn't what he expected. His lips are tight, his gaze shifting to the mountains, indicating he's searching for an answer. I, too, look back at the mountains. The sky is blue, it's very hot. We're at the top of a long, grassy ridge, a pile of rocks marking the highest point. At my feet stretch wooded hills, slowly sloping down to the plain, where the forest gives way to vineyards and cities. In the distance, the sea shimmers. The sea, my goal. After long months of walking, I've almost reached my destination. I'm very tired, I can't wait to sink my weary feet into the cool sand. But I'm also very happy, satisfied, and proud of the feat I've accomplished.

I left on May 23rd. Although it's not fair to say my journey began that day. Because I'd been dreaming of it for years and preparing for it for months. I've always loved long journeys on foot, covering slow distances that take me from one mountain to another with only the strength of my legs and the uncertain shelter of my tent. I find it a unique and wonderful way to experience and discover new places. And I wanted to experience and discover the entire Alps. Hence the dream of walking them all, in one go, in one breath. I'd nurtured this fantasy for many years, and finally the opportunity presented itself. Or rather, I created it. Yes, because I simply decided it was the right time to make this dream come true. That I could take a few months off work and just leave. I made this decision in February, and since then I've worked hard to prepare, both physically and mentally. In addition to long training hikes with a 15-kg bag of pellets in my backpack, I carefully studied the route and all the possible variations, weighing every possible option. I weighed everything I would bring, shaving off every extra gram. I downloaded helpful apps on my phone and even made stickers to "leave a mark" of my passage. When the big day finally arrived, I almost felt like I'd already made it halfway!

My partner, who has always supported and encouraged me on this adventure, took me to Finale Ligure. I really wanted to start the trip with a nice swim in the sea, but it was so cold that I settled for just getting my feet wet. A photo on the seawall, a last kiss, and then off we went! When I began to put one foot in front of the other, with the sea behind me and the Alps in front of me, it seemed unreal. My shoulders, more than my backpack, were burdened by fears and expectations. I was so excited, but so was the fear of failure.

After a few days of walking, I encountered the first major difficulty of the trip, which would remain with me for over a month: snow. And it was a tough encounter, on a terrifying day, where I sank, slipped, fell, and got wet, often passing through dangerous places made dangerous by ice. That day, I decided I would never find myself in that situation again. I didn't have the equipment necessary to deal with snow and ice, and I didn't want to be put at risk again. So every day, I made hundreds of phone calls to check on the condition of the trails, and often had to change my route to stay at lower altitudes. Sometimes I was sorry, especially having to skip the Argentera and go around Monviso... But I was happy not to find myself in any more unpleasant situations.

It was beautiful to watch spring slowly advance. The woods filled with sounds, the meadows covered with a thousand different types of flowers. Every week I could push myself to higher altitudes, following the retreat of the snow. At the same time, my body was also growing stronger. My feet no longer blistered, my legs didn't tire, my shoulders supported the weight better, I slept better at night. My step was more surefooted, and I too felt more calm and determined. I found my balance between walking and resting, between nights in a tent and those cuddled between sheets, between quick meals and the occasional luxurious dinner at a restaurant. Yes, because I like adventure, but also comfort! And during this trip, I much more appreciated the little luxuries I occasionally indulged in.

As the season progressed, so did the trails. I met many wonderful people along the way. A German man who was on the same route as me and with whom I walked for a few days. A 70-year-old who set out to walk for 60 days carrying 23 kg! An Austrian couple with whom I spent a pleasant evening in a bivouac. A father and daughter who treated me to lunch at the end of the day. A Spanish woman traveling on her bicycle. Not to mention the fantastic mountain hut keepers, hoteliers, restaurateurs, and campsite owners, who offered me help, advice, smiles, and sometimes even grappa and coffee! So many people who left me with fond memories, who made my journey more colorful.

So, amidst international friendships and breathtaking landscapes, my journey through Piedmont continued. I arrived in Susa feeling incredibly strong, so much so that I had already walked so far! By now, nothing could stop me. The Turin valleys took my legs off my feet, and the often foggy weather dampened my enthusiasm a bit. Arriving in Ceresole, I was excited about the start of the Aosta Valley, but after a round of phone calls, I realized it wasn't possible; there was still too much snow at high altitude. So I resigned myself to continuing on to Piedmont and settling for brief glimpses of the Gran Paradiso glacier first, then Monte Rosa, all the way to Alagna and then up to Devero.

Here I hit a setback. I'd been walking for two months. I was very tired, both physically and mentally. Every morning, starting was difficult, and throughout the day I counted the time remaining to my destination. I no longer wanted to sleep in a tent, but I dreamed of the comfort of the mountain huts. I wasn't even enjoying the walk; I wasn't looking at the mountains or speaking to anyone, focused only on getting to the end of the day. One morning, I got up, struggled to put my backpack on my shoulders, and set off. But after half an hour of climbing, I collapsed. I couldn't take it anymore. So, without any major regrets, I turned on my heels and headed back down to the valley. On the train back home, I wasn't too disappointed, because I knew it wasn't a surrender, just a break.

In fact, I set off again a few days later. Fresh, rested, and very determined. Somewhat reluctantly, I decided to skip some stages, because it was almost August and the season was drawing to a close. The restart was marked by a long week of almost nonstop rain. But little by little, I moved forward, more determined than ever. I took a short detour to reach the Vioz refuge, at 3,500 meters above sea level, the highest stop on the journey, where I spent an evening watching it snow! I cried a little when I saw the Dolomites, my home mountains, on the horizon for the first time. The change from before Bolzano to afterward was traumatic: hundreds of people on the trails, the refuges packed to the brim. More people meant more loneliness; throughout the Dolomites, I didn't make friends with anyone, I didn't chat or drink coffee with anyone; I felt invisible in the crowd. Luckily, I had a few friends come visit, a short break at home, pampered by my mother's cooking, and my partner took advantage of his vacation to hike with me for a few days.

Finally, I tackled Carnia, a bit of tranquility again, some wild trails, and refuges that aren't hotels. And now I've arrived here, at the end of the last long climb of the journey, the gentle descent towards the sea at my feet. I'm so excited that the destination is so close! In total, I've been traveling for over three months. During these months, I've faced difficult moments, unexpected events, and fears. Yet I've managed to overcome them, one by one, relying only on my own strength.

As I think back on everything I've faced, I look at the man in front of me, who asked me if I wasn't afraid of traveling alone. Many others have asked me the same question, and I'm a little exasperated. He's still there, pondering how to answer, a little embarrassed, and ventures "wild animals." But I know that's not what she really thinks, that's not the answer she wants to give me. She doesn't have the courage to admit that the question arose from a deep-seated belief that a woman shouldn't travel alone in the mountains.

He glances at me and sees a woman free of prejudice, determined, and confident. I smile, a little ironic and a little sorry to see him so embarrassed. "If I were a man, you wouldn't have asked me that question. Yet why should a woman be afraid to go to the mountains alone? The mountains have their risks and dangers, regardless of the gender of those who face them. Every woman should feel free to venture out onto the trails, even alone. Today, I am a different person from the one who left Liguria three months ago, filled with doubts and fears. And I believe that every woman has the right to pursue her own path, whether it's on foot in the Alps, or in study or work, or a trip abroad or an 8000-meter peak. Everyone is free to find her own path and realize her dreams. Don't you agree?"