The house where we sleep tastes of fire wood! And of hay and grain and, come to think of it, it also tastes of polenta and salami.
It may be suggestive, but the houses in Alagna taste like ‘ad Brusc’,dialect word to define the whole set of aromas and scents linked to the use of the house as a kitchen, stable, workshop.
In any case, the senses are awakened and so is the desire to be part of that lived-in fabric.
Today I want to ski!
Winter, however long it may be, is always too short for those who love the white dress and the crunch of winter snow under their skis.
As a connoisseur of the village, I cast a quick glance at the forecourts; if the colour of the cars covers the view of the Sesia river, I change my plans and prepare for a walk.
Instead, this morning it seems quiet; I drink coffee from the smiling Erika at the cable car departure point, pick up the skis that Franz and Mattias have carefully prepared for me and embark, ready for adventure and the adrenaline-filled descent.
At the boarding gate I meet Alfredo, the lift historian. He smiles at me and accompanies me all the way to the point where the doors of the lift close, thus updating me on conditions in real time.
The ascent is gentle for me.
At the donkey pole (Zam Eisel the Walser would say) the landscape finally opens up.
I cast my eye towards the Weng alpine pasture and catch sight of the unmistakable zigzagging of the first fresh track.
We are in the territory of Sergio, an expert mountain guide. Only he can have passed through here because he knows the passages.
The track, in fact, seems to end in nothingness. Beyond, only the abyss.
But how beautiful the mountain is! I see alpine pastures, peaks and hills.
I hear the music that Luca, at Alpenstop, sets to fancy, without rules, with only the idea of giving joy.
There, I could already stop for a bombardino but the blue of the horizon calls and I get in line at Funifor.
The moving cabin is impressive; it is as big as a room and 100 per cent stable. And that's how it must be to be able to cope with the stormy winds that blow for at least 15 to 20 days in our winter at around 3,000 metres.
By some divine design, they blow mainly when there is tourism so that people think they don't want it.
I smile at the thought.
Not so!
We like people, movement, the exchange of thoughts and above all we like people who love the mountains, nature, traditions.
Overtourism happens but rarely.
Those who come to Alagna are fond of it, it is now part of the decor, as they would say in the jargon.
Ready, go!
There was a time when people used to embark by jostling each other to the cry of ‘travel, all aboard!’
Now everything is quieter, there is even carpeting in the cabin.
The doors close and in less than 10 minutes we are at the Passo dei Salati, at 2980m.
At this point I stop, the Bombardino calls!
Daniele, with his blond goatee and short sleeves despite the temperature, instead proposes a spritz, which I consume on the terrace at the new tables made from the baskets of the historic Balma lift.
We Alagnesi are fond of the memory of that slope (which was an off-piste, and a mouth-watering one at that).
It is no coincidence that we became famous for the Freeride Paradise!
A quick glance towards the Bors glaciers, the old Indren station and I tackle the Olen descent.
A few hundred metres from the entrance to the track, I veer to the right; I feel like visiting
the Mosso Scientific Institute. A leap back in time as the institute was founded in 1907.
Now it has been renovated with skill and passion and there is an interactive, multimedia museum.
Ancient instrumentation alternates with films and narrations.
The Rifugi Monterosa has opened a restaurant with glass windows everywhere right on the terrace of the institute (the project later envisages an accommodation facility with beds as well).
It is thus possible to eat turned towards the Capanna Margherita or looking at the valley and distant borders.
I go there willingly.
Annina, who runs the establishment with Erika, is a familiar face, but only to those with a good leg and who frequent refuges.
The wine cellar is respectable, to the envy of low-altitude restaurants.
I see the staff in the kitchen.
Isham and Erica, always them, always together; now at Mosso now at Capanna Gnifetti.
Annina and Giulia offer me a ‘Bacio di Dama’ biscuit, strictly made by them (I am witness to this, as they knead the dough as they speak to me).
Time is a tyrant.
The black Olen slope awaits me! The entrance is a gully, the grooming is perfect, the snow is almost chalky
Everything is so intimate here.
I think that solitude in the mountains is never real solitude, I think it is rather immersion and contemplation.
How lucky I am to live here!
